one that would suit mycroft as well

Imagine:  Out-Smarting the Holmes Brothers

Originally posted by sherlockspeare

Originally posted by bbcsherlockimagines

(Gifs are not mine!  Credit to original owner!)

(Request: … I would love one about Sherlock and Mycroft facing off in deductions and being suddenly, to their surprise bested by the reader, who is in fact as logical as them but just far more humble about it.)

   “Male.  Brown hair.  Brown eyes. Approximately thirty-one years old. The line of pale skin around his wrist suggests that he was tanning with a watch on.  Considering the weather in the area, he must have recently traveled,” Sherlock deduced.  “Hair is combed, and facial hair is well-groomed.  Both his suit and shoes are quite pricey.  I’d say he was gone on business.  The pamphlet sticking out of his pocket suggests it was a company cruise.”    

   “Ah-ah-ah.  You’re missing something, brother mine,” Mycroft told him smugly.  

   You rolled your eyes as the two brothers stood on the sidewalk, watching strangers walk by.  You knew exactly what was coming.  

   Spending the last year solving crimes along with Sherlock and John had changed everything.  You were always smart, but it wasn’t until observing Sherlock in his element when you realized that you also had a gift at deduction.  No one knew except for John, who was amazed at a deduction you made about him as a practice exercise.  

   Along with the crime-solving and shenanigans with your flat-mates, you had to deal with the ongoing drama between the Holmes brothers.  Sherlock always got so competitive whenever Mycroft was around, and Mycroft couldn’t resist rising to the challenge.

   “Clearly,” Mycroft continued, trying to rub in the fact he noticed something his brother didn’t, “there was more to that trip than just business.  Look at his left hand.  There’s no mark where his wedding ring should be, so he must have removed it before the cruise began.  I’d say it was an affair disguised as a business trip.  Perhaps with someone in the office.”

   Sherlock scoffed at Mycroft’s deductions, but reluctantly nodded in agreement.  Your eyes scanned the man, checking the accuracy to Mycroft’s deductions for yourself.  He was a little off on something.  But before you could speak up, Sherlock cut in.  

   “He’s glancing around rather nervously. It seems that he’s meeting the mistress here.  He’s afraid of someone he knows seeing him with her.”

   “He keeps looking at his wrist as if trying to check the time.  She’s late,” Mycroft added.  As if on cue, a beautiful woman wearing an expensive red dress, high heels, and a long coat over it walked up to the man.  Her hair and makeup were nothing extravagant.  She wore cover-up, a little lip-stick, and some mascara.  The important thing, you noted, was the wedding ring she had on her finger.  A big smile spread across the man’s face as she leaned in to kiss his cheek.  

   Mycroft nodded, satisfied that he had been right. Sherlock pursed his lips as the couple exchanged greetings, looking very happy to see each other.

   “It’s not an affair,” you spoke up suddenly, making both of the Holmes brothers look at you in confusion.

   “What do you mean?” Sherlock questioned.  “Of course it’s an affair.”

   “Did you see them just now? No embrace.  No passionate kiss.”  You shook your head.  “It’s not an affair.  Look at their walking patterns, so similar.  And watch their mannerisms.”  The three of you went silent as you observed the couple for a minute, proving your point. “Gentleman, that man and woman are brother and sister.”

   “But his wedding ring-”

   “He isn’t wearing one because he isn’t married,” you finished Mycroft’s sentence.  “You were right about the business trip, Sherlock. He’s very serious about his work. I mean, he’s wearing a suit to meet up with his sister.  He’s a workaholic who doesn’t have time to go meet anyone and get married.  The woman, on the other hand, is happily married for at least five years.  She is taking care of herself, but not going overboard with makeup and hair products like she would be if she were trying to attract a potential lover at work.”

   The Holmes brothers both stared at you, mouths open in surprise.

   “_______,” Sherlock said finally.  “I knew that your intelligence was much higher than the average person- I know this because having you around helps me deal with everyone else’s ignorance- but I did not realize you were capable of such observations.”

   “Well, unlike you two, I don’t go around showing off,” you teased with a laugh.  “Anyways, are we able to get going?  Now that your deduction battle is over, I’d like to get back to the flat.  John is probably wondering where we all are.”

   “My dear Miss ________,” Mycroft told you, impressed.  “You certainly are full of surprises.”

The Exception to Every Rule

His pale knuckles clutched and unclutched the steering wheel, his wrists locked and his entire body tense. Even though their relationship was progressing well, Greg Lestrade always felt like nervous when he saw Mycroft. It was a good nervous – those butterflies in his stomach, the inability to think about anything but the government official. All of it was blissful.

Finally, he saw the restaurant door opening and the tall figure twirling an umbrella walked in the direction of Greg’s car, Mycroft allowed a thin smile to touch his lips as he saw the NSY vehicle, and his grin grew when Lestrade stepped out of the car to greet him. “Good evening, Gregory.” Mycroft said. Greg nodded to him.

“Hey Myc. How was your meeting? I’m still upset it was a dinner meeting. It just means I can’t make you food.” Greg pouted momentarily, but Mycroft was soon kissing those lips and they turned upward in the form of a smile once more. It was just a quick kiss by way of a pleasant greeting; more would definitely be to come later on. Plus, there were people all around them, and Mycroft had a serious reputation that could be tarnished if people discovered secrets about his personal life. Greg was the same way, but it wasn’t as vital. Plus, everyone had their suspicions about his life anyway. They already knew all about the last relationship problems he’d had with his wife, but the couple wasn’t ready to announce to the world that they were each other’s better half yet. In time they would, but for now, they were happy to just enjoy each other and the best secret of their entire lives.

Of course, it wasn’t a complete secret. Sherlock had deduced immediately and had sent mocking texts to both of them, but secretly the sleuth was pleased that his brother had found someone.

