- it became a daily ritual for you both to do the wordle. you started competing on who could get the word of the day faster the third day in. joe currently holds the score. joe also likes the nyt spelling bee game but hates the paywall. now, there’s races on the unlimited version of the game. you hold the fastest time on that one.
- speaking of timing, joe managed to convince you to go on his runs with him. he always stays at your pace, never wanting to leave you behind. but he does secretly time your miles. he gets to slowly see you improve.
- joe hacking into your phone. not because he didn’t trust you. he just wants you to stay safe. making sure the people you interact with online are really who they say they are.
- catching joe listening to the weirdest songs. his taste is either the most underground techno beat or the most generic pop song on the radio. no in between. his favorite artist is eden.
- traveling around europe together. showing you his favorite sights from his time spent staying low. he likes central europe the best. getting lost on a train and ending up in an entirely different country.
- he always keeps up with your plans. you’re going to see your friend at 3? he’s got it down, keeping it in his head. reminds you about the appointment you have on tuesday. if you get periods, he’s tracking it in his notes app.
- joe isn’t too big on pda, but he likes lingering touches. he always keeps a hand on you; on your waist, back of your elbow, etc. there’s a paranoid fear in the back of his head that he’ll lose you if you’re not in his sight.
- his intimacy is casual. that doesn’t make it any less special when he kisses your temple as he passes by you. convinces you to sleep in with him. holding you in bed, his limbs wrapped around you.
- joe is bit of a hopeless romantic. once he realized you’re staying despite his fears and attachment issues, he’s positively wrecked. he hasn’t had a lasting relationship in almost a decade. he’s a little awkward around the edges, only because he doesn’t want to scare you away. that man is latched onto you and not letting go for a long time.
- he’s nervous and pacing when he introduces you to mae and his aunt. it’s a little amusing but you did your best to reassure him there’s nothing to worry about. he let out a breath of relief when he saw you getting along with them, even doing so well with mae’s youngest son.
- joe is always scared he’ll lose you. he promised you he will always protect you. he’s got you.
Click the source to find #199 311 506 gifs of max irons in flowers in the attic: the origin. All of these are medium sized gifs These are all made by me. Please reblog the post if you plan to use them! Please do not include these into gif hunts, claim as your own, turn them into gif icons, or use in crackships without tagging. TW: intimacy, drinking, honestly his char is a pos but he looked great in it so here we are.
what about modern!Mycroft? how do you think he would differ from his Victorian counterpart? what job do you think he would have? how would he behave? how and where would reader and him meet? please lemme know your thoughts!!!
thank you so much for your ask! oh my GOD i love a modern au guys. heres a short little headcannon list thingymabob for you <3 also watson mention bc i cant help myself. rewatched the last episode of young sherlock and moriarty's betrayal is rly breaking my heart. sherly needs his watson.
- mycroft still works for the government, likely in foreign affairs. something that keeps him busy most of the day but allows free time in the evenings. he works his way up to the top of whatever branch he’s working for very easily. could also picture him managing the appleton estate. he’s a stock market expert but mostly because he likes the pattern recognition. it’s like his version of the daily crossword.
-speaking of, the only game he plays is the new york times wordles every day at exactly 7:30 in the morning because he needs routine.
-high functioning autism and ocd diagnosis. didn’t get diagnosed till his mid twenties because he was always so focused on taking care of sherlock.
-hates texting. he either emails or calls. and when he does text, he texts like an old man. sherlock, on the other hand, ONLY texts. sherlock will NOT pick up the phone for the life of him, so mycroft usually ends up just showing up at his house.
-on the odd chance that he does send a text, he texts like an old man. capitalization and punctuation. full sentences. signs his name at the end bc hes used to email. sherlock texts back two hours later and it’s barely legible because he’s typing so fast.
M: Sherlock, where are you? You have not answered the phone for two weeks. I am worried about you. Let me know or I will call Watson instead. Mycroft.
S: Mexico witth John there is serial kille
-he’s tried getting sherlock to use location-based apps like life360 but sherlock always deletes them. so he ends up having to use real spy equipment to keep track of him (spoiler: sherlock finds a way to get rid of that too).
-met his wife at some government gala he was forced to attend. he got overstimulated and stepped outside, where he found her looking all pretty in her fancy gown on the balcony. she was on the phone complaining about how annoying and stuck up everyone at the gala was and how much she wanted to go home. he fell in love immediately.
-finds any excuse to see her. showers her with gifts but does not put his feelings into words because he doesn’t know how.
-perhaps a bit morally grey but he uses the government database to collect information on her because he just wants to know everything about her.
-she tells him he’s being weird as hell and tells him to just ask her on a date. he thinks he probably should have thought of that sooner.
-he asks when is the earliest that he can propose. the second she gives the green light he’s on one knee.
Just something short'n sweet, while I work on my longer WIPs.
Mycroft either marries an eldest daughter who thinks and acts exactly like him, or he marries someone who is the complete and polar opposite of him. But he’d definitely marry someone who is caring like him, and who would have a “Who can take more care of their significant other”-competition with him.
They'd call each other “dear husband”/ “my dear wife”, but Mycroft would also love calling her Mrs. Holmes, just because he can't believe he got lucky enough to maker her his family.
People would tell them to take their time after the wedding, to just enjoy each other. And of course they'd I enjoy alone time, and especially their honeymoon, but they'd both enjoy each others families too much to stay away for long ,so that they spend all their time with them.
He’ll spoil his wife rotten; he brings tiny gifts all the time, stuff that reminds him of her. Whatever he gets his hands on and he thinks she’ll like.
Of course she insists that she doesn’t need any of those gifts, but she understands that that is his way of showing his love.
Mycroft would be the kind of husband to act on all of the love languages:
Touching his wife’s waist at all times, and making sure he is always holding her hand or offering her his arm? Kissing her on the cheek or forehead in public, but also very passionately in private? Smoothing her hair out when they are relaxing in the evening, or tracing patterns on her arm? Like, yes, he will do all of that (I also have a feeling like this man might be touch starved, but that’s a thought for another time…)
Moving on to acts of service. For him it would be so natural, he probably wouldn't notice at first, and she'd always be so amazed that he cares so much. He’d bring his wife her tea when he sees that she is tired. He wouldn’t let her lift a finger because “that’s what I am here for”. he would do anything to make life as easy as possible for her.
Mycroft would definitely tell her how much he loves her and how beautiful she is multiple times throughout the day. He would enjoy seeing her blush whenever he praised her for something. His wife would probably be reserved and proper as well, so anything risky he says to her would immediately cause a reaction, and he couldn't even lie about low much he liked having an effect on her.
Quality time would be the hardest, I think, because this man loves his job. So spending long hours at the foreign office was a rather regular occurrence. But he’d still make sure to always spend the weekends with his wife and to take her out regularly.
His wife would really be able to ground him, whenever he felt like he was loosing control. Especially whenever he had to take care of his mother or Sherlock, she would be there to take care of Mycroft.
The first time he is sick, she tries to take care of him and ash's if he wants a soup or warm mile. To which he reacts: "that's probably wise,. I'll go and heat something up.” first she laughs. And then she just stares at him horrified, when she realises he's actually serious. She orders him to stay in bed, while she makes a soup and dotes on him until he is fit again. Mycroft doesn’t really see what the problem is, but he is grateful that someone is taking care of him for a change.
This also applies to when work becomes overwhelming. In the first year of their marriage, Mycroft had a particularly difficult case to deal with, which has him up in his office well past midnight. When his wife walks in on him, Mycroft expects her to ask him to come to bed or to scold him for ruining his eyesight with the bad light. Instead she carries in an extra candle and places a cup of tea next to the file he was reading. She came to stand next to him and leaned on the armrest, laying her arm across his shoulder. After a moment, she ran her fingers through his hair briefly and pressed a kiss to his temple, mumbling: “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you,”, before retreating. Mycroft swore he wasn’t emotional, there just must have been a speck of dust in his eyes :’)
Author’s notes: I am very obsessed with Young Sherlock, and Mycroft is just *chef’s kiss* This fic was inspired primarily by this post, and follows the events of the show loosely, though I focused mainly on the relationship between Mycroft and reader.
wc: 7.2k
pairing: YS!Mycroft Holmes x fem!reader (assistant)
cw: mentions of murder (duh), mentions of stalking, probably some historical inaccuracies, miscommunication, crying, hospital, fluff, strangers-to-colleagues-to-friends-to-lovers, fluff, hurt, comfort
feedbacks and interaction is always appreciated!
