why is mycrofts head so big

While you were sleeping - thepurplewombat - Sherlock (TV) [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Six months after the last time they stood together in 221B, John brings Sherlock home. It’s not at all as he had imagined it. He had thought that he’d help Sherlock up the stairs, Sherlock bitching all the way. He thought Sherlock would lie on the couch and whinge for John to bring him tea and his phone and his laptop, and he would have to stop Sherlock from trying to do too much too soon, and he thought that maybe, finally, someday, they’d have the opportunity to say all the things they’ve never had the guts to say before.

Basically, he thought Sherlock would wake up.

But Sherlock hasn’t woken up, and every day he doesn’t wake up the odds of him ever doing so go down. Sherlock would have been able to tell John by exactly how much those odds fall every day, but Sherlock’s not here so John will just…carry on.

221B looks a bit different now. Mycroft’s people have been through, converting Sherlock’s bedroom into something suitable for the long-term care of coma patients. The bed is new; high enough that John won’t kill his back doing all the million and one things Sherlock will need done, and adjustable. With the alterations comes Miss Natasha, a stunning redhead with the faintest trace of a Russian accent, who will be acting as Sherlock’s carer when – if - John eventually goes back to the clinic. She moves into 221C and immediately charms Mrs Hudson, tells her to call her Nat, and chatters to her in Russian when they think John can’t hear them. Mycroft said she was ‘on loan’ but didn’t say where from, and John doesn’t ask. She moves like Mary did when she thought he wasn’t looking, so he thinks assassin, but she came from Mycroft, so…bodyguard?

Nat teaches John how to do Sherlock’s exercises. He has to be turned every few hours, and his muscles and joints have to be worked. Nat won’t let John do the more personal tasks for Sherlock, and when he argues she asks him if he really thinks Sherlock would want him to see him like this? John gives up, and lets her deal with the intimate details.

Mycroft comes by once a week and John leaves the two of them alone. John doesn’t know what Mycroft talks about to Sherlock, and doesn’t ask, but once as he leaves John can swear he sees the remains of tears on Mycroft’s face. Mummy and Father visit less often, Molly almost every day. Lestrade mainly comes around to bitch at Sherlock to wake up, because the Met’s solve rate is going down the cacky without him. Some nights John comes down and Mrs Hudson is asleep in the chair by Sherlock’s bed, her knitting limp in her hands.

John shaves Sherlock’s face every morning and his head once a week. He doesn’t like the way Sherlock looks naked without his curls, but John can’t keep the curls as clean as Sherlock did, and Sherlock absolutely despised having his hair dirty. He sets a reminder on his phone to have someone come by to do Sherlock’s nails, and phones Sherlock’s favourite place himself. The owner comes herself – owed him a favour, naturally. She doesn’t mention money and neither does John, and she cries as she files and clips and scours and massages and anoints Sherlock’s hands and feet. She leaves behind a bottle of hand lotion that smells like Sherlock, and John uses it when he massages Sherlock’s limbs to keep the blood flowing. She comes back two weeks later without John having phoned, and just like that it’s a routine.

John spends his days by Sherlock’s bedside, reading to him from technical manuals and women’s mags and – occasionally, and maybe in the hope that it will make him wake up if only to tell John to shut up – novels. He reads Austen to Sherlock with a sense of malicious glee, and secretly thinks that Darcy reminds him a bit of someone he knows. He tells Sherlock that, just to be annoying.


Three months later, Mycroft shows up at the door with a baby. John’s baby.

“My people tracked Mary down in Mexico,” he says as John stares in awe at the tiny person in his arms. “She’s yours. Had you thought about baby names?”

John blinks at him for a long time before the question really sinks in.

“Is Sherlock really a girl’s name?” he blurts, and Mycroft snorts in laughter. John’s never really seen Mycroft laugh like that before, and it piles another layer of surreality on top of…well, everything. The neatness of the flat, the faint beeping of the heart monitor from the open door to Sherlock’s room. Mycroft, undone enough to laugh.

“No, but Sherlock did once say that if he were a girl, he would want to be called Violet.”

And that’s how Violet Wilhelmina Watson gets her name.

Mycroft’s people arrive with nappies and bottles and clothes and a cot and all the million and one other things that John never thought to need, after Mary disappeared between Baker Street and Bart’s six months ago. Violet is six months old when she comes to Baker Street, with her mother’s big eyes and the Watson nose. Poor tyke.

John sits in his armchair next to Sherlock’s bed to feed her her first bottle, and tells Sherlock what she looks like.

“She’s so beautiful, Sherlock, you can’t even imagine how beautiful she is,” and John’s heart is so full that it spills over from his eyes, tears dripping on Violet’s sleeping face.