“Inspector, tonight is not about the food anyway. I haven’t seen you all week, and it has been absolutely miserable without you.” Mycroft said, unafraid to open up now that they were both in the car. Greg couldn’t help the soft look that he gave the other man, pure love radiating off of him.

“What would you like to do tonight, Myc? I was unsure when you would actually be finished with your meeting, so I didn’t exactly make plans.” Greg admitted, rubbing his neck. Mycroft patted his thigh.

“That’s quite alright. I too am at a loss as to how we should spend the evening.” He gave the other man’s thigh a slight squeeze.

“I have an idea. It’s a wonderful night, and there’s a park nearby. Let’s go for a late night stroll.” Greg smiled over at him.

Mycroft, who normally despised legwork, returned the expression. “Gladly, my dear Gregory.”

A slight tinge of red tainted the DI’s cheeks as he pulled away from the curb, but they soon arrived at the park and stepped out of the car.

“So, I trust your week was tolerable?” Mycroft asked as they set off into the park, his arm hooked with Lestrade’s as they went further and further down the pavement.

“I managed. About drowned in paperwork. And your brother is being absolutely insufferable now that he knows we’re together.”

Mycroft stopped walking. “Of course he is. I will talk to him. My apologies for his behavior, Gregory.”

Lestrade stopped as the other man did. “It’s fine. It’s Sherlock. I’m used to his antics.” He chuckled softly, his eyes meeting the other man. “Why did we stop?”

Mycroft glanced up to meet Greg’s gorgeous eyes. “Just thinking about something. It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure? Is everything okay?” Greg’s concern was immediate, and he tugged on Mycroft’s arm as the other man started walking away again. “Mycroft.”

Greg had uttered the name so softly, so gently, that Mycroft sighed. “Talk to me, Mycroft.”

“It’s in relation to work, Gregory. I cannot. That meeting was quite problematic in its own right. I don’t want to trouble you. Come on. Let’s keep walking. This park is beautiful, especially at night.” Mycroft said, dragging the other man along the pavement once more. Greg shook his head and quickened his pace to be at his side again.

“I can think of something more beautiful.” Greg said, nudging Mycroft. The man’s cheeks flushed pink and he bit his lip to conceal a smile.

“Nonsense.” Mycroft said with a shake of the head. Then, as he came to a fork in the sidewalk, he stopped walking again. Greg stood there beside him, their arms still hooked together.

“Hmm, decisions, decisions.” Greg said with a chuckle. Mycroft nodded to him.

“Quite so. I have made a different decision though.” And he turned to face Greg, unlinking their arms so he could hold both of his hands. He leaned forward to quickly peck him on the lips, then took off down the right fork of the path. Greg furrowed his brow. So now Mycroft was doing that to him too. Leaving him wanting more. He wasn’t surprised. And damn it, did he want more. Mycroft tasted absolutely exquisite, and Greg never tired of his lips on his.

 

Their starlit walk continued through the park, coming to an old military memorial with a wall of names, a jet, and a tank.

“Fascinating…” Mycroft said, glancing over at Greg before he let go of his hand and with childlike eagerness, actually ran over to the tank to get a closer look.

Greg’s brow creased in confusion, his interest piqued by this strange behavior. “Myc, what are you doing?”

But the other man didn’t respond. He was too busy reading the plaque next to the military vehicle. Once he had finished that, he brushed his pale, slender fingers against the tracks of the tank, his hand running over the bumps of the chain as he did so. He wandered all the way around the tank to the back of it, smiling to himself. Greg had never seen his face so lit up and excited about something like this before.

He liked how adorable Mycroft looked this way. “Mycroft?”

The other man finally turned to face Greg. “My apologies. I am a rather avid fan of history and weapons of the past. In fact, I have a rather moderate armory in my house. Perhaps I can give you a tour sometime.” Mycroft’s lips twitched into a smile. Greg returned it, beaming at his boyfriend. “Normally I never let anyone see it, but you’re the exception to every rule, my dear Gregory.”

“I have been racking my brain trying to figure out what else you liked besides silent films, and now I learn it’s weapons.” Greg said, enjoying that he was learning more about the mysterious man he’d chosen to fall for.

“Not weapons generally. Just historical weapons. And any literature on the nature of military stratagems, historical battles, et cetera. If I hadn’t gone into politics and government work, I would have loved to study history…” Mycroft said all of this whilst further admiring the tank, and Greg took special opportunity to admire this rare side of his boyfriend. He stepped a bit closer, watching Mycroft’s fascination, fascinated himself.

The next thing Mycroft knew, he was being gently pressed against the side of the tank. His eyes widened as Greg shoved him back against the tracks. “Gregory?”

“Shh, you are so beautiful like this. Even more so than usual.” As soon as Greg had said that, their lips were locked together. Mycroft fumbled to reciprocate, being taken off guard in the moment. However, his arms soon found their way around Greg. One hand caressed the man’s cheek, which was covered in a thin dusting of gorgeous silver stubble. Mycroft’s other hand wound up in the small of Greg’s back. Greg’s hands both ended up on either side of Mycroft’s face, holding him in place to get a better angle for the snog. Their fronts were pressed flush against each other, and Greg quickly pressed into Mycroft even more, deepening the kiss and the adoration they both felt for each other.

Mycroft had finally recovered enough to return the kiss properly, competing with Greg for who was actually controlling the moment. In the end, Greg won out. He kept a tight hold on Mycroft, one of his hands trailing around to end up just above his ass. His fingers clutched at the fabric there, crinkling Mycroft’s elaborate suit coat. In that moment, Mycroft did not care one damn bit about folds in his coat. He would much rather worry about the tongue sneaking across his lips, mingling with his own.

