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

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.

Hopelessly Devoted (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Words: 3.7K

Warnings/Themes: Domestic Life, Domestic Fluff, Talk of marriage, Talk of having kids, Marriage Proposal

Characters/Pairings: Bucky x Reader, Dr. Raynor

“How are things going with Y/N?”

He stared at the wall behind the woman. Can’t really say ‘older woman,’ seeing as how he is practically twice her age. But she does look older, he thought to himself. And she likes to nag like his grandmother did.

“Fine. Things are fine.” He’d do anything to be out of this room and with Y/N instead. He’d rather be with her than do anything else, in fact. That’s how ‘fine’ things are going.

“And you two are still doing your own exercises at home?” She questioned him again, her passive-aggressive notebook still sitting on the table next to her. If he were being honest, the exercises he and Y/N did at home helped him far better than sitting in this room with this old crone.

“Yeah.”

“And how are those going?” Question after question. Y/N didn’t need to ask so many questions. She just knew. Granted, her ability to slip into others’ minds helped. Bucky hesitated before giving an answer. If he answered at all the Doc would see that as cooperation and he didn’t feel like doing that. If he lied, she would see through it. But if he told the truth… She would probably see it as progress, and he might be able to quit these court-mandated sessions soon. Truth it is.

“I didn’t have a nightmare last night,” he offered, not quite meeting her eyes, looking at the middle of her forehead. Her eyebrows rose.

“Good. That’s very good.” She paused to observe him; her gaze was cold and calculating compared to the one at home. The one that holds his gaze with so much love and understanding that it makes his chest feel like it was splintering.

“What did you dream about?” She asked.

“That’s kinda personal, Doc.” He hoped the lilt he forced into his voice would satisfy her, trying to imply it was some intimate dream about him and his girlfriend. In a way, it had been.

“This is therapy; it’s supposed to be personal.” She gave him a flat look. Darn. Bucky rubbed his palms on his jeans and looked out the window. He should have just lied.

“James, what did you dream about?” She asked again, her tone slightly softer. “Did you hurt her? In your dream?” She read his anxiousness wrong. Y/N wouldn’t have; even without her powers.

“I said I didn’t have a nightmare.” It would have been the worst nightmare he could possibly have. He couldn’t even bare to think of hurting her. Luckily, he has not had a dream of hurting her. Not after she had laid his ass flat multiple times with just a brush of her powers over his mind. Not after she shoved the soldier back into the basement of his mind when they first met in Berlin.

“So, it was a good one?”

“I didn’t say that.” No, but it had been. It was everything he had dreamed of. He and Y/N, married. A nice house with a white picket fence. The laughter of their kids in the backyard with their dog. And the two of them slow dancing in the kitchen, flour in her hair from baking. The sunlight was soft as it filtered through the lace curtains.

It was everything he had thought he’d have when he had come home from the War. But he never did.

And now that he was getting a taste of it… He didn’t feel like he deserved it.

A tone filled the room, some musical piece to indicate their session was over. It pulled him from reliving his dream. Saved by the bell.

“Well, we’ll pick up here next week, then.” She uncrossed her legs and grabbed her notebook, writing a few notes. He wasted no time to shoot off the couch and make his way to the door, barely mumbling a farewell to the Doc.

“But James,” she called as his metal hand wrapped around the door handle. He paused but didn’t look back at her. She sighed. “You do deserve whatever you dreamt about.” How she knew what kind of dream it had been was beyond him, but her words had his chest constricting.

“Bye, Doc.” He left the room.

Bucky returned to the Compound around lunchtime; he knew she would be in their shared apartment with food waiting. She always ordered the best comfort food on the days he had to see Dr. Raynor. Sushi.

Her singing reached his ears before he opened the door; the sweet sound sent his heart soaring. He smiled as he silently walked to the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe. She had yet to notice him, with her headphones in and her focus on the dough in front of her.

She was an absolute vision. Her hair was up in a messy bun, secured by a floral pattern scrunchie. She wore one of his white t-shirts that hugged her in all the right places, paired with floral pajama shorts. Simple white socks covered her usually frigid toes.

And she was singing like an angel. A song he hadn’t heard yet, though that was not a surprise. But man, did he sure love hearing her sing.

“My head is saying, ‘Fool, forget him.’ My heart is saying, ‘Don’t let go, hold on to the end,' that’s what I intend to do. I’m hopelessly devoted to you.” She swayed as she rolled up her dough, completely lost in her song.

