In Your Hands (Draco Malfoy X Reader)

In Your Hands (Draco Malfoy X Reader)

Request: Yayyy Potter fan~!!! I was wondering if you could do a Reader x Draco where the reader is super super super shy and soft and just a pure ball of innocence and purity (Like ya wanna hug them cause they so smol and pure) and many love the reader but their heart is set on their lovable boyfriend Draco??? Just pure pure fluff :3 thank you 💞💞💞

Words: 1048

Characters/Pairings: Draco x Reader, Fred Weasley, George Weasley

Warnings: Fluff, my man.

A/N: I’m sorry for my long absence. I’ve been going throw some stuff and writing honestly just seemed like the hardest thing to bring myself to do. But I’m working on bringing myself back and will try to fill the requests I still have. Thank you for your patience. 

The small figure of the Ravenclaw moved swiftly through the crowded hallways, classes were over and they had a date with their recently obtained boyfriend after. They smiled to themselves at the thought of the blonde Slytherin.

Draco Malfoy never seemed like the type to give a shy Ravenclaw any attention, especially a half-blood as they were. But after being paired up in potions, both of which excelled at, Draco was singing a different tune.

That is to say when they were alone. No one knew of their recent admission of feelings nor the fact they were even friends. It wasn’t as if Draco wanted to hide the fact that they were together, but he didn’t want word getting back to his father. 

No doubt the elder Malfoy would force them apart, breaking both the teenagers’ hearts. And (Y/N) was content with the secret courtship, as long as they had him in the night, then they could wait until they graduated. Then, they’d run away from the Malfoys and live together in a cottage in the country. 

Lost in thought, (Y/N) didn’t see the tall figures coming toward her until she ran into one. With a squeak and a deep blush, the Ravenclaw jumped back and apologized.

“I-I’m-I’m so sor, sorry!” Their head was bowed so all they saw were two pairs of tattered trainers. 

“Hey, (Y/N), it’s no problem!” The voice of Fred Weasley sounded above her, to the right.

“Yeah, we know we’re so magnetic that you couldn’t help but bump into us!” George was on the left.

Looking up, (Y/N) saw the two with charming grins on their faces, hands in their pockets with their sleeves rolled up. Truly an attractive sight. If her face wasn’t red before, it certainly was now.

These two were very popular. So popular that (Y/N) didn’t even know that the two knew their name. They were just a reclusive Ravenclaw after all. They always had people around them so it wasn’t surprising that they had a crowd of friends behind them. 

“U-Um….” (Y/N) didn’t know what to say. Having this many eyes on them sent their blood rushing to their face and the breath to leave their lungs. Their words stuck in their throat.

“We’re all going down to Hogsmeade, want to join us?” Fred asked with a grin.

“We’ll even treat you to a butterbeer! Sounds fun, yeah?” George added. 

How do you say no? They can’t say they have a date already; they’d ask with who. And they can’t say no because they have to study, that would make them look like a stiff. And just saying no would be rude in general. Oh, Godric. Since when was there such a lack of oxygen in the castle? 

“Don’t you Weasleys have anything better to do?” The voice behind them sent their heart soaring. Draco! They schooled their features but couldn’t quite hide the glimmer in their eyes. 

“What was that, Malfoy?” Fred glared over (Y/N)’s head at the younger boy. 

“You heard me. Back off, (Y/N) and I have a project for Potions to work on. And I’m not going to fail because of some red-headed pricks.” Draco laid a hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder in a possessive way but was rather gentle. 

“As if someone like them would want to hang out with a prat like you!” George crossed his arms and widened his stance. It seemed like things were about to get ugly. 

“W-wait.” Their voice was just above a whisper, but they managed to get the three boys’ attention. “I-I prom-promised Draco I’d help tonight.”

The twins deflated and looked at each other before shrugging. 

“Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where our common room is,” They said together.

“They won’t,” Draco mumbled as they walked away. (Y/N) sighed and grabbed his hand, after making sure no one was around.

“Come on, Draco.”

After the incident, Draco led them to an empty classroom. Well empty of desks and chairs, but was filled with floating candles, cushions and blankets. The entire room was cozy as a fire crackled in the fireplace. Small snacks and fruit were spread out on a tray in front of the cushions.