Moments later, when both of them were gasping for oxygen, they opened their eyes and looked on one another. Greg smirked at him and pulled away. Mycroft immediately went to adjust his tie, his chest rising and falling rather quickly. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, and he was yearning for more, oxygen be damned.

“Well, I never thought I would do that.” Mycroft said rather softly, his voice barely a whisper as he inhaled deeply.

“What, snog your boyfriend behind a World War II tank?” Greg said with a teasing way about him. Mycroft opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it as Greg finished his sentence. He was soon throwing his arms around Greg and kissing him again. This one was by no means as heated as the previous, but that didn’t mean it was any less affectionate toward the other man. Mycroft tugged away with a smirk of his own.

“Hmm… okay. I’m sensing a reason for that one.” Greg chuckled to himself, running a hand through his hair. Mycroft nodded to him, his arms still around the other man’s neck.

“Quite so, Gregory. I couldn’t help myself when you actually knew what kind of tank it was. And I know you didn’t read the plaque; you were too busy ogling me.” Mycroft laughed as Greg blushed in the dim light behind the tank. “But anyway, you were quite right. I never thought I would kiss anyone whilst being shoved against a tank. Life is funny like that sometimes.”

“You’re not wrong, Mycroft,” said a new voice from behind them, a baritone voice. It was a familiar tone, and one that quickly exasperated the government official. He let go of Greg and whirled around, seeking the exact location of the voice.

“Sherlock, what in the hell are you doing here?” Greg asked as the detective came out of the shadows, his long Belstaff billowing in the evening breeze. The coat collar was flipped up, of course.

Then, to make matters even more embarrassing, John stepped out from behind a tree as well. Mycroft’s face was absolutely burning, and Greg’s was no better.

“Well, Sherlock and I were tracking a murder suspect, but it seems we stumbled across something much more interesting.” John’s eyes positively glowed with mischief, and Sherlock chuckled.

“Interesting. Appalling. What difference is there in this case, really?” The sleuth gestured rather flamboyantly to the two other men.

Mycroft put a hand to his face, drawing it over his features in annoyance. “Will you two kindly leave us be? The Inspector and I are quite busy at this moment.”

Sherlock raised his brows at his brother. “John and I were here first. We’ve been scouting this park for hours.”

Mycroft glared at his little brother. “Sherlock, shut up.”

Another laugh escaped the detective, as well as the doctor beside him. “Come on Sherlock. Leave them to their fun. Let’s just hope they don’t shag here in the park. That could be awkward.”

“For God’s sake, Dr. Watson!” Mycroft said. Greg burst out laughing at his boyfriend’s reaction as John and Sherlock trailed away, Sherlock singing a very inappropriate version of “Greg and Mycroft sitting in a tree.” They could hear the boisterous laughter of the crime-solving duo as they walked off. Mycroft could not stop blushing, and refused to face Greg until he could gain a better control of his emotions.

“Mycroft, come on. That wasn’t as mortifying as you’re making it out to be.” Greg said, gently reaching for the other man’s hand. “Come on, we still have a walk to finish.”

“I have a better idea. Come back to my house. I’ll show you the armory. There’s a very comfortable Persian rug in the center of the room that would do well for a continuation of this evening’s activities.”

Tags below the cut. Let me know if you would like to be tagged or untagged. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

How about headcanons for MC and the guys' weddings? What will be her wedding dress and what type of wedding will they have? Probably honeymoon spots too if you have time ^^

OKAY FIRST(and yeah it’s taken me a while to write this tonight)! This is the Headcanon request that’s been hanging out in my inbox the longest.  I had to do some research on it as I kind of stopped keeping up with the latest trends in wedding dresses the past five years.  

Originally posted by sailorcandy

There is a weird personal history with me and wedding planning but moving on!

Please note that in all my headcanons regarding MCs wedding Simon will not settle for less than maid-of-honour.  

I apologize as these don’t seem to end up being too long. 

(All these wedding dress photos were found here: allure bridals)


Sherlock Holmes

Dress: This dress was chosen for it’s elegance, the (if I recall) A-line shape of the skirt, and the gorgeous heart shape with the modesty lace at the top. 

Wedding:  Nothing big, but John as the best man would be freaking out trying to find Sherlock, thinking he had forgotten and wondered off.  They would be surprised to find that Sherlock had gone ahead to the site for the ceremony long time before hand because he was nervous he’d get distracted.  

Honeymoon: Their honeymoon would most likely be spent at 221B with John being the one to leave for a while, wishing MC the best of luck during that time.  Mikah would go stay at a friend’s house.


John Watson

Dress: It’s a simple dress with a nice touch of romanticism.  The soft petal like layering in the skirt with the gorgeous lace work on the bodice.

Wedding:They would aim for a traditional wedding, well as traditional as it could be.  Every time they turn around someone else is trying to help out to make it even more special, eventually there would be chaos but MC’s smiling face and laughter would help John just accept that their friends are doing their best because of the love they have for the happy couple.

Honeymoon: A nice hotel suite where John could order room service and be waited on.  They’d probably have to pull some favors with Mycroft to get him to get the place for them so they didn’t have to worry about Sherlock finding them and crashing it.  


James Moriarty

Dress: James selected a wide variety for her to choose from, but instead she left with Sebastian and picked out this one together thinking that it would surprised him with the lack of beading and sparkle, but the way the skirt flows out makes her feel and look like a princess.

Wedding: Everything goes according to plan, well, James’s plan.  There were a few surprises hidden here and there for his bride and their guests.  Security was everywhere, not that MC knew it.  

Honeymoon:A new place every morning, MC should be a little concerned how easily they transport her at night when she’s asleep, but every morning is a new adventure with James Moriarty as he shows off to her all the places he’s been, as well as showing her off to his underlings so they know not to mess with his Queen.