Oxford
The passages were bustling with students and professors alike, everyone eager to start on new academic challenges. Scouts and porters were hurrying along the hallways, making sure everything was perfectly ordered. The autumn air was crisp, even though the sun still gave its best performance.
You walked over to the man standing with his back to you, notepad and pen in your hand, until you were just a few paces apart from him.
"Mr. Holmes?" you asked.
The man turned around, and piercing blue eyes met yours. 'Ah! You must be- "
"Your new assistant, sir.”
He smiled at you. "You have truly changed a lot since I last saw you, miss."
"I should hope so, sir, " you smiled in return, "I was but eight at the time.”
He extended his hand. You took it and he shook it firmly. You noticed the contrast of his warm hand compared to the chilly breeze.
"I wanted to thank you again for this opportunity, also on behalf of my parents. It really is a great relief." You twirled the pen in your hand aimlessly while talking.
He waved you off vaguely. "Do not mention it. I am glad to be able to help. And truly I could use the assistance. I would not be surprised if you flee by the end of this year after having to put up with me and my schedule," he spoke with humour.
"Not me, sir. I will not back down from a challenge." you grinned.
He laughed, and you decided it was your favourite expression of his. "I do feel like this is the start of a great camaraderie."
One year later
The carriage rattled on, as you sat in silence, contemplating events that had taken place in the past days, and especially this afternoon.
Mycroft sat equally pensive across from you, staring blankly at the scenery outside the carriage. Your hands rested on the novel you were currently reading, a small break from the busy life you led as an assistant. Your mind had been occupied with the day's events, so that the book laid in your lap unread.
"Mr. Holmes," you interrupted his train of thoughts. He snapped out of his trance, focussing on you.
"Forgive me, I just… I wanted to ask if you are alright?' He inhaled sharply. "Yes, yes, l am… quite fine. Really."
You looked at him intently, trying to figure out how much he was lying. His mouth was sat in a line, and there were bags under his eyes. He was obviously exhausted. And probably frustrated, given Sherlock's situation and the recent loss of his job.
"I do not mean to overstep," you said carefully "however, I do think it is allowed to feel angered at this whole situation."
"I suppose you are right. But anger rarely helps anyone."
"It might help you to express your anger. Get rid of it, in a way." Mycroft nodded, though he did not say anything.
"You do know, you do not have to pretend for my sake, right? I am just an assistant, and I am more than lucky to have a superior who does not make his anger a daily occurrence. "
Mycroft chuckled. “If I did not know better, I should think you want me to be angry."
"I want you to not bottle up everything. Do go on, sir. Humour me a little." You grinned and started twirling your pen mindlessly.
He huffed out a breath and looked at you quizzically.
"Alright. I am angry. Furious. I worked hard for this career. I always did my best. And l am trying to be a good brother. And now it seems I have failed at both." He gripped his cane with inhumane force. "Why is it that everything I hold dear blows up right into my face?"
He paused, but you knew he was not yet finished.
“I mean it is my fault. I should have never brought him to Oxford in the first place, I should have seen the trouble coming from a mile away.”
“So you are angry at yourself?”
He looked outside. “I suppose so.”
You chewed on your lip, working up the courage to say: “If I may, sir. I believe you are too hard on yourself. You could not have predicted the future, even if you wanted to. And Sherlock is a grown man who should be able to take care of himself. You caring about him enough to risk your career speaks highly to your character. It is not a flaw to love.”
He hummed non committed, and looked out of the small window again.
The carriage soon came to a stop and Mycroft jumped out, extending his hand to help you out of the carriage. He thanked the driver and walked to the entrance of his house, turning to check and see that you were close behind.
When he turned again, two figures came out of the bushes. “Good evening!”
“For the love of God, Sherlock!” exclaimed Mycroft.
Your guts twisted - this evening was about to become very chaotic.
Half an hour later
"And now I have lost my job."
Sherlock's interest was awakened and he sat up straight.
The evening had taken a strange turn with the appearance of the younger Holmes and his friend. Mycroft seemed angry, Sherlock unbothered, James enjoying himself just a little too obvious, and you tried to melt into the wall and stay unnoticed.
James however fixed his gaze on you with a knowing smirk. “If you're out of a job, how come she is still here?”
"Not that it is any of your business," Mycroft said, "but she is still here, because I can still pay her, and because I promised her parents to assure that she learns everything necessary to become independent, should she choose to do so."
"Not to mention, because I am great company" you attempted to joke, hoping to avoid the obvious scandal. Unmarried and in his house was bad enough, the late hour just made it all the more suspicious.
Of course Sherlock did not leave it be. “At this hour? In your private home? Brother dear, I do believe you are hiding something. Have you finally fallen in love?”
His tone was mocking and James provided the dramatic gesticulation to his words, clasping his hands over his heart and pouting as if he were deeply moved by the scene.
You blushed furiously and averted your gaze, tears pricking in the corner of your eyes. Once again you cursed yourself for telling Mycroft about your circumstances and thus adding on to his burdens.
“That is not what this is,” hissed Mycroft. “And I do ask you to be more considerate in front of the lady.”
“But she is not, in fact,” interrupted James. “A lady, that is. She’d hardly be working for you if she were nobility. And she would certainly not stay here. So an affair it must be,” he grinned cheekily.
Mycroft released his breath through his nose, looking from James to Sherlock and back. If looks could kill, you thought, I would not want to be in his range of sight right now.
“I really do not see how this concerns the two of you,” he said slowly, “But I am telling you to keep her from harmful rumours. She has been followed repeatedly by two men to her lodgings, and felt threatened. When I heard of it, I decided that it was not safe for her to stay there. Until we find a better solution, she stays here in the guest room. There is nothing improper going on, this is purely of friendly nature.”
“Right,” nodded James, though it was clear he didn’t believe a word of what was said.
“And now, if you’d be so kind,” Mycroft went on, though a blush had crept up his neck as well, “what are you two here for?”
Sherlock extended a single glove towards his brother.
”If it were cold, and my hands were smaller, this would be very useful, thank you.” Mycroft commented, to which Sherlock rolled his eyes.
“This belonged to Shou’an,” he said, as if it should be obvious. He explained their findings and deductions to Mycroft, while you sat quietly and listened. At some point you fished your pen out of your pocket and started twirling it between your fingers.
The three of them argued and reasoned some more, before Mycroft remembered the escort.
”We should talk to Ezra Hornsby.”
A tiny voice in your mind screame: we including me? But you bit the inside of your cheek, and stayed silent.
“He accompanied the princess from Dover. He will know when she arrived.”
Sherlock turned to James with a triumphant grin. “That was a hmm, as in hmm, he’s got something.” The two young men in question left the room, satisfied to have achieved their goal, leaving you and Mycroft behind.
When the door closed, Mycroft let himself fall into one of the chairs groaning deeply. "Whatever did I do to deserve a brother like this?'
You chuckled in reply. “I believe that is simply how families work, sir."
Another heavy sigh escaped him. “l am afraid you are correct, as always, my dear assistant. Remind me, what else must I do today?"
"You are joking, I hope, sir?”
"Of course, I am. I just do not want to accept my defeat yet.” He released a long breath through his nose. "And I thought I had asked you to call me Mycroft,” he said, fixing his gaze towards you.
You turned away to avoid meeting his scrutinising gaze when you felt heat climbing up your neck., "Old habits die hard " you said, biting your tongue to avoid calling him ‘Mr. Holmes’.
A beat of silence passed, before he mumbled “Indeed, they do.” When you looked up at him again he had turned away already.
"Right," he announced suddenly, getting up. "I have to go and accompany my dearest brother and his friend. No, you stay here,” he said, seeing you get up as well. “I have dragged you all across London these past weeks already, and we never know what happens when Sherlock is involved. Take a couple of days off.”
