Yours From The Beginning (Sherlock X Reader)

Yours From The Beginning (Sherlock x Reader)

Request:  Hey I love your fics and I was wondering if I could request a Sherlock x Reader fic using prompts 5 and 24. Thank you very much 💕 5 “It’s midnight, what do you want?” 24 “I’ve never felt this way before and I’m terrified, to be honest.”

Words: 1027

Warnings: Domestic violence, abuse, blood, angst.

Characters/Pairings: Sherlock x reader

A/N: I apologize for my long absence! I've been going through some mental health stuff, on top of college and moving... But I’m back! I have 4 more requests in my list and we are almost to 300 followers! I can’t believe it! Thank you guys so much! (Also imagine this gif as Sherlock coming to save you!)

All was silent in the building. The tenants of 221 Baker St. all slept on peacefully in their beds. John snores ever so softly, wrapped tightly in his tan sheets. Mrs. Hudson would mumble in her sleep, occasionally a scolding tone would slip out with Sherlock’s name as the subject. But these two are not what held the detective’s attention.

The doorknob quietly jingled as a key was inserted. How he got a copy was beyond the tenant of 221C. (Y/N) was curled up into a ball amongst her lavender blankets. She twitched in her sleep at the sound of footsteps closing in on her bedroom.

The door squeaked open, something she refused to fix specifically for this reason. She was a light sleeper.

“It’s midnight, Sherlock, what do you want?” Her rough, sleepy voice sounded from the mound of blankets. Sherlock didn’t stop as he made his way to her bed, lifting the duvet and nudging her to move over. She groaned and wiggled to the side, allowing him to lay next to her.

This isn’t the first time the two have shared a bed. Having grown up with each other the two knew each other like the back of their hands.

“What’s the matter?” She mumbled, wrapping her arms around him like she does when he’s in a mood. He was silent and she honestly didn’t mind. He seldom answered her if he didn’t want to. Most of the time he just wanted peace and quiet and that’s what she provided. As well as an ear to listen if he needed one.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck and tangled their legs together. She was wearing shorts. It sent his heart beating wildly. The softness of her skin, the gentle but firm grip of her arms around him, and the forgiving pressure of her body against his, it all had his mind fuzzy.

As children, (Y/N) was a cute kid but always covered in dirt, hair frizzy and band-aids covering her legs and arms. As teenagers, (Y/N) sprouted into a spitfire of a woman. Always questioning their teachers, getting into detention for talking back. Or for the time she shot a boy in the junk with a paintball gun for talking bad about Sherlock.

He hadn’t seen her for years after her family moved away in their junior year. They kept in touch, though. Sending letters and exchanging phone calls. He would tell her of the college he attended and the cases he solved after college.

She would indulge him of her career as a freelance writer. And of her boyfriend.

Robert wasn’t a good man. He was so charming and kind upon first getting to know him. He would take her out and make her feel like a princess. That was until they moved in together. He was smart, hitting her in spots that were easily hidden. Berating her and isolating her from her friends.

But she managed to stay in touch with Sherlock, not telling him of what was going on, however. Knowing how Sherlock was, she was able to keep it hidden from him, talking as normally as she had before this all happened.

But why not tell him? Simple. She didn’t want to seem weak. She was always able to handle herself growing up. So, she can handle this as well…

She broke, though. Robert had come home smelling of perfume and booze. He threw a vase at her head. She couldn’t remember why. She couldn’t remember much of that night. All she remembers is barely reaching her phone after Robert had passed out on the couch. Her vision was red with blood and the buttons of her phone were smudged red as she called Sherlock.

He had shown up to find her in a puddle of her blood. He nearly thought her dead, if it hadn’t been for the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Mycroft’s men had rushed in and swept her up and to the nearest hospital. Sherlock stayed behind.

He showed up at the hospital with bloodied fists and a split lip. After that, after her recovery, Sherlock arranged for her to move into 221C, where she had her privacy but was within reach of him.