Mycroft Holmes

Dress: Elegant, a little skin showing, a little mature with a little whimsical element to it.  

Wedding:If they are to do it right Mycroft would aim for something big and bold to make sure everyone knew they were married.  Make a production out of it.  However since canonically their line is that everything thinks they’re already married it would be a small wedding held in a small church, with strangers as their witnesses as they exchange vows.

Honeymoon: Mycroft would most likely feel a secondary honeymoon wouldn’t be necessary. However he would be able to get some vacation days to spend it with MC back home just in case there’s an emergency and he’s needed. 


Sebastian Moran

Dress: The tighter skirt doesn’t get in the way as much when Sebastian gets close to her, the lace was the only way that James would give his approval on it.

Wedding:It’s a small affair held at the Moriarty Estate.  There was some concern about security but James couldn’t see any place else more perfect for it to be held.  The entire time Sebastian fidgets with everything, doing his best to avoid MC all day and the day before because he heard it was bad luck to see the bride before their wedding.  Jack was forced to put little bowties and ribbons on the cats and spends a good bit of time during reception loudly complaining that James gets to be the best man despite everything Jack did?!

Honeymoon: Sebastian wants to spend it there near James, which gets him scolded by James for lacking a romantic heart.  Ends up with them going to a house in the country that James purchased for them to use for a few weeks.


Jeremy Cassel

Dress: This dress was attained by legal means.

Wedding: It’s a pleasant ceremony, met all standards, and even some of the guests thought it was a little peculiar how despite who Jeremy is and how pretty the decorations were that everything was going just and bland as bland could be.  Unknown to them however the bride found a note when she went to change into her gown that morning.  A note from Lupin promising to steal her breath away later that night.  So when the lights went out and the bride and groom disappeared there was mild panic before a little text was sent out that Jeremy couldn’t wait any longer and was taking his bride on their honeymoon.

Honeymoon:Jeremy is set on showing MC as many wonders as he can.  He has a traveling agenda planned out, though they travel by more conventional means with MC demanding that he stops stealing and act more honestly.


Hercule Poirot

Dress: Hercule loves the way the lace moves on MC, it’s hard for him not to touch it.  Hearing the swish of the tool, and soft rustling of the dress makes it hard for him not to watch her.

Wedding: Modern is the goal.  Very nice and sweet, everything just so.  Even though it’s all modern everything looks and feels so classy.  MC is almost constantly blushing especially whenever she and Hercule make eye contact. Hercule is constantly teasing everyone else around him, seeing calm and collected, even going as far as to pick on and banter with Jeremy during his best man speech.

Honeymoon: They go out of their way to make it look like they left, however so they can turn around and spend the time there at Hercule’s home instead of going over seas like they told everyone.  Just so they could really explore their new relationship in the comfort of a familiar setting.


George Lestrade

Dress: Modest, elegant, almost delicate looking with a long train.  Just to make Lestrade blush, though that isn’t hard to do.

Wedding:MC is asked several times throughout the day if she had changed her mind, would she change her mind, if she was having second thoughts, if she needed to run away with someone else, and most of the time from her doubting and worried husband to be.  He would be fidgeting at the altar, sending her texts letting her know that if she was going to runaway that he just wanted a heads up first.  Only so he could drop his phone as his heart skipped a beat when she starts up the aisle.  For the most part he doesn’t hear what is said, and doesn’t so much say “I do” as “uh huh” with a vigorous head nod.  The teasing is light hearted until Sherlock decides he needs to give a speech and talk about Lestrade’s short comings despite not being the best man; which is taken all in good jest though Holmes has no idea why.

Honeymoon: Though most of their budget was blown on the wedding their friends were able to chip in and help them go away to a bed and breakfast for a few days.  

(I did skip Jack, mostly because what I have in mind for him and what he would have is not something I would call a wedding)

Oh shit, you think wildly as a familiar set of Salvatore Ferragamo’s came strolling down the foyer.


Blindly groping at the dog’s collar you keep an ear out for any changes in Mycroft’s direction and desperately try to steer the dog out toward the backyard

.
Donna, of course, seems to think this is all some swell game to avoid letting you grab her collar and is not making any of it easy as the foot falls come closer.


The noise is echoed off the pristine walls and sends Donna into a tizzy of delight that you struggle to keep her at your hand. She hasn’t started barking yet, thank god, but you can’t be sure of how long that will last as your fiancé draws near.


Oddly enough Mycroft pauses merely inches from the corner.


“______,” he calls out seemingly unaware of the mass of fur just barely out of sight, “______, my love where are you?”


Manically, you wonder just how you’ll come out of this unscathed as Donna appears to have no reservations on whimpering up a storm in excitement upon hearing the new intruder.


Oh god what do I do? You wonder ferociously as Donna, the wonderfully large mix that she starts to slip from your fingers anxiously to greet the supposed newcomer.


A series of ideas ranging from the practical to the bizarre flash in your mind’s eye; hiding her in a closet until Mycroft goes upstairs, throwing her in the backyard and pretend she’s a stray, hiding her behind the couch, pretend like she’s the world’s finest life-like dog plush or even blame it on Sherlock but you know you only have yourself to blame.


For the past eight months Mycroft has been on call to play mediator to the countries that the Queen wanted to keep good graces with and for the duration you’ve been so terribly lonely.


Sure, the pair of you Skype and call on a semi-regular basis but there’s still that desolation that comes with living in an empty house regardless of how many impromptu trespassing house calls on Sherlock’s part.


Desperate for companionship and a deep need to keep busy you find new ways to bide your time until Mycroft returns.
It’s one of the reasons you’ve taken into volunteering your free time at local shelters and the exact reason you’re in the predicament you’re in.