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The Case of the Phantom Part 1

 A/N: Here you go guys. I received more likes than I thought. So I upload the first part. I hope you like it as much as I do.
Also Ereena Valenza is an OC of a friend of mine and besides the known characters of Sherlock every other perso mentioned in it is imagined by me.

Word count: 2140 (sorry for mistakes you may find)
Warnings: None (I think)

(Y/N) (Y/L/N)  = Your Name Your Last Name
(Y/H/S) = Your Hair Style
(Y/H/L) = Your Hair Legnth
(Y/H/C) = Your Hair Color
(Y/E/C) = Your Eye Color



A cold wind blew in the air of Paris. It was in the early evening of October 1929. Cars were driving in the muddy roads of the French city, a few horses here and there were also seen, rare in this time when you had the money for one of this useful vehicles.

One of these vehicles drove near the old Opera House, which held an auction of all the reminding items in the old building. Out came a Lady in her 40‘s with blond hair that already had a few little grey strands in it. She wore a green coat that ended by hear knees and had brown fur at the end of it. Together with a Nurse she helped an elder men out of the car and helped him into a Wheelchair. „Thank you love.“ the man said in a gruff voice. The blond Lady smiled to the man. „But of course Father. It is time for me to return what you gave me all your life.“ With that the Woman walked first to the Opera followed by the nurse who pulled the wheelchair.

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Hello lovelies! I really love the delicious bondlock, 00Q prompts you did and if you have time, here is another bondlock prompt: Q is not only a half brother to both the sherlock and mycroft but also a half brother to moriarty? So imagine Q being stuck in the middle between the two feuding factions and Q being exasperated that the only way Moriarty, Sherlock and Mycroft could work together is to threaten Q’s lovers and in this case the newest victim is 007. Thanks! – elenyar

YES I love this. Jen.

Q was in deep trouble.

“Hey hey, little brother,” Jim crowed – and he always bloody crowed, always seemed to be taking some of malicious joy in everything he ever did – and Q felt his heart stop beating a little because this was it, his life was over. “So you have a new boyfriend.”

Q restrained the urge to vaguely whimper and hit Jim repeatedly over the head with something solid. “Yes. And it’s nothing to do with you.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Absolutely not, he’s my boyfriend and you have nothing to do with anything. So fuck right off.”

Q’s second mobile rang; caller ID read as Mycroft, somewhat unsurprisingly. “… Jim, I have to go.”

“Big brother?”

Q let out a small aggravated noise. “Why, why did God curse me with a million and one brothers? Just one of you, just one would have done, you’re all hard enough work on your own but no I have to contend with the lot of you while two of you are busy destroying one another’s lives for no explicable reason.”

“Do not bring Sherlock into this.”

You started it,” Q said, in what was determinedly not a shriek. Not at all. “Now fuck off, Jim, and if you play silly buggers abducting my boyfriend I swear to god I will destroy everything you’re currently doing in Kabul.”

There was a moment of suspended, livid silence. “Remember who you’re talking to,” Jim hissed.

“Yes, Jim. I do. Which is why I’m threatening you. Remember who I am, too, once in a while.”

“That’s not fair.”

Q rolled his eyes. “Tough shit. Bye,” he said, and hung up. Q conceded defeat, and answered his second phone. “Hi Mycroft.”

“I’ve been informed that you have selected James Bond as your new love interest?”

“There is nobody in the world that can make romance disappear as quickly and efficiently as you,” Q told Mycroft drily. “Yes. I have a new boyfriend. He’s my boyfriend.”

“He does seem to be more or less devoted,” Mycroft conceded. “Although I must concede that he’s a living nightmare to abduct.”

“You abducted James Bond?!”

Mycroft hummed under his breath. “Sherlock assisted,” he admitted. “He has now been released back into the wilds of London, I have no doubt he will be with you shortly.”

As though on cue, another one of Q’s phones started ringing. Jim had also sent about forty texts in quick succession, threatening – and presumably managing – to abduct James, given his conspicuous absence.

Want him back? – JM

Q let out a vague moan. “Mycroft, I’ll kill you and Sherlock later, but I have to ensure that Jim won’t kill James so I’ll be back later. I am beyond livid and I’m going to destroy you and Sherlock’s credit ratings again, or something similarly unpleasant, so look forward to that.”

“We are simply concerned for your safety.”

The irony was absurd; the sibling of the most dangerous man alive (Mycroft), the most psychotic (Jim) and the most irritating (Sherlock) was supposedly being kept ‘safe’ through all of the above interfering. Q would have been safest on his own.