He let her finish her song before coming up behind her, just as she was placing her unbaked cinnamon rolls in the pan to proof. She smiled as he wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“I was wondering when you’d come and give me a hug. You were standing over there staring at me like a creeper.” She chuckled, twisting in his hold after placing a tea towel over her pan. She removed her headphones and placed them and her phone on the counter.

“Sorry, I was enjoying the view too much.” He returned her smile before pressing a kiss to her lips. She grinned into the kiss, threading her floury hands into the short hair at the base of his neck. When they parted, their eyes locked, and he rested his forehead against hers. Their eyes glazed as he allowed her into his head.

It was something they both agreed on. After every session with Dr. Raynor, Bucky would report everything that had happened during the session, including the things he thought about but didn’t say out loud. They both knew it would be easier for him to open up about certain things with her over his shrink, so the issue was never pushed on him to be more open with the Doc.

“Hm… I have to say I agree with her parting statement,” Y/N remarked as she pulled away. “But first, let’s eat. I could feel how hungry you are.”

Bucky forced a smile and helped her set out the sushi she had kept in the fridge until he got home. She had ordered a lot more than she normally did. Probably because of his dream last night. He didn’t show her his dream. Rather, his emotions were so high during the dream that she somehow got sucked into his mind and was living it with him. They had a small talk about it that morning before his appointment.

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, just enjoying the food and each other’s company. This is why he preferred his exercises with Y/N over his sessions with Dr. Raynor. Y/N never pushed him to talk. Never used a notebook as a weapon to get him to talk. She was patient and warm and kind. She understood that adjusting to this new life of his was hard; especially after everything he has done.

Forced to do. He reminded himself. It was one exercise Y/N had him practicing. Just rewording his thoughts. He didn’t have to believe it, not yet, but he just had to say it to himself. Eventually, he’d find himself believing it, she had said. She said it with such conviction that he couldn’t help but believe her. Because that’s how she got herself out of her dark place.

“What was that song you were singing?” He asked after they had eaten their fill and were cleaning up. She nearly dropped the dish in her hand as she whipped her head around to look at him. You would have thought he had slapped her with the look of pure shock and offense on her face.

“Excuse me? What song-? What?” She sputtered and shook her head in disbelief. He gave an incredulous laugh at her behavior.

“Is it really that much of a surprise that I don’t know it?”

“Yes!” She answered quickly. “It absolutely is, seeing as how we’ve known and been together for literal years, now. I can’t believe we’ve never watched Grease!”

She didn’t give him time to question anymore as she snatched the plate from his hands and carelessly tossed it into the sink and began pushing him to the bedroom.

“Dishes can wait! You get your old ass into some comfy clothes while I set up the classroom, because you’re gonna learn just how great of a movie Grease is, and you are going to like it.” Her tone left no room for arguments as she gave him one last push into the bedroom before disappearing into the living room.

He chuckled but did as he was told and slipped into some gray sweatpants that Y/N had once told him were obscene, and a cozy black hoodie. He took an extra moment to grab the large, fluffy blanket from their bed so they could cuddle under it.

When he entered the living room the movie was already pulled up on Prime Video and she was nowhere to be seen. The smell and sound of popcorn cooking gave away her position in the kitchen, along with her singing.

He grinned and tossed the blanket onto the couch before sneaking into the kitchen. She had just pulled the bag out of the microwave and was putting it in the large bowl, two sodas already on the counter. Defenses down. Shot clear. She set the bowl down and reached for the candy in the cabinet. Taking the shot.

Swooping low, Bucky knocked her legs out with his arm under her knees, the other wrapping around her back and lifting her into the air. A shriek of surprise turned into laughter, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his face to hers. She gave him a loud, sloppy kiss.

“Should we get this show on the road?” He asked when they parted. She nodded and grabbed the bowl and candy and sodas, holding them in her lap as it seemed he wasn’t putting her down until they got to the living room.

He deposited her on the couch and sat next to her, pulling her legs onto his lap, and tossing the large blanket over them. She pressed play and nuzzled into his side. Bucky wrapped his arms tighter around her, kissing her temple.

As they watched, Bucky would ask questions or make comments on the characters. Y/N was happy to see him so engaged and genuinely enjoying the movie. Over the years, she would watch movies with him, trying to catch him up on pop culture. His favorites so far had been the original trilogy of Star Wars.