That had been four months ago, and her hair was still boyish short from having her head shaved in order to stitch her up. Robert mysteriously disappeared, thanks to Mycroft, who thought of the woman as a little sister.

Having her here now, all grown up and beautiful, it awoke something in Sherlock.

“I’ve never felt this way before and I’m terrified, to be honest.” He murmured into her skin. She jerked slightly; having thought he had fallen asleep.

“How do you mean?” She carded her fingers through his dark curls. He tightened his arms around her.

“My heart races when I’m near you like this, my mind is hazy when I think of you. And I’m paralyzed when you smile at me. The air leaves my lungs when you cry and it’s as if the world turns grey. The thought of losing you feels like I’m dying.” Sherlock curled around her. Almost afraid of her response to his confession. He felt her take a deep breath and he braced for the worst.

“Shit, Sherl…” Her voice came out in a sob. His head shot up to look at her in the dim light. Tears glistened in her (e/c) eyes. A smile painted her face, however. His brow furrowed.

“Did I say something wrong? I-I apologize… I figure you don’t feel the same for me. I’d understand if-if you only saw me as nothing more than a brother or a close friend, but I-”

“Sherlock.” She cut him off, cupping his slightly scruffy cheek. He hasn’t shaved in a few days because of his latest case. She liked it.

“Yes?” He breathed.

“Just shut up for once.” She grinned, pressing her lips to his. Truth be told, she had always loved him. From the very beginning. She just figured the man who said love was weakness wouldn’t love her in return. 

Oh, how she was wrong.    

I often wonder what happened to authors of unfinished fanfictions.

GUYS

This is insane! It honestly feels like yesterday that we hit 200 followers! We're at 300 followers now! I just want to tell you all how much I appreciate you and how grateful I am that you have stuck with me, despite my long periods between updates. You mean so much to me and you're the reason I keep writing 🖤🖤🖤

How THE FUCK did I write almost every day before? What THE FUCK do I do to get back on that writing energy? Who THE FUCK do I have to bribe to get my words back? Why THE FUCK do I not have time/energy to write anymore?

Heyo great writer can you do Sherlock X daughter reader. Angsty please prompt 99 and 95 thank you

Added!

Hold My Hand (Mycroft Holmes x Reader)

Request: Hello! May I request a Mycroft Holmes x Reader with prompt 35? Please and thank you if you decide to write this!

Words: 1226

Warnings: fluff that turns into angst, character death, brain tumor, secret relationship.

Characters/Pairing: Mycroft x reader, a little of John and Sherlock.

Mycroft Holmes was not known as a very compassionate man. To some, his emotionless personality is seen as a strength, himself included in this. To others, it is viewed as insensitivity and rudeness. But to one such woman in his life, it is nothing but a shield to protect the ones he loves.

Should he show the affection he holds for her, her life will immediately be put into danger.

It is no secret that Mycroft is a targeted man. How could one not be when they hold so much power. Control a powerful man and you control his power.

It is why he keeps her close. Hidden in plain sight. She is nothing but an assistant in the eyes of those who do not know the man.

But away from prying eyes and gossiping lips, he holds her dear to his heart that he claims to not have. She consumes his mind when she is not in the room. And she is the only thing he sees when she is.

Which is why a deep sigh leaves his lips at her voice. He had pressing matters to be dealt with but she was a beacon and he was a moth drawn to her.

“My?” Her voice was slight and timid, he had been in a mood all day and she hated the thought of his anger being directed to her.

“Yes, my dear?” He rested his pen on the desk, closing the book he had been writing in. His blue eyes directed towards her softened at the sight of her in the grey pea coat he had gifted her. Soft lavender gloves adorned her hands and a deep purple scarf around her neck.

“You haven’t had a break yet. I thought we could go for a walk.” She gave him a sweet smile that had him fighting a returning one. It is true. It was well into the night, and he had been working since the early hours.

She always looked after him. Had him eat when he ought to. Had him take breaks to rest when he should. And forced him to take care in his work.