Oh. We, excluding me.
"Mr. Holmes, I am no damsel in distress who cannot deal with stress or physical activity. I want to come."
He chuckled and stepped closer to you. "I know," he smiled benignly at you. “Will you humour me regardless?" He seemed to almost plead. “You can stay here in the house. Work on your writing, maybe?”
”I would get more creative input if I came with you,” you tried to argue, but it was a weak rebuttal. He looked away from you, almost disappointed and so you gave in and nodded. "Alright. I will stay here. I might as well do my job. For once,” You grinned mischievously.
‘Thank you. You do not realise what a relief it is to know that not everyone has lost their wits.’
You laughed. ‘Enough flattery. Go help your brother.’
Mycroft bowed to you slightly before leaving the room. Your blood was still rushing in your ears long after the door had closed.
Five Days Later
‘Mr. Holmes, I am begging you. Please. Let me come to Paris. I will never have the means or the freedom to travel again. This is my one and only chance to see something outside of England.”
The past days had been rather eventful, and Mycroft had been all over trying to find answers to Sir Bucephalus murder and Professor Malik’s disappearance.
Now he had announced that he was going to Paris in search of the Professor, and you had it set in your mind that you were going to accompany him.
“I hope you do realise that I am not actually going on a vacation there. I am investigating a murder. I do not know what is going to happen there. Not to mention the active revolution going on.”
“Sir, please. I will do anything to stay out of your way and I promise you to not seek out any danger. But please, do take me with you.”
“No.” his jaw ticked with tension.
You huffed out a frustrated sigh, and opened your mouth to rebut him once again.
“That is definitive. I will not take you with me. Your parents asked me to take you on because they trust me to keep you safe. I will not take you to Paris.”
“They placed me under your protection so that I could learn from you. And besides what am I to do here? Sherlock has vanished, so that I could not possibly bother him about his investigation, you don’t work in the Foreign Office anymore, so that I could manage your affairs while you are gone. Will you have me sit around idly all day long until you decide to return?”
“As a matter of fact, that is what I would prefer.” His face hardened as he muttered: “Glad to know where your preferences lie.”
“Well, at least Sherlock would allow me to help.” It was a low blow, and you knew it. Not to mention that this argument was possibly jeopardising your only prospect of any profitable career.
“Yes, and he would risk your safety, your honour, and possibly even your life. I will not allow you to seek out danger with his help.”
“You seem to think I am a child, whom you can allow and forbid as you please. I will assure you that I am capable of deciding and fending for myself, and so I will see that Sherlock takes me with him.”
“What happened to coming to Paris with me? Hmm?” He asked in an agitated voice.
“Well you don’t want me to come.”
“I also don’t want you to go to Sherlock.”
“Well, it’s a shame that you want me nowhere apparently. I do hope Sherlock is kinder to me.”
“So that is what this has been all about from the beginning?” “What could you possibly mean?”
“I am aware that Sherlock is the most interesting thing about me!” Mycroft’s voice was raised at you, something which had only occurred once before when he had insisted you could not stay at your previous lodgings.
That argument had been heated, but you had not felt his anger towards you then. This time around, the problem was you it seemed.
Your eyebrows shot up, and your breath caught in your throat. ‘Mr. Holmes,’ you stuttered, ‘I do hope you are aware that that is not how I think about you.’
His shoulders fell and he let his head hang low. ‘I am terribly sorry,’ he said. His hand came up to his face and he dragged it across his brow. He straitened up again and looked you in the eyes. ‘I should not have raised my voice at you.’
You stood at loss for words. ‘Please forgive me,’ Mycroft said your name, softly now, though still insistent. You nodded. ‘Of course. I am sorry to have angered you.’
He shook his head in reply. ‘You have not. I am tired and frustrated, though not because of you. My reaction was unacceptable. You did nothing wrong, Miss.’
Your lips turned into a tiny smile. Always the perfect gentleman. ‘Do not trouble yourself too much, Mr Holmes. You are human after all.’
He chuckled. ‘Alas, merely human.’
You breathed out a soft laugh.
‘You should get some rest. It is late, the day has been rather eventful, and our voyage to Paris will no doubt be equally exhausting.’
Your eyes lit up, but you schooled your enthusiasm and nodded with a bright smile adorning your face. ‘So should you.’ You got up, gathering your book and notes in your arm. ‘You can’t control everything, especially not with a fatigued mind.’
He smiled at you, though it did not quite reach his eyes. ‘Right you are.’
You turned and walked towards the door. You were about to close it behind you, when your mouth seemed to develop a mind of its own.
‘Mr Holmes,’ you turned to face him again, ‘Mycroft.’ His name felt warm on your tongue. His eyes held a glint when he looked up to you. ‘It is not true. Sherlock is not the most interesting thing about you.’ His eyebrows quirked up slightly.
‘You should not put yourself in his shadow. You are most interesting on your own.’
Your heart beat a hundred miles an hour. Forcing the door shut before he could react, you hurried to your room, missing how Mycroft's face heated up under your praise.
The next morning
The two of you left well before sunrise and took a carriage to the train station. Ever the gentleman, Mycroft had helped you into the carriage, not allowing you to help with the little luggage you had. He climbed in after you and sat across from you.
Neither one disturbed the silence that formed, for which you were glad. Not even five minutes after the journey had started, you felt yourself get drowsy with sleep, and your mind wandered off towards your parents and their little home, your mother’s homemade apple pies and your father’s booming laughter.
You were awakened suddenly, by Mycroft who was gently touching your shoulder and calling out your name.
It took you a moment to realize where you were. Your mind was aware that there was something amiss about Mycrofts appearance, yet you could not put your finger on what exactly it was.
You looked around yourself, irritated at how much light filled the carriage, and confused as to why Mycrofts coat was laying where your head had been just seconds ago.
You shook your head to get rid off the sleepiness still grasping the edges of your mind. “What is it?” You asked.
“We are almost at the station.”
”What, already?” You asked amazed. “I am sorry I was such boring company then.”
Mycroft gave you a rather tired smile. “Don’t worry. I slept a bit as well.”
A yawn forced its way out of your lungs. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled through the yawn.
Mycroft simply shook his head and smiled, though his gaze seemed to be fixed on your forehead.
”What is it?” you asked, “Have I grown a spot?”
”Uh.. oh-no, no.” He averted his gaze and cleared his throat. “I just never saw you with loose hair. It rather suits you.”
Your eyes widened and your cheeks grew warm. “Oh,” was all you could force out, as your touched your hair and realised it must have come undone while you were sleeping. “Thank you.”
Relief flooded you as the carriage came to a stop and you saw the train station, cutting off the current topic of conversation.
“Here we are,” Mycroft announced. He helped you out of the carriage as usual, but upon seeing the bustling crowds, instead of dropping your hand as soon as your feet hit the ground, he tucked into the crook of his elbow.
”Hold tight,” he said, “do not get lost.”
You would have laughed at his words and tone, had he not looked at you in utter seriousness and had his actions not thoroughly surprised you. You just gulped down your nervousness and nodded at him.
He was leading you through the crowds and in the train. Suddenly he leaned very close to you while walking.
”I did not tell you earlier,” he mutttered, “but I booked the tickets and made reservations for the hotelroom for the both of us under my name.”
Your eyes widened, and you opened your mouth to ask a million questions, but he kept on whispering to you.
”People will assume we are married, which is not ideal, I admit. But it is the least suspicious cover I could think of in all the haste. That way no one will ask questions.”
You were speechless once more.
Mycroft looked visibly uncomfortable discussing the subject with you, but before you could ask if he was all right with the plan himself, he had found a quiet coupe, in which no one had yet taken a seat. He urged you in and closed the door, hoping no one would be desperate enough to sit with what seemed a young, newly-wed couple.
He sat next to you, instead of across from you as usual, under the guise of “keeping up the image”, but he barely talked to you the first couple of hours.
The whole situation made you feel quite powerless and childish. Mycroft’s silence made you feel as though you had done something wrong, like a child waiting for their father to punish them.