Draco had them sit amongst the cushions, with them in between his legs. Their back rested against his chest as he ran his fingers through their hair. Their face was crimson as he whispered in their ear. 

He didn’t want to let them go. He never had anyone who showed him so much affection and love like they did. He wanted to show them how much he appreciated them choosing him. No one ever chose him. At least, just for the sake of him. Either people avoided him for who they thought he was, or they befriended him for the power of his parents. It was never just Draco. 

In their time, they spoke of nothing and everything, of time and space, and of music and magic. Together, they dined on strawberries and butterbeer, letting the alcohol warm their veins, along with their complete adoration for the other. 

(Y/N) was comfortable here. In Draco’s arms. Upon first meeting Draco, they didn’t know what to make of him. They, of course, were terrified of meeting someone new. Let alone someone with such a shady family reputation.

But (Y/N)’s mother always told her to never judge a book by its cover. And they are so glad that they didn’t. Draco was sweet and considerate. Always taking care to not pressure the nervous Ravenclaw. Even when they first met, he was nice. As nice as he could be in the eye of the public. So, he basically ignored them, while slowly falling in love with his Potions partner. 

His grip tightened around their waist, his forehead dropping to their shoulder. “Draco? Are you alright?” (Y/N) inquired, bringing up a hand to run through his hair. He caught the appendage and laced his fingers with theirs. Looking up, he locked eyes with his partner and kissed the back of their hand. Their face was red with hot embarrassment. 

“I love you.” He pressed another kiss to the inside of their wrist. Then their palm. A kiss of adoration and desire and one to symbolize that his heart is in their hands.

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.

Perfect For Me (Steven Grant x Reader)

Words: 2.2K

Warnings/Themes: Angst,Self-hatred, body insecurity, hurt/comfort, fluff, light nudity (non-sexual)

Characters/Pairings: Steven Grant x reader, Marc Spector

liavaleska asked:

Hellooo! How are you? I hope you are doing great. Can I request something where reader comforts Steven Grant when he is feeling insecure about his body? Ty❤️

A/N: Sorry it took me a while to get this up! But here it is and I hope you enjoy it. It came out a tab bit angstier than I intially wanted but I'm quite proud of this one! Let me know what you think :)

Tired eyes mindlessly watched the little goldfish bob around its tank. The only sound filling the apartment was that of the tank’s filter. Rain pattered against the windows. Each door that opened or closed in the building had her peeking at the door through the tank. It was a quiet evening. As it had been for the past few days, nearing two weeks.

Nearly two weeks of silence. All because the other occupant of the apartment was hardly around anymore. Something was up with one of the boys. She had hoped one of them would have confided in her. But they are alters of Marc Spector. Mr. Secret.

The notion of her husband keeping secrets saddened her. It wasn’t hard to suspect that something was wrong. Steven would be up before her and leaving for work earlier than usual. Before he would wrap himself tighter around her when her alarm would go off, begging her to stay in bed for a few more minutes.

He had also picked up the habit of jogging. At first, she had been happy for him; happy he had found a healthy hobby. But now she’s questioning how healthy it really is. The bags under his eyes darkened with the passing of each day. Getting up early, going on jogs, and working as Khonshu’s personal plaything, had to be tiring. Not to mention she didn’t really see him enough to confirm that he had eaten that day.

“At least you’re around, huh, Gus?” She murmured, chin resting on her palm. The fish swam into his pyramid. A groan left her as she hung her head. Great. Even the fish didn’t want to spend time with her. Pushing out of her seat, she decided it was time for bed. The clock on the wall read 1am.

A quick glance at her phone showed that her messages had been read. But there had been no response.

‘Hey, love. Just wondering when you’ll be home. Any ideas for dinner?’

Read at 7:30pm.

‘Hey, again, you’re probably busy so I wrapped up dinner for you. Chinese takeout, your favorite! Love you <3’

Read at 10:46pm

With a heavy heart, she typed out one last text.