All it took was one pitiful look from those soulful big brown eyes from that Saint Bernard mix quaking in the cage apparently abandoned with her ratty collar and you knew that you had to have her. Donna was a skittish despite her size; afraid of every touch and slight sound when she was brought in. Hardly anyone could even stand to move near Donna just to keep her placid much less check her out properly but you were determined.


Every day that you didn’t have work or Sherlock-sitting duties (rostered between you, Mary, John, Greg, and Molly) you went to the animal shelter to spend time with Donna. Feeding her, playing with her, comforting her while the doctors checked her out, or simply just brushing her once matted fur into a smooth silky finish-it was all very apparent that you weren’t going to let Donna go home with anyone else but you.


And like any self-fulfilling prophecies it did come true.


In less than a month’s time you were finally able to bring Donna home-oh how it had been a homecoming!


Donna was so happy that she had started crying with joy the second the door was locked behind her, wagging her tail at the speed of light and falling at your feet.  A hundred and twenty-tow pounds of fur Donna was sprinting across the premises, spreading airborne hairs onto every surface and joy wherever her meaty paws could take her in the house.


You had planned so many things to do before Mycroft returned from work.  Things like getting Donna acclimated to the grounds, do a bit of training and the like to sweeten up your soon-to-be hubby to the idea of having a dog around.

 
“______?” Mycroft calls again from the corner and this time Donna makes no move to hide her enthusiasm by barking up a storm.


Here goes nothing, you conclude releasing Donna’s collar and letting her rush around the corner.
Her nails almost make as much racket as Mycroft’s shoes as you follow behind Donna with a nervous smile.


“Surprise,” you say offer meekly as Donna has taken it upon herself as some sort of mission to try and lick every inch of Mycroft’s face. She puts in a valiant effort considering when she stands on her hind legs Donna is nearly as tall as Mycroft but for his part Mycroft is still more agile.


While his face isn’t showing any signs of disgust you still can’t help but feel uneasy. After all the conversation about pets hadn’t been brought up just yet since the engagement and you really want to keep them both.


Gently ushering Donna from his shoulders and wiping any stray saliva Mycroft asks, “So may I take it that we’ve acquired a dog _____?”


His crystalline eyes boring into yours in such a way that you cannot help how your cheeks and ears grow hot despite how Donna is making such a scene scenting every part of Mycroft’s person.


Taking a deep breath you try and steady your voice and keep your hands still, “I know we haven’t really discussed having pets Mycroft but Donna is great dog. I promise you I can have her trained well within a week and I’ll take care of everything.”


It’s difficult not to sound panicked but when it comes to Mycroft it has never been your strongest suit in explaining things much less feelings.


One word gets stuck on another and you lose momentum trying to finish a sentence-it certainly didn’t make your primary years any easier to take. Panic would start to set in as you would struggle to find your grounding and it took countless hours of therapy to try to hold a conversation without being reduced to tears.


Even when it came to expressing your interest in him romantically you can only thank whichever deity decided to smile upon you that day that Mycroft understood. Sweet, loving Mycroft, who despite your anxiety wanted you by his side not just as a girlfriend but for the rest of his life.


But here with Mycroft standing there as Donna did her last bout of sniffing you were close to tears. What if he wants her gone? What if he makes me choose between him and the dog? What if they don’t get along? What if-


“______, please, settle down.” His voice is so gentle and soothing.


It takes a moment to realize that Mycroft has crossed the small space divided and wrapped his warm solid arms around you. So soft and smelling faintly of the cologne you gifted him for his birthday you settle in on his shoulder. Dimly you feel the press of another warm body, Donna your lizard brain reminds you, at your left leg while Mycroft holds you close.


“Did you really think I would send Donna away if I knew she was important to you,” he asks as his hands gently cascading down your back in a soothing manner.


Relief rushes over your smaller frame as he holds you unable to form any words and silently sob into his shoulder.


“If there is anything important to you,” Mycroft punctuates with a kiss to the cheek, “then it is certainly a high priority for me.”


Really though, you can’t fully express how happy you are to know that without a doubt Mycroft will always be so accommodating that you find it difficult to stop crying.


But Mycroft, the rock that keeps you grounded, stands there all the same until your shakes become small shudders and your cries a shorter.


Careful not to wipe any snot onto his jacket you try to look around for Donna only to find the space bereft of the large canine.


Shrugging gently out of Mycroft’s comforting hold you call to her.


“It would appear that Donna was more interested in fully investigating the contents of my briefcase and decided to drag it into the breakfast nook for further analysis.”


“Oh my god Myc-I’m so sorry-”You start making a run toward the breakfast nook but Mycroft causes you to pause.


“I’m not too worried ______, it was an old briefcase and I was looking for excuse to purchase a new one,” Mycroft states as a matter of fact way.


“Mycroft…”


“Besides if we can train Donna to do that to Sherlock’s things when he watches her on our honeymoon a damaged briefcase is a small price to pay,” Mycroft adds cheekily and dodges out of your range.

“I’m Not An Addict”

This is a meta about Sherlock’s drug addiction.  Obviously, if you are triggered by such discussions, now’s the time to stop reading.

Okay so I was watching ASIP a little bit ago and I noticed that Sherlock seems very interested in John right from the beginning. So why does he turn him down? Why does he say “I’m married to my work”? Then I remembered something. When you get out of rehab, they tell you no relationships for two years, because you risk your recovery if you jump right into a relationship. If Sherlock got out of rehab 2-3 months before ASIP, then the two years runs out sometime between THOB and TRF, which is when John and Sherlock are at their closest. I think Sherlock had every intention to tell John he loved him before the Moriarty thing happened. And that he waited 18 months to tell John because he didn’t want to risk the friendship, the potential relationship, and his recovery. Because if Sherlock would have tried to have a romantic relationship with John that soon after rehab, it would have crashed and burned. And “I’m flattered by your interest, but I’m married to my work” sounds a hell of a lot better than “I just got out of rehab and I need to focus on me for a little bit.” Sherlock never has been disinterested in John. He just did not want to mess this up.