You saw his hands flex repeatedly at his sides, and his jaw was locked up firmly. Your own leg was nervously rocking up and down, and your mind was equally restless, unable to take in the novel you had brought with you.
You snapped the pages shut at the exact same time your name left his lips. You both chuckled, and turned away from each other briefly, before you said: “You go first, Mr. Holmes.”
”All right,” he said, “though you really ought to call me Mycroft if people are to believe we are married.”
”No people are around here, sir” you replied with a cheeky grin, “so I will stick to Mr Holmes.”
”Ha! As you wish, dearest, but you must know as revenge I will call you the most atrocious terms of endearment I can think of, my dove.”
You snickered. “Well, sir, I do hope you give it your best.”
You saw a mischivious glint in his eyes. “All right then, light of my life. Let’s see how you hold up. I could call you …” he put a finger on his chin, tapping it lightly. “I could call you my pearl?”
You rolled your eyes playfully.
”My angel? My muse, my princess!” A giggle escaped you.
“My queen? Your majesty,” he proposed thoughtfully.
“I must say, Mr. Holmes, I expected worse.”
”Worse?” He looked offended. “I will give you worse. I will call you my sugar cube.”
You swatted his arm lightly.
”My flower,” he said.
”Boring,” you replied.
”My honeysuckle,” he exclaimed and immediately looked horrified of himself, his cheeks flaming up brightly.
You burst out laughing, “Honeysuckle, Mycroft? Where on earth did you pick that up?” You asked, wiping tears from your eyes.
”Truly, I don’t know what came over me.” He was laughing now as well, and it occurred to you that it had been a while since you had last heard him so care free. You wondered if a younger Mycroft had been happier.
”Tell me about your childhood,” you said softly, leaning back against the seat and turning your head towards him.
His eyebrows met. “You know about my childhood.”
You shrugged and then shook your head. “I know what happened to your family during your childhood. I hardly know anything about you, Mycroft.”
He turned and stared into the void in front of him. “Well there is not much to tell about young Mycroft. First it was mother, father, and me. And everything was ordinary. I don’t have many memories of that time. And then came Sherlock.”
You chuckled. “And then what?” You pressed.
“Then everything became extraordinary. Sherlock… he was always so bright. He started walking way too early, speaking as well. Followed me around everywhere.” Mycroft smiled at the memory.
“When he was three he told on me for stealing candy out of the pantry. Three! Instead of joining and enjoying the candy.”
You couldn’t help but grin at the image of baby Sherlock and young Mycroft.
Mycroft shook his head with a smile. “And soon, he became smarter than me. It became clear that he was brighter than me very early on. My father adored him, because he had more interest in natural sciences than I did. They would be out in the fields all day. And my mother… She loves us both, I know that. But she was much more affectionate towards him. Soon I was no longer his brother, but I was his older brother, I carried responsibility. Which I did not mind, I loved having a purpose, but sometimes I wondered…” he trailed off, and you noticed hid foot bouncing slightly.
You wanted to reach out and comfort him, but did not find the courage.
”Anyways, shortly after came Bea,” he resumed, “and she was the sun. She did not grow up quite as fast as Sherlock, but still incredibly smart and dedicated. She was… she was everything. We all loved her to bits.”
He smiled again, though his eyes were focused on something invisible on the ground.
‘I often think that I could have prevented it, you know.”
You inhaled sharply, and reached out thoughtlessly, resting your hand on his.
He turned his hand around and loosely interlaced his fingers with yours.
“I should have taken care of her, when Sherlock was busy.”
”Mycroft, you were a child.”
He turned to you, and you saw the corner of his mouth quiver. “The eldest child, and old enough to almost start an apprenticeship.”
You shook your head, and turned your whole upper body to face him properly. "It's still not your fault," you insisted.
Mycroft did not reply, just shrugged unconvinced.
"Is that why you took me in?" you prodded.
His brows furrowed again. "How do you mean?'
"When I told you about the men following me. You did not waste a second, you immediately suggested I come live with you."
He nodded slowly. "I suppose it might have something to do with it. Though, I hope you know I would have helped you regardless. "
You smiled. "Of course, you would have, Mr. Holmes, " you said, removing your hand carefully from his. "After all you are a perfect gentleman."
He snorted at that, and shifted so that he was sitting up straighter, your arms no longer touching.
Silence settled between you once more. You supposed you should have felt awkward, but truthfully you felt as though this was as normal a conversation as any other. Friends, you reminded yourself, we are friends.
"What about you?" he asked suddenly, turning his head on the headrest to face you once more.
"What about me?" you asked surprised.
“Your youth," he said, “I don't know anything about the time after you and your parents moved to Manchester "
"Oh! Nothing particular happened to me" you chuckled. “I grew up, I made friends. Eventually I started to develop affections for boys my age, which my father was not happy about at all."
You smiled, when you told him about the time your father tried to forbid you to go to the fair with your friends when he found out that the boy you liked at the time was going with you and how your mother had convinced him to trust you and let you go regardless.
Mycroft looked at you with wide eyes and the tiniest smile as you gesticulated while telling him about how you had embarrassed yourself in front that of boy by laughing too loudly and how he never really talked after to you afterwards (which father was quite happy about.)
"Anyways," you concluded, "I grew up some more and realised I wouldn't want a husband who doesn't like my laugh. And I started to write and draw, which I quickly learned could never earn me a living, and so my father arranged for me to come work for you"
"Hmm, " Mycroft hummed.
"What hmm?" you asked.
"It sounds like you were happy," he said matter-of-factly.
"I still am " you grinned.
”Until you realise you have bigger and better prospects than following me around all day long, and go to work for someone much more important,” Mycroft said as if it was certain that it would happen.
”I don’t think so. You’ll only get rid of me by firing me.”
That drew a dry laugh out of him. “I could never do that. But you will move on some day. Either because you find a better position, or because at some point inevitably, someone will come and sweep you off your feet, and he’ll propose to you, and the two of you will settle in the country side and raise beautiful babies together.”
You looked at him unimpressed. “You have thought about my future quite a lot more than I have, it seems.”
”I suppose I have.” He looked serious again, and his shoulders tensed up.
“When all this is over,” he said, “we have to talk about your prospects. As much as I like our arrangement, we cannot keep it like it is now.”
You clenched your jaw and averted your gaze. “You are right, I suppose.”
He seemed equally unenthusiastic at the topic, so you changed the subject quickly.
”Well, this is a conversation for another day,”you said, “but a more pressing issue is what we will have for dinner.”
Mycroft knew of course that you were trying to distract him, but readily played along, if only to please you.
”I will try and get us sandwiches at the next station. I am afraid that we will have to make do with a cold dinner.”
You grinned widely, and said sweetly: “As long as I get to share it with my dear husband.”
You batted your eyelashes at him, and he could not help but laugh at your playfulness.
”Careful now,” he joked, “you will convince me to give up my bachelor existence after all.”
”Oh, I would love to see you married and with children,” you teased. “You could even visit me and my husband on the countryside.”
He rolled his eyes. “Make fun of me all you want, this is nothing compared to Sherlock’s teasing.”
Four days later, Paris
“I have arranged a ticket for you to go back to Manchester. The train leaves this afternoon. Please do not argue.”
You stiffened. The bustling hospital hallways seemed to stop and hold their breath synchronically with you.
Nonono no. No. Was what you wanted to scream, but no sound left your throat. Your airways constricted and you felt your chest tighten.
Your surroundings became blurry. Do not cry.
“I will accompany you to the station. I have wired your parents with all the
necessary information. They will pick you up there.”
Your breath came shallow. ”Why?” you croaked.
”Well, you cannot walk from the sta-“
”Mycroft,” you interrupted, “you know that is not what I meant.”
Finally you found the strength to turn your head and look at him. He didn’t meet your gaze, and did not show any emotion.
”Why are you sending me away?”
”Because it’s to dangerous. I cannot guarantee your safety.”
”I think it is obvious that I am the only one in this company right now who does not need protection. “ You wanted to scream at him.
“I will not take the risk.”
”I could help.”