‘Going to bed now. Love you, darling’

She didn’t wait for a reply and stuck her phone on the charger. Tears pricked at her eyes as she stared at the empty bed. This would be the sixth night in a row that she would be going to bed by herself. The cold, white duvet laughed up at her. Sniffling, she padded over to the closet and pulled out one of Steven’s hoodies, and tugged it on. His scent filled her nose but didn’t bring the comfort she craved. Rather, it broke the dam holding back her tears.

She wished she could help him. Wished he let her help him. Wanted him to know that he wasn’t alone in whatever he was going through. If only he would just let her in. Her teeth bit into the soft flesh of her lip as she tried to stifle the sobs. Curled up on the bed, she hugged Steven’s pillow to her chest.

Keys knocking against the door had her freezing. The door slowly creaked open and heavy, tired footsteps entered the apartment. The sound of a duffle hitting the floor broke her out of her trance and had her shooting up.

“Steven?” The figure outlined by the light of the fish tank shuffled over to the bed, standing at the foot.

“No, sorry…” Marc said, voice low and, dare she say, sad. She quickly flicked on the lamp on her nightstand, beckoning him towards her.

“What’s wrong, Marc? Are- are you guys okay?”

Marc was silent for a few heartbeats, his silence giving her time to think of every possible thing that could be wrong. Steven doesn’t love her anymore, Khonshu’s asking too much, they have some terminal disease… Her lip wobbled more with each new possibility.

“No… No, we’re not okay.” Marc whispered, “Steven doesn’t want me to tell you… but I don’t think he’s okay.”

He sounded so tired, and his eyes didn’t even come up to meet hers as he spoke. Whatever was wrong, it had been going on for a while and it’s become too much for Marc to handle. With a frown, she grabbed his hand to tug him onto the bed.

While she wasn’t in a romantic relationship with him, Marc was still important to her. He was like a brother to her. Without him, she wouldn’t even have Steven.

“Tell me, Marc… Tell me what’s wrong,” she begged softly. If he closed the door now after letting her get a toe in, she might completely break down. He sagged forward with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

“I just wish I could have protected him better… All of this is my fault. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I know this has been hurting you too, but I don’t know how to help him. He won’t eat; he runs until we have blisters… Hell, he’s been fronting during almost every fight and I can’t make him give me the body…”

It was as if once the words started pouring out of his mouth, they wouldn’t stop.

“The only reason I’m fronting now is that I think he was just too exhausted to…” The sigh that left him was far beyond his age. It was the sigh of someone too tired to continue. “You gotta help us, Y/N… You gotta help Steven.”

With a tear-streaked face, she nodded.

<><> 

Marc had showered and changed into Steven’s favorite pajamas before climbing into bed. Y/N lay on her side of the bed, wishing that it was her husband she was falling asleep next to. She wanted to hold him close, to protect him from the dangers of his own mind. She could only hope that when she woke up, it would be Steven kissing her awake as he used to.

Her sleep was a light and fitful one. An odd form of sleep paralysis. She could hear the sounds of their apartment, and Marc’s heavy snores next to her. But she couldn’t move. Worry and fear gripped her body like a vice.

Time seemed to still be flowing as one moment she was hearing Marc’s snores, then the next Steven’s much softer breaths. Unconsciously, her hand drifted toward her husband. Her love. Her partner who needed her help.

She couldn’t be sure if her hand ever touched him. Because it was his strained whispers that had her fully conscious. The lamp in the living area was lit and he stood in front of a full-length mirror.

“You overstepped, mate. I told you not to tell her.”

She blinked heavily, unsure if this was a dream or not. A quick hand over his side of the bed told her that it was not and that he hadn’t been gone for long.

“I don’t care! If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be here with a big bloody scar on our chest from that fight! Or the other dozen scars everywhere else!” His voice started to rise.

She couldn’t help but stare at his back as he whispered furiously into the mirror on the other side of the apartment.

“She’s not gonna… she wouldn’t want a human scratching post. Y/N deserves more than… this. I mean, look at us…” He inhaled a shuttering breath. His strong hands gripped the edge of the standup mirror. “A million scars, rubbish bags under our eyes… gross stretch marks, unflattering dad bod.”