“I’m going to kill you all.”

“Speak soon, little brother.”

Stop calling me that!

Mycroft hung up. Q’s other phone was ringing.

Q let out a warrior cry of sheer fury, lobbed the phone at the door, nearly decapitated R as she attempted to enter, and decided to fuck everything and tip a liberal quantity of scotch into his next cup of tea in an attempt to survive the afternoon.

Mycroft DID NOT help Sherlock fake his death

This one is going to be the first backing meta for the Analyzing the rooftop scene post. It ‘d be better if you have read the main meta first in order to be aware of all the points and arguments used there, but it works perfectly on its own as well. 

As I already explained in the main post, I don’t believe Mycroft and Molly helped Sherlock fake his death and the simplest argument for this is that in this case there was no reason for Sherlock to fabricate a false explanation when he returned to London. I will also remind you of my RULE #2:  When you see a character in a show or a movie act devastated, confused, scared or sad when they are alone or nobody sees them, then this is genuine, otherwise we are talking about poor writing, cheap tricks and huge plot holes, no matter what excuse is given afterwards.

In short the point of this post is that Mycroft knew exactly what would happen to Sherlock, he didn’t help his brother fake his death and he’s not a villain. Too crazy? Not really. 

First of all, I will explain why I am such a strong believer that Mycroft is a good guy. I don’t believe Moriarty works for Mycroft and I don’t believe Mycroft works for Moriarty either. And, in fact, a single scene as evidence is enough for me: 

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The Case of the Phantom Preview

A/N: I wrote some Sherlock x  Reader with a mix of ‘Phantom of the Opera‘ because I love it! It takes place between 1889 and 1929 (I swtich a little in time). It will have more parts and let me know what you think about it.So here you have a little preview of what comes up to you.
And remeber English is not my nativ language so please bare with me if you see any mistakes.

The carriage ride to Paris was unbearable for John Watson and his Friend the famous detective Sherlock Holmes. „Why are we again travelling to Paris?“ John asked annoyed when the carriage again drove over a big rock sending both men out of their seats. „Because“ Sherlock Holmes started to sit in his right spot again  and fixing his top hat. „Mycrofts friends her in France bought a Opera House a few months ago, stupid if you ask me, but this so called friend meant there were ghosts.“ The Doctor rose an eyebrow. Holmes shook his head before his friend could say something. „Like I said before. Stupid. But something or more like someone is killing people in this Opera House and we my dear Watson will find out who.“ With that the conversation was settled.

Just five minutes later they arrived at the infamous Opera House. When the British men walked out of the carriage and paid the driver, they were greeted by a man, Sherlock assumed to be the new owner and the friend of his brother. „Mr. Holmes I‘m so glad that you are here.“ The man took Sherlocks hand and shook it. The Detective could easily see that this man was afraid. His whole body shook, he was paler than the moon and he had dark circles under his eyes due to lack of sleep he had. „Monsieur Rousseau I assume than. You already know me.“ The dark haired man turned to his bearded friend. „Monsieur Rousseau this is Doctor John Watson. He will accompany me through this case.“ Both men shook hands and even John could sense the uneasiness that hung in there near the big, old looking building.

Monsieur Rousseau lead the men into the house. His curly red hair shine in the golden light of the Operas impressive crystallise Chandeliers. „Welcome to the Opera House ‚Maison de Muse‘. If you need anything please let me know. Ereen Valenza and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) will show you around. I have to attend some business. Good day Gentlemen.“ With these Words he left and after mere minutes two young ladies came into view. One had long shining black hair pulled back into a half ponytail and with icy grey eyes but with a heart warming smile. The other Woman had (Y/H/S) (Y/H/L) (Y/H/C) and (Y/E/C) that came out just perfect into the golden lighting of the Chandeliers. Both wore some kind of ballet dresses.

Both of them came to a stand in front of the men. „Bonjour Monsieurs.“ the black haired girl started with a friendly smile. „I‘m Ereena Valenza. But please just call me Ereena. My Mother Nicoline Valenza she is the concierge here. And this“ she pointed to the Girl beside her. „This is (Y/N) (Y/L/N). The greatest singer in whole France.“ she laughed and (Y/N) punched her shoulder a little. „I just dance in the background.“ she corrected her friend. John smiled at both of them. „Wonderful to meet the both of you. I‘m Doctor John Watson and this is my friend Sherlock Holmes.“
Sherlock was still the whole time. Examining both Women with his deducing skills. Ereen was easy to deduce. A only child but still loved by her Mother, has great talent in her and is a very friendly Girl. But this (Y/N) was a true mysterious to him.