”No, you couldn’t,” he said tiredly. “You are one more person I would need to take care of, and you are the only one not directly intertwined with this fiasco. You cannot help.”
The words hurt. He was right in a way. You knew, because that could he have been the only reason tears started welling up in your eyes.
”You can’t dictate what I do, or who I help. I am not a child.”
His jaw ticked. “Sherlock is badly wounded. My mother is freshly out of the asylum. James is doing God knows what, and Shou’an is an assassin. My father is a weapon seller, and the fate of my sister is still unclear. For Christ sake, what more do you need to know that it is not safe here?!” His voice became louder with each sentence.
He sighed deeply. “I really do not want to argue,” he said quietly again, “and you are right, you are not a child. So I cannot force you to go. But you work for me, and I can tell you that the consequence for staying here would be to lose your job permantly and immediately.”
He wouldn’t.
“You wouldn’t.” You hated yourself for the tears that brimmed your eyes, for your quivering voice, for being weak in front of him.
He didn’t reply, didn’t look at you. He stood like a wall, and you felt yourself crumbling like a piece of paper.
You straigtened up, and smoothed out the skirt f your dress. Your jaw locked up and you held your chin high. “If this is how you think, sir, I do not see a choice but to leave.”
He nodded slowly. You picked up your hat , smoothing out your hair.
“Mr Holmes, please give my warmest regard to Sherlock and to your mother. I hope you will wire my family if there is any news about Sherlock’s condition or your sister’s whereabouts. My parents would be delighted to hear from you. As for my employment; I think it wise to settle any remaining matters when you are back in London, sir.”
”Don’t be like this, please,” Mycroft pleaded softly. “I am trying to do what is in your best interest.”
”As am I,” you replied. “Good day, sir.”
You turned sharply and walked down the hospital corridor, ignoring Mycroft when he called out your name,
”Where are you going?” He asked.
“To the hotel, to get my belongings.”
He hurried after you. “Let me accompany you, it is not safe.”
”That won’t be necessary, sir. James will accompany me.” You had spotted him, and immediately walked into his direction. When you were closer, you linked your arm into his. “Won’t you, James?”
”Won’t I what?” The young man looked between you and Mycroft.
”Make sure I get to the hotel safely, as well as to the station?”
James whipped his head around to Mycroft, whose pleading expression you caught in the corner of your eye.
”Of course,” James said, turning back into the direction he came from, dragging you along gently.
You didn’t’ look back.
One month later, London
You stood in front of the large dark door, straitening your skirts for the fifth time before finally finding the courage to knock. "Come in," you heard Mycroft call from inside.
Nervously you pushed the door open and entered.
“It’s you!” Mycroft rose immediately from his chair and rounded his desk. "Are you well?” He asked rushed.
"Yes, yes. Quite well. Thank you.” You smoothed your hands over your dress once more.
“How are your parents?”
”Good,” you smiled. “they were happy to have me home for longer than a day.”
”Of course,” he nodded. “They must have missed you a lot. I am sorry I did not make sure you went there more often.”
You smiled and shook your head. “That is not something in your power, Mr. Holmes.”
His face dimmed slightly at the formal title.
“I heard Sherlock is well,” you changed the subject. “I am glad to hear it.”
”Yes. Yes, he has made a full recovery. And so has mother, it seems.”
You wrung your hands together. “That’s wonderful news, truly. What about your sister?”
“She stays with my mother and Sherlock. It is all quite unusual still, but we are getting there.”
He stood awkwardly, one hand rubbing his neck.
You nodded in acknowledgment.
Silence stretched briefly, before Mycroft cleared his throat and said: “I have been meaning to apologize for my behaviour the past couple of month. Especially my behaviour in Paris. I…” he leaned back on his desk, avoiding eye contact with you.
“What I did, and what I said, was unacceptable. I should not have exploited our professional relationship in order to get you to do something I wanted.”
He paused, and you nodded. “You should not have, sir. But i am not faultless. You were right, even if I wanted to, I would not have been able to help. I am sorry for being stubborn.”
He waved you off. “Determined, is the word I would use.”
You huffed out a breath, and nervously twisted your fingers behind your
back. Where is that damned pen when you need it?
”It is actually one of the qualities I value most about you.”
“What, my stubbornness?” you attempted to lighten the mood.
”Your determination,” he smiled.
You nodded and averted yur gaze. You were at loss for words, unable to keep the small talk up. He seemed equally clueless as to how to proceed.
You pulled back your shoulders, hoping to find strength in the pretension of confidence. You cleared your throat, before discussing the matter, which you had come to London fr.
“I do think it is time to talk about my employment with you.”
He averted his gaze, but nodded. "Yes, of course."
You had stayed quite close to the door. The gap that had formed between the two of you was unfamiliar, yet it was the only way for you to go through with your plan.
"I do not think it is possible for me to work with you any longer. "
Mycroft nodded again. “I had a feeling you might say that" he swallowed audibly, "And though I do understand you have to find your own way, I regret that ours must part.”
It was your turn to avert your gaze. "As do l. But I can no larger stay here."
"I hope you will forgive me for offending you," Mycroft choked out.
"On no, no! Mr. Holmes, there is nothing to forgive! Paris is not the reason for my decision.”
"What makes you say then that you cannot stay?'
"Sir… Do not ask me. I cannot tell you, it would be improper for me to talk about it. Just know that I am grateful and in your debt for everything you have done for me, and all the opportunities. I am aware that I have been quite privileged."
Mycroft's jaw locked up once more, as he stepped closer to you, so that only one step remained between the two of you.
"l really do regret that we have to part ways. Though I have to admit I am glad you brought it up and that you wish to leave. For I can no longer keep you as my assistant. I do hope you forgive me my forwardness and my disregard of propriety, but I have to tell you how I feel.”
He drew in a shaky breath.
“I do not think it is a secret that I regard you as a good friend, And that I care deeply about your well being. However, since this whole investigation started, and since we have experienced so much together, I seem to have developed affections for you which go beyond those of an employer and his employee, and even beyond those of mere friendship."
His breath stuttered and he shook his head slightly, taking a deep breath before continuing: "It seems that I have… That I have fallen in love with you."
Tears shimmered in his eyes, as he seemed overcome with emotions. He reached out and took your hand gently into his.
"I am so, so sorry that I have let my emotions come in the way and that you have to suffer the consequences." A tear rolled down his cheek. "You deserve better than that, a thousand times better."
Tears had started rolling down your cheeks as well, and it took a great deal of strength to not sob uncontrollably.
"Mycroft," you whispered, resting your other hand on his shoulder; "Ask me again why I do not want to stay as your assistant."
His eyebrows pinched together in confusion.. "Why?" he chocked out.
"I love you, Mycroft Holmes." you said through tears, though with the broadest smile he had ever seen.
He looked at you incredulously and brought your hand to his chest, his hands engulfing yours. "Do you really? You are not joking?'
'Yes! I could not bear being around you, unable to be with you. That is why I wanted to leave.”
He gasped. "What a relief. I thought I would loose you, should I ever find the courage to admit my feelings."
You laughed. "We are both idiots, are we not?' you sniffled.
Mycroft pressed a kiss on your knuckles. "Yes, we are indeed." he laughed tearfully. His hand came up to your cheek and he rubbed his thumb softly across your cheeckbone.
The room fell into a comfortable silence, as you leaned into his palm and closer to him. He mirrored your pose, and your heartbeat sped up as your gaze shifted down to his lips. You leaned a fraction closer and -
“Wait!”
“WHAT?!” You groaned exhasperately. “Mycroft you cannot be serious right now.”
He laughed at your impatience, but took a hesitant half step back. “I’m sorry my love, it is just… it is not proper.”
You looked at him shocked. “Mycroft, I have lived in your house. We are unchaperoned most of the time, now is really the least useful time to care about propriety.”
“We are not engaged, I do not have a ring…”
You smiled at him and turned your face to kiss the palm of his hand. “I do not need a ring, darling. I do not want a ring. I just really want to kiss you.”
He chuckled. “At least let me ask you,” he argued softly.
“Ask me what?”
He let his hand fall from your face and took another step back, before taking both your hands in his and kneeling on one knee in front of you.