His final whispered confession had her finally jumping out of bed.

“I just wish I could be the man she deserves.”

She gave him no time to react before she slammed into his back, wrapping her arms around his middle and bunching the fabric of his shirt in her hands.

His breath caught in his throat, shame filling him. He could feel her sobs more than hear them. Gods, he made her upset. That had been the last thing he wanted to do, but Marc’s words from earlier rang through his head.

“You’re hurting her. Leaving early, coming home late, not making love with her, and keeping the lights off when you do. It’s hurting her. She told me so.”

A sob forced its way from his throat, and hot tears fell down his cheeks. His teeth bit harshly into his lip as he bowed his head, unwilling to look at the reflection of Marc’s pitying look.

“I’m so sorry…So, so sorry.” His hands grasped hers over his chest, right over the scar that had started this whole thing. She shook her head, whimpering into his shirt.

“No, please, Steven.” She took a shuddering breath, “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m not mad; or upset with you… I’m upset for you.”

His eyes screwed closed, his lips pressed into a line to suppress his cries.

“I wish I could take this pain away from you. I wish I could love these thoughts out of your mind. You do such an amazing job of protecting me; I wish I did a better job at protecting you.” She pulled her hands from his to drift to his sides and gently turned him to face her.

He kept his head bowed. The shame, the self-hatred, the ugly expression on his face, it wasn’t something she needed to see. The flinch he gave when her gentle hand cupped his cheek was uncontrollable. Her hand dropped back down to her side.

“Steven, let me help you. Whatever you’re trying to keep from me, whatever it is you are trying to hide, I will still love you. Nothing will ever make me not love you; nothing will ever make me think you are undeserving. You are the only man in this entire universe that I will ever love.”

He didn’t flinch when her hand touched him this time. Instead, he pressed his tear-stained cheek into her palm. They both let out heavy breaths. A hand littered with scars he hated so much, gripped her waist. The other, just as scarred as the right, cupped the back of her neck and he brought their foreheads together.

“I’m sorry that I’ve upset you, love. I just... I don’t know how to… how to let someone help. But I know I need it.” Steven swallowed the lump still stuck in his throat. “I am truly fortunate to have you be the one to help me, though.”

“I’m even luckier to have you,” She whispered before leaning forward to press her lips to his. His grip tightened and he pulled her flush to his chest. Flames followed in the wake of her fingers tracing up his stomach to rest on his chest, lovingly stroking the raised skin of the scar. His heart was thundering and he was sure she could feel it under her fingertips.

Salty tears blended on their skin, hiccupping sobs breaking from his sweet lips. As if touching glass, she wiped his tears away, cooing and shushing him. Chocolate eyes locked with hers. Walking backward and not breaking eye contact, she tugged him by the hand towards the bed. Steven followed obediently while wiping his tears with his sleeve.

The bed was cool against her skin as she leaned against the pillows, opening her arms for him. The air was thick with tension as he stood still, watching her. The stifling air was broken when he pulled his shirt over his head with shaking hands. His body is on full display in the dim lighting. While the suit heals wounds, it doesn’t erase scars.

It didn’t seem possible, the amount of love and acceptance in her gaze. It made his breath catch in his throat and warm goosebumps break out over his skin. Wishing for him to be in her arms, she made grabby hands for him. The action made his lips quirk up.

Slowly, he crawled in between her legs and she sat up to wrap her arms around his middle. Soft lips ghosted over the scar as her hands smoothed over his sides. His head was nuzzled into her hair and his arms wrapped around her back.

After breathing each other in, she leaned back and guided him to rest his head on her chest. His strong arms constricted around her middle. Her socked foot caressed his calf while her lips kissed the top of his head.

“If I get too heavy, I can move.” He couldn’t help but mumble. Gentle fingers carded through his hair and trailed down his back. Painted nails lightly scraped over his skin, leaving a trail of more goosebumps.

“If you dare move, I’m going to handcuff you to myself and swallow the key,” she threatened.

Steven let out a breathy chuckle and relaxed more into her. The patterns she was tracing into his skin were hypnotic and slowly, his eyes began to drift closed. A low sweet hum filled his ears.