Okay so how do we get from Sherlock planning and waiting to tell John to Sherlock overdosing before the Tarmac? The key is “I’m not an addict, I’m a user.” Sherlock doesn’t see his addiction as the problem. He doesn’t consider the drugs a problem. He thinks it’s his meddling brother, or his broken heart, or his brain chemistry, or a hundred other things that Sherlock could think of to rationalize it. One of the first steps to true recovery is admitting drugs are the problem and not a solution to other problems in your life. If you never address this, along with what made you use in the first place, you can go through as many rehab programs as you want, but you’ll never actually recover.

So why was Sherlock even in rehab in the first place, if he didn’t think drugs were the problem? This is where Mycroft comes in. Mycroft taking care of Sherlock is pretty much the only reason he’s still alive. In that scene in TAB, Mycroft looks young. Around late twenties. Which means Sherlock was about 19-20 years old there. Which means Sherlock probably started using in high school, not uni.

Sometimes it’s hard to know how to help someone with an addiction. Sherlock used intravenous drugs in the 90’s, a very dangerous thing, especially for a gay man. I think early on, Mycroft enabled Sherlock more than he helped him. I think in a lot of ways, Mycroft enabling Sherlock is what kept him from doing a lot worse to get drugs. That in a lot of ways, it’s the reason Sherlock’s still alive.

At some point, Mycroft realized that enabling Sherlock really isn’t the best way to help him. At some point, the rules changed. Instead of giving Sherlock money, Mycroft would buy or help pay for anything Sherlock needed. For Sherlock to get any help from Mycroft now, he had to be trying to get clean. Instead of sending a text to tell Mycroft he’s fine, Mycroft makes him call so he can hear how bad Sherlock is. Instead of trying to guess how much he’s taken, Mycroft makes him write it down.

I think this is the reason, or one of them, that Sherlock is so mad at Mycroft. The rules changed. He used to not interfere as much. Hell, he probably paid for the drugs before. And now the dynamic changed. I think the final straw was Mycroft making him go to rehab. I think not only did Mycroft tell Sherlock he would no longer help him if he didn’t go to rehab, he paid for it as well. I think it was Mycroft who bought Sherlock all the suits, who got him connected with Scotland Yard, who made sure his reputation was that he was brilliant, not that he had been using drugs since he was a teenager. I don’t think Sherlock made himself, not as much as he’d lead us to believe anyway. I think Mycroft made him the man we see in the beginning of ASIP.

Many people have already picked up on the fact that for Sherlock, it’s drugs or John. I think it’s literally drugs or John. I think anytime John is not living at Baker Street, Sherlock is doing drugs. That after the disaster that is the restaurant scene in TEH, Sherlock starts taking drugs again. Maybe not a whole lot (for Sherlock’s standards) but I honestly think that the drug den and the Tarmac scene are not isolated incidents. I think Sherlock spent the nine months between John’s wedding and when he shot Magnusson high, the only time it being noticeable to everyone else being the drug den and the tarmac scene. The fact that Sherlock was that high and talking to John and John didn’t notice anything different I think proves it. And like Sherlock says at the end there, “I don’t need drugs, I’ve got the real thing.”

So, why all the drugs right before he left John? Like a lot of people have said, I think partly it was so Sherlock would have the courage to finally tell John. But I think it was also Sherlock wanting to choose how he died. That he didn’t want to spend six months in Eastern Europe, thinking about how he’d never see John again. I think his plan was very much to tell John he loved him and then die while reading about how they met. That he took whatever he could get. Cocaine, leftover pain pills from the gunshot, anything Mrs Hudson had for her hip, any herbal soothers Mrs Hudson had. All of it. Anything you could get high off of at Baker Street, I think he smuggled it and took it.

Why would Sherlock need drugs to tell John he loved him? I think Sherlock is painfully insecure about anything that is not his deductive skills and maybe also possibly his hair. Sherlock doesn’t think he’s worth anything besides that. He doesn’t think he matters enough to hurt him. From the very beginning, John thinks Sherlock is too good, too smart, to be a drug addict. He thinks that in ASIP with the fake drug bust and he thinks that on the plane. That Sherlock doesn’t need drugs to be brilliant. The problem is, Sherlock thinks he does need the drugs. He thinks that he needs them to tell John he loves him. And he couldn’t even tell him when he was that high.

Remember when MP John found Sherlock high? How upset John was? Yelling at Sherlock. Sherlock thinks that he can’t be the person John needs him to be without drugs, and he can’t be confident enough without the drugs to try and be that person. Sherlock thinks that John is going to kill him when he finds out. The good news, the bright  spot in all of this, is that John doesn’t. He touches him softly and asks if he’s alright.

tagging some people @cakepopsforeveryone @figmentsoffiction @ewebie

softlygasping  asked:

For the Drabble thing: 50

prompt - Writer’s preference


Sherlock stood in front of the mirror straightening his tie pin and fussing with his hair.  They had forgone the hats and decided to keep things simple this time round.  He checked the mirror again.  Everything was perfect, his suit, his tie pin, his boutonniere, his hair - not a single strand out of place, but why did he feel so inadequate?

He was sure if he kept looking in the mirror, he could find what it was and then tell John so John wouldn’t have to go through with this.  This was ridiculous.  He could just leave.  No one would notice.  Well they would notice when it was his turn to join John at the alter, besides Mycroft probably had all the exits covered with his men so Sherlock couldn’t sneak off.  His brother really did know him so well.  