Upon recognising what was going on, tears immediately flooded your eyes once more.
“Mycroft, get up,” your voice was shaking again.
“My love, please let me have this. I want to have a proper engagement.” He smiled up at you.
Tears threatened to spill again, so you just nodded.
He breathed out your name so softly you almost missed it. His voice was shaking as well as he continued speaking: “My darling. Will you do me the honour and make me the happiest man alive? Will you marry me?”
You had nodded long before he even finished his question, and now it spilled out of you: “Of course I will, yes, I do.”
You laughed ecstatically, as he got up and engulfed you in a tight hug, spinning you around in a circle.
He set you down carefully, and brought both his hands up to your face once more, wiping away the tears that were caught in your lashes.
He leaned in slowly and finally pressed his lips to yours in a featherlight kiss.
All the tension of the last couple of weeks melted off as he kissed you again, firmer this time and more determined.
You smiled into the kiss, as you held onto his forearms for stability.
He parted from you reluctantly, and looked into your eyes. Whatever he saw in them made him smile as well.
“My lovely fiancée,” he mumbled, leaning in once more.
Summary: Mycroft Holmes x fe!Reader -> You have been in love with your best friend for ten years, but when you get hurts, he starts to question his own feelings.
Disclaimer: mentions of reader getting hurt, platonic!James, historical inaccuracies, fluff, angst, yearning, love confessions, oblivious idiots, reader survives ten years whilst Mycroft crumbles within ten minutes.
For the last nine and a half years, you have been madly, hopelessly, desperately and pathetically in love with Mycroft Holmes.
For the first three years, you tried your best to deny it. You didn’t love him, it was just a work crush that was lasting too long. He was a dear friend and wires were just getting crossed.
Then, for a year, you ignored your feelings. If they didn’t exist, you didn’t have to deal with them. None of it was real. — it was just a figure of your imagination running wild.
For years five, six and seven you went through cycles of trying to shove your feelings away, succeeding for a short while, growing them back but even stronger (and without your approval), only to stuff them down once more and so on and so forth.
Also, between years seven and eight, you tried your hand at a couple of romances — though none ever lasted very long. A few dances, a few tea dates and one night at the opera.
They were all lovely but they either found themselves someone else to occupy their time, or they simply were a friend who agreed with you that the romantic aspects of things simply did not exist.
Finally, as the eight year bled into the ninth and was slowly creeping towards the tenth, you’d finally accepted the truth.
After you did, you scolded yourself for a while. Because, somehow, accepting your feelings made them a lot easier to deal with.
And though, every once in a while, the pain of knowing you’d never be together did sting a little: you were very content to be able to call Mycroft Holmes a friend.
Until this very moment when, technically, it was your friendship with him that landed you in the hospital.
“How are you feeling?”
“If I had the strength and energy, I could strangle you right now.”
Mycroft nodded. “That sounds fair.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?!”
“I-I didn’t think it was important-“
Mycroft didn’t have to look at your face to recognise the tone of disgust and shock. “Didn’t think it was important- Oh, you are so bloody lucky I am in this hospital bed- Mycroft!”
“I know,” he repeated, apologetically. “I know. I should have told you sooner but I really didn’t think you would have been targeted.”
“They shot me, Mycroft! With a bullet! From a gun! A concealed gun, no less! What did you think was going to happen?”
Mycroft stuttered, “Well, I suppose-“
“Oh, please don’t tell me you thought he was going to just talk.”
“Well…”
You rolled your eyes. “Oh, bloody hell!”
“I don’t see why you're so mad at me for that!? What were you doing following me anyway? I specifically told you-”
“I had a feeling so I followed you. I got worried, Mycroft. What do you think would happen, hmm? How do you think I, or your brother, or your family would feel if you had gotten seriously hurt? They could have killed you, Mycroft!”
“But they nearly killed you, instead!”
You nodded. “Yes! And I’m allowed to be mad at you for that, too. But I would do it again.”
Suddenly, the wooden door to your room swung open and a nurse popped her head inside. Both you and Mycroft agreed to keep your shouting to a minimum, and when the doors finally closed, Mycroft took a moment to look at you.
“What?” You asked, exasperated.
“What do you mean you would do it again?"
“I mean I would do it again,” you repeated. “I might want to kill you right now, Mycroft. But I don’t want to see you dead.”
Mycroft paused. “It seems, for the first time, I’m lost for words.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Neither of us can change what has happened. You should… you should probably go.”
“I can stay, if you’d-“
You shook your head, a little. “Your brother probably needs you, so…”
Mycroft took a breath and nodded. “Yes. You’re…you’re probably correct. I’ll pop in to check on you later.”
“Okay. Just try and not die before then, please?”
Mycroft nodded, “You have my word.”
And he managed to keep it. Though, by the time he arrived back at the hospital, you were fast asleep and on the mend.
As Mycroft stood at the end of your bed with a fresh bouquet of flowers, one of the nurses popped inside.
“Family?” She asked.
After a moment, Mycroft nodded. “Of sorts, yes.”
“Wonderful. You know, I was starting to get worried nobody would turn up. We did offer to send a wire to her home but she said she would do it herself. Didn’t want to worry you, you know.”
Mycroft nodded. “Is she…healing?”
The nurse nodded. “It’s a nasty thing, but she’s doing well so far.”
Earlier that day when Mycroft was told you were awake, he came and asked you how you were. You said it looked worse than it was.
Though he hadn’t fully believed you.
“Can I ask…how bad are her injuries?”
“Well, she was shot. The bullet was lodged but the surgeon managed to retrieve it. In all manner of speaking, she’s probably in a lot of pain. More than she’s admitting to any of us.”
After a few moments, the nurse turned back to Mycroft.
“Forgive me for prying, but would you happen to know if she is…involved with anyone? It’s a forward question, I know. But there were a couple women in here before — work colleagues, I believe. They mentioned something about a fella she might be seeing, or at least has strong feelings for?”
Mycroft was a little taken aback. Aside from the fact a nurse was asking him — though, by all assumptions, he was probably a cousin of some kind and since he was the only “family” to come, there could be consideration that you and he were close enough to discuss such things.
Mycroft, in all of his knowledge, wasn’t aware of any gentlemen who were trying to court you, or whom you had feelings for.
For a moment, he shook his head. “No, I can’t say that I do. Perhaps you have a name? Someone I can look for?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t know. It was a funny name. Not one I’ve heard before. Kinda like…Michael. But not that one.”
The nurse thought about it for a moment, but was struggling to recall.
“M-Mycroft?”
The nurse's face lit up. “Yeah! That’s the one. Do you know him?”
Mycroft a gaze fell on your sleeping frame for a moment before retiring to the nurse. “Ah, yes. I believe I might.”
“That’s wonderful! Is there any chance-“
Mycroft could feel his throat getting tighter. “Could- please just excuse me for a moment.”
He didn’t hear the nurses reply as he made his way out into the hallway to catch his breath.
Feelings? Strong feelings?
Surely, the nurse had to be wrong. You didn’t have feelings for him. You-you we’re friends. You would have said something-
Did you have feelings for him? To what extent? Maybe it was just an accident. Maybe the two women were talking about him, and you, because you worked together. Because he was the reason you were recovering from the bullet wound.
He didn’t pull the trigger: but he was the reason you got hurt.
No. You couldn’t have feelings for him. He would have seen. He would have noticed-
Before Mycroft knew it, he was back in his carriage and arriving home. Both Sherlock and James stared at him like he has three heads, as he poured a brandy and gulped it down before pouring a second and doing the same.
Loosening his top buttons and tie, Mycroft took a seat.
“Brother dear- oh, no.”
Mycroft stood and started pacing.
“What’s happened?” James asked, being the first to broach the subject.
“It’s not Y/n, is it? Is she okay?” Sherlock asked, quickly.
“Yes. No, no. Y/n’s fine. She was asleep when I got there. The nurse told me she’s healing nicely.”
“So what seems to be the issue?” James asked.
Mycroft attempted four times to speak before a statement finally fell from his lips.
“Feelings.”