As he focused on her fingers, he realized she wasn’t just doodling random patterns. It was letters. Words.

‘I love you’

‘Perfect’

‘Strong’

Tears pricked his eyes once more. He tilted his head to press a lingering kiss to her collarbone.

“I’ve got you, Steven. I’m not going anywhere. Not when I’ve got the perfect man for me in my arms.”

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?

I often wonder what happened to authors of unfinished fanfictions.

The Time I Wasted (Sherlock Holmes x Daughter!Reader)

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

Words: 1529

Warnings: Angst. Character death. Blood. Wound infection. Gore. Detached father. Parent death. Torture. Basically an angst salad. Curse words.

Characters/Pairings: Sherlock x daughter!reader, John, Mary, Mycroft, Moriarty.

A/N: I started writing this, hated it. Deleted it. Rewrote it. And died. Enjoy.

A sigh was heard from the kitchen. Followed by a mumbled curse. Another one. Another goddammed head.

“Dad!” A young woman’s voice called. “Dad!” She called again when there was no answer. He was most likely deep in his mind palace again. She groaned.

What was she supposed to do with the head dripping a mysterious clear goo all over their food? He wouldn’t be happy if she got rid of it, but now she can’t even prepare dinner.

Looking over to the man perched in his chair, she tapped her foot with her hands on her hips. “Dad, do you want take-out?” She knew it was a long shot in asking but sometimes it was nice to imagine that he would actually reply.

You see, despite the great detective, Sherlock Holmes, being her father, she did not share the same intelligence as him. Yes, she was smart, enough to breeze through school, but not enough to gain the attention of her father. He often ignored her or treated as he did everyone else. Like an idiot.

Fed up with the silence and the fucking head, she stormed from the kitchen to the door, barely grabbing her coat.

“I’m going to Uncle John’s.” She threw over her shoulder, not really looking at the man. It’s not like he cared anyway. Nobody really did. Maybe John and Mary, but they were too wrapped up in their own lives and she didn’t want to bother them.

This is why as she left the flat, she didn’t hail a cab to her Uncle’s home. Instead, she took a left, hands buried deep in her pockets and headed nowhere. She was never wanted here anyway.

Her father had an uncharacteristic, drunken tryst with her mother twenty-one years ago. He had been on a case apparently that involved a serial lover/murder. Guess he was just putting himself in the killer’s shoes. But nine months later, after he was long gone, little (Y/N) was born. Everything was great, though. Her mother poured everything she had into raising her. She was her best friend. Her confidant. Then it was all stripped away.

When she was twelve, her mother died in a plane crash. She had been on a two-week business trip and was finally coming home. But rather than her loving mother opening the door, it was a woman from social services, coming to take her to her father.

For another ten years, she would live as a ghost in this strange man’s home. Wanting nothing more than to have a loving parent to replace the one she had lost.

She didn’t know how long she walked. It must have been hours because the sky had gone dark a long time ago. But she had no intention of going back yet. Maybe not ever. Nothing in that flat really mattered.

Having a feeling that something was amiss, she looked up. A black car had pulled up next to her. She rolled her eyes. Of course, Mycroft sent a car. This happened every time she was gone for too long. As if she were a prisoner.

Walking up to the car she opened the door and looked at the woman sitting in the seat. It wasn’t Anthea, but an equally beautiful woman.

“Can’t Mycroft just leave me alone?” She asked, getting in the car anyway. The woman looked up from her phone and smiled. The doors locked. And the woman pulled out a cloth. Too late did (Y/N) realize this wasn’t Mycroft’s doing.

Everything went black as the cloth was pressed to her face.

“(Y/N), what did you do with my skull?” That girl, always moving things around. ‘Cleaning’, as she called it. He shook his head, digging around the flat for the cranium. “(Y/N)!” He looked up to the kitchen where she just was. No, it’s dark now. Oh, she must have left a while ago.

“Probably to John’s. No, not John’s. She didn’t take her purse… Another one of her fits then. Mycroft’s people should be bringing her back then.” Unconcerned now, he sat back down and once again entered his mind palace. Unaware of where his daughter really was.