It’s not that Sherlock had cold feet, no, THIS is the only thing Sherlock had ever wanted in the world.  For John and he to be husbands until the end of time and now that it was about to come to fruition, all those nagging doubts started setting in again.

What if John woke up tomorrow morning and realised the mistake he made?  Sherlock didn’t think he could handle the heartbreak.  he strode over to the door.  He had to see John, make sure and as he opened the door, there stood John all smiles.

John inhaled deeply, “Look at you gorgeous.” He whispered reverently as he took Sherlock’s hands in his, “You weren’t trying to sneak away from me now were you?”

Sherlock’s let his eyes fall down to the floor.  He didn’t know what to say, so staying silent seemed best.

“Oh, I see.” John said slightly louder, he stepped inside the room and closed the door.  “Cold feet?  Afraid I’ll change my mind? Sherlock look at me?”

Sherlock raised his eyes to meet John’s shining blue eyes. “I..”

“Shh..” John hushed as he brushed his thumb across Sherlock’s lips.  “I thought you may be overthinking things so I snuck over here to tell you something.  I love you.  I have from the first night I met you and though we’ve had some hellish bumps along the way, this is what I want.  I know this is what you want and if you have any thoughts of not being good enough for me than just delete them because it’s simply not true.  You saved me Sherlock and I owe you my entire existence and I promised you I would not get sappy with the vows we read in front of our friends so that’s why I’m here now.  You need to hear this.  I love you for all the little things you do and don’t do and I never expect you to change and more than anything in this world I want you to wear my ring, just as I will wear yours so the whole world knows we belong to each other.  So why don’t you say we go get ourselves married now.  I think we’ve kept everybody waiting long enough and as Mrs. Hudson would probably say, years.”

Sherlock wiped the tears from his eyes and nodded his head in affirmation. “We have kept them all waiting far too long.”  He laced his hand in John’s and headed for the door, “Come now, let’s give them the wedding they’ve been waiting for.”  Sherlock pulled John close and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, “and about those vows, let’s make sure there’s not a dry eye in the crowd.”


send me a pairing and a number and i’ll write you a drabble

Omg this was the most amazing prompt ever. I loved drawing it and I love how it turned out. It;s just a pity that the tumble format really doesn’t suit landscape so well.

trinitywings: So i’d like Magicalock Lestrade again in 92 with Magicalock Mycroft (since I noticed no one has asked for him yet) in 73. But they both would be in their own separate color palettes and so will their backgrounds. But the two color palette backgrounds would merge in the middle. Mixing together. With Lestrade and Mycroft holding hands or something. Kind of like a allegory for two different beings becoming one. If that makes any sense at all. ^_^

Thanks for the amazing promp <3<3

edit. I think the closeup images are making the post too clunky so I am taking them out for now. If you want them in, tell me.

cinnamonwings-deactivated201409  asked:

Hi Pretty, I've been thinking about what colognes/perfumes the Sherlock characters might wear. Have you seen any posts on this topic. I'm hoping I'm not the only person crazy enough to be matching things like perfumes and nail polishes to BBC Sherlock characters...(0_0 )

NO YOU AREN’T.  I MAY HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THIS OFTEN ENOUGH TO HAVE PLAYED AT THE PERFUME COUNTER AT MACY’S A COUPLE OF TIMES.

Oh man, I actually found the perfect cologne for Sherlock.  I think it was Armani Code Ultimate.  There was vanilla, and cedar, and I’m pretty sure I remember some kind of citrus, and some kind of spicy ripe scent.

In my head, by default Sherlock smells like bergamot, and probably leather.  Have you ever smelled good leather or old wood that’s been polished with orange or grapefruit oil?  Yeah.  I bet he smells like that most of the time, with a cross-scent of chemicals or some kind of hand soap, depending on what he’s been working with recently.

But I can imagine an aromatic woody smell about him too, or a rich low scent of vanilla around him when he’s deliberately classing himself up.

John, now.  I imagine John wearing something like English Leather or Burberry Brit.  I bet he goes in for a kind of classic rugged-man thing.  But you know what?  It doesn’t really suit him.  He walks around with this cologne on and people are like, “Ummm…” and they want to suggest something better for him but it’s hard to figure out how to do that politely.

What he should be wearing is something warm and spicy.  John’s got a grounded, earthy nature to him that could really support scents that’d be too overdramatic on most people.  Cinnamon, pepper, anise, ginger, frankincense.  I have a little bottle of kyphi that would be so damn hot on him.

OR, though, I bet John could pull off the more voluptuous fruity and rich floral scents startlingly well.  Vanilla’s kind of…eh, no.  But, like, mango, heliotrope, clover…something rich and edible would suit him.  Orange blossom and peach, anchored with something darker.  Yeah.

Lestrade, now, he can pull off all the classic male scents: mint, pine, rosemary, leather, the fragrant woods (not all at once obviously).  Slap some Drakkar Noir or Eau Sauvage on him, and even though those scents have been around long enough that some would find them dated, he’d remind people they’re classic.  Ungh, can you imagine that lovely silver-stubbled jawline with Dolce & Gabbana’s The One drifting lickably around him?

Mycroft would undoubtedly wear something so expensively, understatedly sophisticated it’d make you want to beat your brains out against the wall.  Like Lestrade, he could probably wear almost anything, but you can bet Mycroft would go for the sort of thing you don’t really notice unless you pay attention, but that just makes you instinctively defer to his obviously innate wealth, power, and class.  Smooth, well-balanced, subtle, non-invasive.  Something lighter, I think.  He probably finds the bolder spicy, woodsy scents too flashy.

Although once in a while, when he wants to browbeat the point, he’ll go for something that smells like a very old, very well-kept manor house–old wood, leather, faint notes of tobacco and citrus, and a light rolling breeze coming in off the lawn.