“Perhaps a break will be beneficial.” Rising from his chair he sorted his papers while she moved to grab his coat.

“Ah, thank you, dear.” He did offer a small smile this time when she helped him into his coat. She ducked her head with a smile. She was still unaccustomed to the small displays of affection that began when he had drawn her into his office one afternoon and confessed his thoughts.

Together, the left the building and into the chilly night. They walked in silence side by side. Close enough to pacify her desire to be with him, but far enough to not allude to their relationship. It hurt her tender heart.

They came to a café that was empty, close to closing but not for a while more.

“Let’s stop here. They have wonderful hot chocolate and pastries.” She grabbed his arm, stopping him and pointing to the quiet storefront. He stiffened at her touch, worried that someone may see.

Noticing this, her face fell. Dropping her hand, she turned her gaze to the pavement.

“Apologies, I was lost in the moment.” She turned before allowing him to reply. A cloud seeming to hang over her. His brows furrowed in guilt. An emotion he hadn’t been familiar with until her.

She was already at the counter ordering when he decided to follow. He got himself and pastry and hot chocolate, paying for his and her orders.

She was still silent as they drank and ate at the small table. Their knees brushed but every time they did, she would jerk away. It didn’t take a genius like him to understand that this secret relationship was finally taking its toll on her. He knew this would happen, of course.

It is the reason it took him ages to even consider this relationship. Eventually, she would grow weary of the secret. It is that time.

As they finished, she was still silent. In the quiet, cold street, she stood further from him on the way back.

“My dear.” His voice cut through the silence. Her head snapped up, her despair melting away. Could it be? He never called her such tender names in public. Is this what she has been waiting for?

“Yes, Mycroft?” Her heart thumped in her chest, nearly breaking out of her ribcage in anticipation.

“May I hold your hand, my love?”

The grin that overtook her face was the reason Mycroft finally believed he had a heart. Because if he didn’t, the overwhelming giddy hammering in his chest would be something of concern.

“Of course, My! You don’t even have to ask.” Reaching out she took his offered hand in hers and laced their fingers together. Finally, she thought. With such a simple act, she felt complete. She felt closer to him as if nothing could separate them again.

How wrong they were.

All had been going well from then on. Dates to fancy restaurants, walks in the park, even cozy nights in with popcorn and movies.

However, they noticed something was wrong when she began to forget the simplest of things. It started as forgetting to send emails. Then important meetings, until it progressed to forgetting big dates such as her and Mycroft’s fifth anniversary. It was then Mycroft decided she needed to go to the doctors.

The tumor was small. But nestled right next to the hippocampus, right in the center of the brain. Not a place easily accessed. And the tumor was growing quickly.

“I’m sorry, but even if we go through with the surgery, there’s a slim chance of survival.” The doctor held her clipboard tight to her chest, the stony face of Mycroft was off-putting. Not that she could blame him, having just told him that his wife won’t survive with the tumor and even may not survive the surgery to remove it.

“Thank you, Doctor.” Mycroft turned away, walking into the room where his wife was laid on that godforsaken hospital bed. She looked away from Sherlock upon hearing her husband enter. She gave him a small smile, hoping to ease his mind. Not that it worked.

“What did the Doctor say?” John asked from his chair in the corner. Instead of answering Mycroft held open the door.

“Boys, if I may be alone with my wife?” He asked when they didn’t move. John and Sherlock exchanged a look before rising and exiting the room. Mycroft closed the door behind them and took the seat Sherlock had occupied.

He was silent for a long while, just staring at her hands placed in his own. They were pale and clammy. Not at all how they had been all those years ago. When he had asked to hold her hand in public for the first time.

“I’m not going to make it am I?” Her voice wasn’t sad. Nor was it angry. It was just tired. She was tired. His silence said it all. The way he buried his face into their joined hands, his lips pressing to her fingers, told her everything she needed to know.

“I’m sorry.” The stone was cold under his fingertips. The golden band on his ring finger gleamed in the morning light.