><

“Ugh, my head. I feel like I was hit by a truck.” (Y/N) moaned as she tried to lift her head. It was cold. And the ground was hard. Concrete. The chill had already settled in her bones, causing her to shiver violently.

“Ahhh, the little mouse is awake~” A sweet Irish voice came from the dark doorway. She already knew who it was.

She squeezed her eyes shut as the bright florescent lights flicked on. It set her head on fire. Her body ached. She doesn’t remember anything past getting in the car, but from the still bleeding scrapes on her elbows and knees, she wasn’t put in this room nicely. She must have hit her head as well if the wet feeling on the side of her head suggested anything.

“Aw, not even a hello, darling? No matter, you won’t be saying much soon.” He smiled softly, chewing his gum. She sent him the most hate-filled glare she could muster.

“Fuck you, prick.” She bit out.

He gave a short, barking laugh, feigning shock and offense. He held a hand to his chest and scoffed. “My dear, those are some pretty colorful wonder from someone so young. What would your father say?”

“He’s not my father!”

“No? Then I suppose he won’t care about all the fun we’re going to have.”

 ><

“What do you mean she hasn’t been here? She lives here.” John watched Sherlock pace.

“I mean, she hasn’t been here, John! She left and hasn’t come back,” Sherlock snapped.

“How long has she been gone?” Mary asked from her position on John’s old chair.

“Three days.”

“Three days, Sherlock?!” John dragged a hand through his hair, letting it scrub back down his face. Mary buried her face in her hands.

“Darling, I don’t think she’s coming back,” Mary said softly. Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks.

“What, why? Why wouldn’t she come back? All of her stuff is here. She even left her idiotic stuffed cat. She never would leave that, it holds sentiment. And we all know how she adores her sentiment.” He was rambling now.

“Look, whether or not she wants to come back, we need to find her. She could be in trouble,” John rationalized.

At that moment a knock sounded at the door. The three occupants turned to see the newcomer.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock addressed his brother.

“Brother mine,” The older man greeted. Reaching into his suit, he produced an envelope. “A letter for you.”

Sherlock wasted no time in striding across the room and nearly ripping the letter from his brother’s hands. One simple sentence was written on the paper. And it was all he needed.

Let’s play Hide and Seek.

 ><

If she thought she was in pain before, this was agony. It was hellfire in her bones. Her wounds had stopped bleeding a while ago, but because of the poor conditions of the room and her weakened body, infection settled in quickly. She sat in her own vomit and blood, the pain making her nauseous.

She just wanted to die. It would have been better if he had just killed her outright. But where’s the fun in that? Her throat was raw from screaming and vomiting. Her fingernails were bloody and torn from digging into the wooden chair she sat on.

All of this. All of this because she was related to Sherlock Holmes.

She hates him.

Suddenly, hands were on her. But after three days of torture, and another two of festering in her own sick, she couldn’t react.

“(Y/N). (Y/N), look at me.” A voice called. “Just hold on.” A gurgle was his reply. “Shh, don’t try to talk.”

“D-dad?” Was that her voice? It was unrecognizable. It was weird, talking instead of screaming.

“I said don’t talk.” Sherlock scolded, lowering her to the floor. The coolness of the floor helped clear her fogged mind.

“Just leave me, it’s over.”

He scoffed, shaking his head, “You just don’t listen, do you?”

“I got it from you.” She coughed out a laugh, it hurt. But not physically. How ironic. To finally have a conversation with her father and she’s dying. She knows she is. She was too numb to not be.

“We just need to wait for John. We’ll get you to the hospital. I can save you.”

“No, you can’t. It’s too late…” He knows. But he doesn’t want her to be scared.

“This looks infected.” The wound on her side oozed and practically bubbled with infection.

“It’s fine.” Really, it was. She couldn’t even feel anything anymore. Darkness was creeping at the edges of her vision. Her father’s face nothing but a blur.

“…You’re dying.” He said this more to himself than her. Ten years wasted. He had this precious girl next to him this entire time and it took her dying in front of him for Sherlock to realize it. The guilt was unbearable. But probably not as unbearable as what he put her through.

“Well… that’s fine too.”

Darkness consumed her.