As for the women, I think Molly probably likes simple sorts of perfumes.  I can see her going for things like rose, jasmine, or lily of the valley.

Mrs. Hudson is almost certainly a perfume wearer.  I bet she’s got good taste, but she’s a product of her time.  I have this intuition that things tend to smell a bit powdery on her.  She’d probably like it if a younger friend took her shopping for a new scent and got her to try out some of the more modern ones to find something she’d like.

Mary, I’m not sure about.  I could see her going for something like Bvlgari Jasmine Noir, kind of jasmine and mysterious spicy woods.  I would almost say I could imagine her wearing Obsession, but I think it would make her smell like a very expensive grandmother.  Maybe something similar but more updated, though.

Sherlock… fidgeted. His fingers swept restlessly over the few items on Mycroft’s desk (Mycroft pocketed the device) and Mycroft knew that whatever his outward body was doing, internally his brother was pacing wildly. Finally he gave that arrogant jerk to his chin that meant he was extremely nervous and pinned Mycroft’s gaze with his own. “You owe John a new suit.” Mycroft carefully did not retort that he’d bought the man the first one. “His was spoilt in the rain during your ridiculous errand.”

They both knew rain did not ruin a well made suit. That wasn’t what was happening here.

Mycroft almost pushed it. He almost said John’s trousers would have been truly ruined only if they’d been dropped on the street of that revolting alleyway as they’d been well on their way to being. He almost said it, because he had to know. It was critical he discover how vulnerable his brother was about this, how deeply a blow to that spot could strike. He almost did.

But he didn’t. He didn’t because Sherlock had gained nearly four pounds and had lost the frightening grey undertone to his skin and the ketones on his breath. He slept, sometimes—still not nearly enough, but he did sometimes sleep instead of falling into an exhausted stupor, and Mycroft knew with absolute certainty that there were no needle marks on him even in the hidden places. He would keep his mouth shut and buy John Watson a new suit every damned day of his life for the nightmares he was no longer having about getting The Call, the one that stopped his heart: not the one that said, “A pinpoint nuclear bomb has been detonated at Whitehall” but the one that said, “Sir, we need you to identify a bo—”

So instead he said mildly, “Ashton has his measurements.”

Sherlock snorted inelegantly. “Ashton. I suppose that amused you.”

“It did, actually.”

A haughty sniff, and his brother turned away to leave. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. Examining the brass minutely, he said, “He doesn’t…like suits. He likes jumpers.”

Mycroft blinked and was very glad Sherlock could not see his expression.

As if it physically pained him to say the words, Sherlock choked out, “Cabled ones.” They both winced.

“Oh, Sherlock. Instead of Ashton?”

Now Sherlock did turn around, and he dragged his eyes across the floor, up the line of the desk, to Mycroft’s face. “Sometimes he wears cardigans.”

— 

from The Thing Is by TSylvestris (56,743 words)

Johnlock. So far, so delightful. I can’t help but picture the scene from Addams Family Values when Granmama is telling a distraught Morticia about the disturbing fate of Pubert: “He could become… a lawyer… an orthodontist… president.” This makes me ridiculously happy. Plus a really delicious sibling relationship for Sherlock and Mycroft. Off you pop and read.

The Date - Rated T -

AO3 or FF? If you’d prefer, or just to leave some encouragement.. ;)


John was a stride and a half behind Sherlock as they made their way through the hallway, he could feel his irritation growing, the git knew his legs were impossibly long compared to his. John knew that far from minding Sherlock actually enjoyed lording it over him, any reason to feel superior, the ego stroking he required was unquenchable.

John, disgruntled now, “Sherlock, can you slow down and walk like a normal person for once?”

Sherlock smirked at him over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow, “Normal John? Or Hobbit speed?”

Hobbit speed?” John spluttered, outraged. He turned his head and frowned, “Hold on a moment, how do you know about Hobbits?”

Slowly slightly to let John catch up, Sherlock have him his patented poor slow John look, “How do I know about Hobbits? I did have a childhood John, I wasn’t born this way, although maybe that would have been preferable, to spring, fully formed clad in a suit, Belstaff, and scarf.”

John rolled his eyes, then side-eyeing him, “Why are you so chipper today anyway?”

“While I would never describe my mood as chipper, I am in fact feeling fine, and why not? The sun is shining, I’ve wrapped up a seven within three hours - a new record – and now I have a six to be getting on with, all in all, my day is going well, John.” With that he pushed through the double doors, heading through to Molly’s domain.

Entering the morgue they came upon a peculiar sight, Mycroft was smiling – smiling – at Molly. His words drifted across the room, “Six pm Saturday night, see you then Molly.”

Johns eyes bounced to and fro like he was watching a tennis match, looking like he’d had his Christmas, birthday and his wedding night all rolled into one, he didn’t even bother to hide his amusement.

Sherlock’s good mood had dissolved as quickly as tissue dropped in a puddle. He stood watching Mycroft and Molly, only his eyes moved but John could see them ricocheting back and forth between Molly and Mycroft.

His face was stony, absolutely stark, giving nothing away, but he couldn’t control his eye twitching. John wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he was literally vibrating with rage.

John wanted to laugh out loud, instead, just to poke the bear a little he popped up with, “A date? Well, good for them, it’s hard to find someone in this city.” He nodded at Sherlock as though he was imparting great wisdom.

Sherlock now looked positively murderous, - considering this was a man who had committed murder and gotten away with it - John wondered if Mycroft ought to begin worrying.

Mycroft looked over at them and nodded, “Sherlock, John, I trust I find you both well?”

Sherlock’s eyes were shooting sparks, “May I talk to you in the hallway, Mycroft?” His voice made it plain that it wasn’t a question.

Keep reading