“Danny is a bit of a tool,” Bucky said out of nowhere. They had been sitting in silence during the prom scene and had finally reached the drive-in scene. Y/N left out a barking laugh at the sudden declaration.

“You know, he definitely is!”

><

By the time the movie ended, it was mid-afternoon, and Y/N was yawning. It was her usual nap time. Her work for Tony Stark and the Avengers usually had her sleeping at random times, just as inconsistent as Bucky’s sleeping schedule, mostly because part of her job was to help Bucky.

“How’d you like the movie?” She asked, stretching out her legs before standing from the couch.

“Definitely in the top ten.” Bucky’s eyes raked up her stretching form, the shorts, the way his shirt hugged her curves, and her messy bun at the top of her head. It all had him feeling like the luckiest man in the universe.

“Only the top ten? Why? And in what place?” She stood in front of him with her hands on her hips and a slight pout on her lips. This was definitely in the top five for her.

“Don’t get me wrong, the movie was great, and I loved it. But I’d probably place it at number six.” Okay, sixth place wasn’t that bad, just one movie away from being top five.

“Okay, so the top three I know is the Star Wars trilogy, and fourth place is the first Hobbit… But what is fifth place? What’s better than Grease?” She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. Bucky laughed awkwardly and looked away, a blush on his cheeks.

“Nothing…” He had seen this movie a couple of times and he loved it. The characters, the music, and the plot, it was all great. But it seemed… a little embarrassing for him to like it. He was still very old-fashioned and the style of dancing and clothing in this movie had him a little flustered.

“Oh, come on! What movie?” Y/N stepped forward until she stood between his legs and then bent over him, caging his head with her arms resting on the couch behind him. He turned his face to the side, not wanting to look into those inviting eyes.

She could just look into his mind with her abilities, but that would be an invasion of privacy and when she gained these powers, she vowed to never look into someone else’s mind without consent. Because consent is sexy.

“You can’t laugh.” He mumbled, still not making eye contact with his girlfriend. She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway.

“I’d never laugh at you, dear.” A blatant lie, they both knew.

“Liar.” Bucky reached up to pinch her side. She squealed and her knees buckled, allowing him to pull her onto his lap. “Just this morning you laughed at me because I asked where that kid’s parents were.”

Y/N let out another laugh as she recalled Bucky’s reaction this morning to a TikTok she had been watching. Some pre-teen girl was cursing about something wrong in her life and Bucky happened to catch the colorful language as he passed by.

Y/N definitely agreed with him, but coming from the 106-year-old soldier, it just sounded like the most grandpa response he could have come up with.

“Oh, but it was the cutest thing!” She snuggled into him, pressing her face into his bearded cheek. He let out a hmph and tried to turn his face away again. But her hands came up to hold him in place and she littered kisses all over his face. “Please, Buck? I won’t laugh.”

Bucky knew if he looked at her, he’d see those big puppy eyes and he would immediately crack. But her hands running over his chest and neck were having the same effect anyway. He tossed his head back against the back of the couch with a groan. She grinned, knowing she got him.

“Fine.” He hesitated for a moment, chewing on the inside of his lip. “It’s… di…cing..”

She tilted her head in confusion, “Come again?”

“Dirty Dancing! Okay? I like Dirty Dancing.”

Y/N had to press her lips into a tight line to stop the laugh that was bubbling up due to his outburst. She wasn’t laughing at his choice of movie, but just the way he said it. His face was bright red, and he was glaring up at the ceiling.

“Awww, Buck! That’s so cute!” She squealed and smothered him in kisses. He groaned and stood up, dropping her to the couch as she laughed.

“You lair! You said you wouldn’t laugh!” He made to stomp away but she rolled off the couch to the floor and grabbed his ankle.

“I’m not laughing at your choice of movie, I promise! I love that movie, too, Buck!”

“Nope, too late. Release me, you leech.” He began shuffling his way to their bedroom. She wrapped her arms around his ankle and forced him to drag her.

“Never!” She cried in defiance and reached up with one hand to tickle the back of his knee. He buckled and hit the ground. She could feel his panic as he began to army crawl away. She cackled evilly as she grabbed the back of his hoodie and dragged herself forward to straddle his back.