Sherlock nodded slowly, looking from his friend to his brother.
“Yes, they are human emotions.”
“The nurse- she said there was- my point is- but it can’t be- but maybe- it’s a possibility-”
“Mycroft?”
“Does Y/n have them for me? Does she have feelings for me?”
Both Sherlock and James looked at each other – Sherlock slightly more confused than James. Slowly, and a little more relaxed than when he sat up, James leaned back in his chair once more.
“I thought he’d never figure it out.”
“What?” Mycroft asked.
“What?” Sherlock asked.
James looked at the pair of them, a coy smile on his face. “What? Oh, come on! You can’t seriously tell me you didn’t notice the woman has feelings for your brother.”
“Well,” Sherlock began, a little off-balance. “I…I suppose she has always preferred his company to others. But I thought it was just a coincidence-”
“You thought it was a coincidence that Y/n prefers your brother’s company to the likes of others? That the way she talks to him, looks at him, acts around him. That all of that…was just mere coincidence?”
“Well…”
“My god,” James sat back in dismay. “You really do look smarter than you seem.”
“Hey!”
Mycroft cleared his throat. “Excuse me? I am the one with the dilemma, here.”
Sherlock and James nodded. “You’re right. Sorry, brother dear.”
“Is it true?”
“Do you want it to be true?” James asked him.
“I don’t know. These last few days have already been too much excitement than I’m used to.”
“In ten years,” James started. “You haven’t once thought romantically about her?”
Mycroft fell silent for a few moments. “Well…not in a full romantic, marriage and children image. But…maybe, once or twice…when I see her and- oh, what am I saying? We’re friends. That seems to be the label I’ve held her under for so long. I haven’t really considered the full possibility.”
“Well, if it helps, I’m pretty sure she’s in love with you. I can’t say for certain since she won’t officially tell me, but odds are she is head over heels in love with you.”
“If that is true, why not just tell me?”
“Because she knows you don’t consider her in a romantic fashion.”
“How could she possibly know that?” Sherlock asked.
“I learned a long time ago never to question the abilities of a woman.”
Sherlock turned back to his brother. “So, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Mycroft answered, honestly.
“She did take a bullet for you,” James pointed out.
“But that doesn’t denote him having to propose marriage to her, does it?” Sherlock argued.
“No, it doesn’t,” James confirmed. “But she clearly cares for you, Mycroft. And if you decide you feel the same way, I would say you best tell her.”
“What if he doesn’t?” Sherlock asked.
But James didn’t look at him. Instead, his eyes remained fixed on Mycroft who looked like he was about to become a father and had no idea how to support his wife from outside the delivery room.
For the type of man James had come to know Mycroft was – he wasn’t a man that freaked out, easily. He took things in his stride, tried his best to remain calm and collected and offered the right words when they were needed.
If Mycroft didn’t feel the same way about you, James could have almost guaranteed Mycroft would have kept the new information to himself and either talked to you when you woke up or would have slowly made it clear that he had no interest in you and, over time, you would have moved away from each other’s lives.
But, instead, he was freaking out.
“I don’t think that’s the question he needs to be worried about.”
Sherlock turned to his brother who had a rather guilty look on his face. “Do you?”
Mycroft didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer. Because he didn’t know.
He felt like he’d been kept in the dark from himself for so long, and only now he was starting to realise the light that had been growing beside him all this time was, in fact, not the world around him, but…you.
When he first sat outside in the waiting room as they started the surgery for you to remove the bullet – the one you had told him had gone clean through and refused to let him check – it was the first time he cried in a long time.
Fear overwhelmed him.
In truth, the moment you had started yelling at him a few days after you had finally woken up and was in a clear frame of mind, he had been relieved.
He would take your anger, over your possible eternal silence, any day.
Your statement; you would do it again, had nudged something inside of him. A list of questions and queries. The main one was Why? Why would you do it again? Why had you been so worried that it had prompted you to follow him on his investigation? Why had you lied to him about the true extent of your injuries?
If you were worried about him, why couldn’t he be worried for you?
That night, and the following day, Mycroft tossed and turned in bed, and paced around the entirety of his home going over the last ten years with you.
He could still remember your first meeting.
It was at the town hall. He was shadowing his mentor whilst you were taking note of your boss’ ramble, in order to type up later. It had been a simple smile in passing, a brief introduction and then an hour of talking and getting to know, not only each other, but your boss’, too.
Surprisingly, Mycroft started to see you more frequently around his office since your boss, as well as his own, had struck up a deal and spent a lot of their time working together. For a short while, you both shared an office.
Over the years, your friendship grew stronger.
If there was ever a dance, Mycroft made sure he was the first one on your dance card. He would walk you home. On sunny afternoons, you’d both sit outside the local tea shop and talk about your day.
Eventually, the days of you both not talking became more rare than the days you did talk. Even when Mycroft was prompted and moved to another office, you still managed to keep in contact.
It was only in the last two, maybe three years, that you had started to also help out his brother and his friend when they seriously needed help.
Mycroft had come to you one evening with a dilemma, and you didn’t think twice about helping.
You knew most of his secrets, and he knew most of yours.
There wasn’t a true aspect of his life that you weren’t in. And there wasn’t a single aspect of his life that he didn’t want to share with you.
You were a guiding light amongst the darkness of London, work and family difficulties. You provided him with a safe space.
And, he provided the same to you. At least, he once had. You had told him as much; just after you decided that your Opera date was going to be your last with…whoever the guy was.
Though, after the last week or so, Mycroft wouldn’t be surprised if your statement had changed.
“And how is the patient feeling?”
You smiled, seeing James as he approached you outside the tea shop.
“She’s no longer a patient, so…thrilled!”
James smiled. “Mind if I take a seat?”
“Please.”
As one of the waitresses came outside, James ordered a cup of tea before looking back at you.
“I haven’t seen you in a while,” James started. “I half expected you to be with Mycroft.”
You shifted in your seat. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
You shook your head. “Not since he brought me home from the hospital. I sent him a letter but he told me he was busy. Which…I can believe.”
For a moment, you paused. “Might I ask you something, James?”
“Of course.”
“Has he said anything to you? Or Sherlock? We had a fight when I first woke up in the hospital and things haven’t exactly been…smooth since. We talked a little in the carriage when he brought me home but he seemed…”
“Distracted?”
You nodded, a little worried.
“Well, if you’re asking if it’s something you’ve done…it is. But it’s not your fault. Mycroft is a man who doesn’t understand what to do with emotions he wasn’t expecting.”
You stared at James, a little more than confused. “Pardon?”
As the waitress came outside with James’ cup of tea, he thanked her and watched her leave before pulling his gaze back to you.
“It seems that the bullet that hit you helped him realise something rather important.”
“Like what?”
James sat back. “I think I should let him explain that to you.”
“James, he won’t even speak to me.”
“Then, I suggest, you make him.”
You sighed. “How?”
“I think you can figure that one out.”
It took you three days, but you eventually did make him talk to you.
For those three days, and the two weeks since you’d left the hospital, he had avoided talking to you. Any letters you sent had been met with short and rushed replies. When you saw him in the hallway of parliament, he seemed…sad. But turned away and was carried away by his work.
But a few hours before you saw him, you had a surprise visitor.
“Sherlock?”
“I’m sorry to be calling on you so late,” he apologised. “But…might we talk?”
You nodded, opening your door a little wider. “Come on in. Is everything alright?”
“It’s about my brother.”
“Oh.”
“He’s starting to worry me and I believe you are the only one who can fix it.”
“Fix it?”
“Fix him. He’s…acting odd. Especially recently. He seems distracted by his feelings and I’m concerned about him. I fear the only way he might return back to normal would be if you spoke to him.”
“Feelings? What feelings?”
Sherlock sighed. “His feelings…for you.”
“Your brother doesn’t have feelings for me.”
“Well, I beg to differ. He’s been in a tizzy ever since you got shot. Even more so after he spoke to your nurse.”
“My nurse?”
Sherlock nodded. “She told him of your feelings for him and he came back home in such a state, I wondered if he’d been shot himself.”