“No! Please! Lemme go- HA!” She had begun her assault on his sides. His scream-laughing had her chest filling with light and joy. It wasn’t so long ago that he never even smiled. So, to hear him let loose in such a way made her feel like the luckiest woman in the universe. To be able to have him like this. To love him like this. She wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Her fingers slowed until they rested along his scapulas. He turned his head to stare at her from the corner of one blue eye. His brows were drawn suspiciously. However, the soft smile on her face had his face relaxing into an easy smile. She leaned down and pressed a warm kiss to his stubbled cheek.

“I love you, Bucky,” She whispered in his ear before standing up. He was quick to his feet and even quicker to pull her into his arms. His lips sealed over hers in a chaste kiss.

“I love you more, Dollface.” He said in between peppering kisses over her face. She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning into his affections.

They both lived for days like this. It was a battle getting here, but it was well worth it. The calm that enveloped their cozy apartment, the warmth that filled everyone who entered. The quiet as they lay in bed, and the ruckus of them teasing each other. This was Bucky’s entire world. Right here. In her arms.

They had calmed down and were simply holding each other, both lost in thought of their love for the other. She gently stroked her fingers down the back of his head, letting her nails scrape against his scalp. She could feel the goosebumps rising under her other hand.

He was giving her the same treatment with his arms wrapped around her waist, his right hand tracing up and down her spine. He was so warm against her. She sighed contently against his skin, dropping a kiss to the space his shoulder met his neck. He hummed in happiness.

Oh yeah, he was going to make the dream he had last night come true. The second she fell asleep for her nap he was going to look up rings. And maybe a house. And at the shelter for a dog, or maybe a cat. Hell, he should look at baby cribs while he’s at it.

“What are you thinking about so hard, Bucky? I can smell smoke,” she teased. He grumbled and nipped her neck.

“Rude. And here I was thinking about how good you would look in a wedding dress.” He released her and tried to pull away. “But nevermind.”

“Wait! What?” She tightened her arms around him, preventing him from going anywhere, not like he truly planned to anyway. He was far too happy in her embrace to be out of it for long anyway. “You were thinking of me in a wedding dress? Is it because of your dream last night?”

Bucky stepped closer to her again, his hands on her hips stroking circles with his thumbs. “Well, yeah. Last night was the first time I dreamed of us being married… But it’s not the first time I thought about it.”

Hope and unadulterated joy filled her chest. Not a day went by since she confessed to him last year that she didn’t think of what it would be like to be called, Mrs. Barnes.

“Come here!” She pulled away from him and grabbed his hand, dragging him into their room. He had whiplash. One second he was saying he wanted to marry her and the next she was dragging him through their home.

In the bedroom, she went to the desk and pulled a notebook from the drawer. It was the one she kept with her during briefings and other meetings.

“Do you remember a few months ago when we were in a meeting and you asked what I was doodling?” She held the book to her chest nervously. Her feet were pressed together, fidgeting. He nodded slowly. He wasn’t entirely sure where she was going with this.

“Okay, well, I wasn’t really doodling… I was writing this.” She opened the notebook to a page in the middle and handed it over to him. He took it with shaking hands as hope and anticipation flooded his senses.

Mrs. Barnes <3

It was written over and over again on the page. Some with her first name. Some with her first and middle. She even looked to be practicing different signatures with Barnes as her last name.

“I’m sorry… it’s kinda weird, I’m just now realizing… We can forget it-”

He silenced her with a soul-searing kiss. He was never forgetting this. She wanted to marry him just as much as he wanted to marry her. Her hands dropped the notebook to instead grip his hoodie and pull him in closer.

When they pulled away their faces had matching love-drunk grins.

“I don’t have a ring and I don’t want to let you go to kneel, but will you, Y/N L/N, do me the very high honor of marrying me?” Bucky’s blue eyes peered into her own, bright and hopeful. She giggled and pulled him into a tight hug, her arms now around his neck and her lips against his ear.

“Of course, I will.”

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.

UM eXUsE mE???

600 of you people actually follow my inactive ass?! 

But seriously, this is insanely awesome. I thought I would've deleted this blog by now but knowing 600 of you actually enjoy my work, I think I’ll keep it around for a while more lol 

And an explanation for my absence, I have been working an insane amount, along with the current process of moving, so i’m always either working or packing. coupled with those, I had a brief scare that I might have had  Covid (I didn’t, Thank God) and just this week I was in a car accident (Not injured but definitley traumatized)

So thank you for your patience with me and my blog, I hope to be back after I have moved and settled. xoxo

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.    

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?