The word around you quickly grew silent whilst a loud ringing in your ears started to rattle through your brain, meanwhile Sherlock’s voice drifted into the background.
“He hasn’t said as much, but I know my brother. And even James agrees. Clearly, he must reciprocate your feelings to some extent but he’s worried and doesn’t-”
Slowly, you dropped down to your sofa, gripping the edge of it with your hands.
He’d been ignoring you because…he had feelings for you? He’s been in a tizzy…over his feelings for you?
You’d known Mycroft for almost ten years. Never once had you truly seen him in such a state that could excuse the description of being in a tizzy.
No. Sherlock had to be wrong. It couldn’t be possible. He considered you a friend and nothing more.
Maybe he was just confused. You had gotten hurt – it was just a mixture of emotions that overwhelmed him. And he cared for you. Hearing from your nurse…oh, god!
Do you apologise? Tell him he doesn’t need to worry? Tell him it was all a mistake? He was your friend above everything else. You didn’t want to just ignore him for the rest of your life…you still worked together. But- no. No, if he wanted to ignore it, you had no other choice.
“Please, Y/n. Will you please try and talk to him?”
“I…I don’t know if I can. Sherlock…you brother doesn’t have feelings for me.”
Kneeling on the floor, Sherlock took your hands in his own. “I can assure you, my brother would not be in such a state if he didn’t reciprocate his feelings for you. But I fear he is beyond my reasoning. You’re the only one who can help him see some sense. You care for him, do you not?”
You nodded. “I do.”
“Then, please. Please. Talk to him?”
That was how you found yourself standing on the stoop of Mycroft’s home as your carriage rolled away down the street.
It was approaching eight in the evening, and although it would be considered incredibly rude, you spent twenty minutes sitting alone in your living room spiraling.
“Miss Y/l/n.”
Mycroft’s butler, Mr Clarke, answered the door.
“I’m sorry for calling so late, Mr Clarke. But is it possible-”
Although he seemed shocked, a look of relief washed over his face. “Come on in, Miss.”
“Thank you.”
“Might I take your coat?” He asked.
“Thank you, Mr Clarke,” you said, just before he laid it over his arm and nodded down the hallway.
“He’s in his office. I have to say, Miss, I am glad to see you. Good luck.”
You gave him a smile, but took a moment before smoothing down your dress nervously and walking down the hallway towards Mycroft’s office door that was left ajar.
“Who was it, Mr Clarke?” Mycroft asked as he heard the door creak behind him.
“Hello, Mycroft.”
Mycroft’s body stilled for a moment. He felt his breath catch in his chest before he turned around to face you.
“Y/n.”
“Forgive me for calling so late. I know it’s improper-”
Mycroft shook his head, laying down the paper file he’d been reading over for the last hour.
“No, no, no. Please, come in.” Mycroft looked around his office, seeing the mess he’d made. “Sorry about the mess.”
You chuckled, softly. “We shared an office, Mycroft. I think I can say my own office has looked worse.”
“How…how are you? How is the…” Mycroft gestured to your wound.
Your hand came up to it, holding it instinctively. “Oh, it’s…yeah, it’s fine. Like it was never there.”
Mycroft nodded. “Yes? That’s…that’s good.”
An empty silence fell over the room as you and Mycroft looked at each other. For the first time, you were seeing the aftermath of Mycroft being…in a state.
His hair was out of place, his tie was loose and so were his buttons. He looked…worn out. Tired and restless.
“Is everything…okay?”
You swallowed a little, and nodded. And then you shook your head.
“Actually, no. Sherlock…he came to me earlier and told me he was worried about you. And I have to say, I’ve been in a similar position.” You explained to him. “And I fear…that I might be the reason for your distress.”
“Oh,” Mycroft looked away, his fingers picking at the edge of his desk.
“Have I done something?” You asked, stepping forward.
“No, no,” Mycroft shook his head, eventually looking back at you. “No, of course not.”
“Because I can’t help but feel that I am,” you said. “Sherlock mentioned something about my nurse. That she said something-”
“It was purely coincidence."
“But, if she did, I don’t want you to fear my intentions of our friendship-”
“I don’t fear our friendship,” he replied.
“And I don’t want you to feel some sense of duty because of unspoken feelings.”
Mycroft stopped for a moment. “Feelings?”
“That…that’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Feelings?”
“You do have feelings…for me?”
You felt your heart rate soar, but you tried to remain calm. “Mycroft, I need you to know they were never intentional.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I care for you. You are my friend, Mycroft.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why haven’t you spoken to me in three weeks?” You countered. Mycroft remained quiet. “That is why I didn’t tell you. Because, feelings or not, I didn’t want to lose you. But I am anyway.”
“You’re not losing me, Y/n.”
“Then where have you been?” You asked, your voice pained. “Where have you been? I sent you letters, I’ve seen you at work. But you seemed so eager to avoid me. It wasn’t until Sherlock spoke to me earlier that I finally pieced things together.”
“I needed…to gather my thoughts,” Mycroft said. “In truth, I still don’t know what to say. All I know is that these last few weeks have felt like hell.”
Mycroft sat against his desk and ran a hand down his face.
“When you got shot…I was ready for it to be me, when I saw you. But it wasn’t me. It was you. It was you who got shot, who got hurt…who nearly lost their life because of me.”
Mycroft could barely look at you as he told you his side of the story.
“And when you were in the hospital, all I could think about was…everything between us. Our friendship…all those moments that I cherish with you. They could have ended – you could have been lost in an eternal silence…all because of me.”
You remained still, listening to his every word. You watched as images flashed across his memory, the way his hands trembled, the way his shoulders hunched with tight tension.
“In all honesty, I was mad at you, too. If you hadn’t followed me, you wouldn’t have been hurt. You would be safe and everything would be…well.”
“But if I wasn’t-”
“I know,” Mycroft nodded, his voice gentle. “I see that. Believe me, I do. I really do see that. But if it is a question of your danger or mine? I will choose mine everytime because, as much as you say you don’t want to lose me, I can’t lose you either, Y/n.”
Looking at you, tears grew in his eyes.
“I really can’t.”
“Mycroft…”
He shook his head as he closed his eyes. “No, wait. Please. If I don’t say this now, I don’t think I’ll ever have the courage to say it.”
Nodding and staying fixed in your place, you waited. You waited to run over and hug him. You waited for him to tell you his truth.
“That same night, after we fought, I came back as I promised. And, I don’t know what Sherlock has told you, but your nurse did tell me a few things. None of which I had confirmation of. It could have been a coincidence, or not. I couldn’t tell. So, I came home. I don’t even remember leaving. One minute I was outside of your hospital room, the next I was standing in front of Sherlock and James.”
Mycroft relayed to you what happened when he got home, and what his brother and his friend told him. He told you how he couldn’t sleep for four days; he went over everything. Every moment of your friendship together than he could remember.
Surprisingly to you, he remembered a lot more than you did.
The inside jokes, the sunny walks in the park, the dreary winter evenings in the city, the tea-shop afternoons spent reading and gossiping together, the late nights in the office when you were younger, the schemes and acts performed for the sakes of his brother and his friend when they were on investigations, the dances, the parties, the Irish-Exits made at ones neither one of you wanted to attend, the summer picnics at his family home…
The list was endless.
But for as much as his memory was touching, it still didn’t explain why you hadn’t seen him for three weeks.
“You worry I fear our friendship, but I don’t.” Mycroft told you. “I care for you, deeply. I always will. But what I do– did fear was what came next.”
“Mycroft, I already told you. There is no sense of duty or concern that you need-”
“I want there to be.”
The cogs in your brain short-circuited. And he saw.
“I want there to be,” he repeated, standing up. “I have been incredibly stupid to not have noticed it sooner. And, even more so by avoiding you for these last few weeks. But if I think about it anymore, I might go mad. So, here it goes.”
Still in shock, your feet remained fixed to the carpet as Mycroft approached you.
“I love you,” he said. “I am in love with you. And I hate that what it took me to realise that, was you getting hurt. I don’t want there to ever be a day where we don’t talk, where I don’t see you, where I don’t hear your voice or your laughter. You are the light and my hope in this dreary world, and I will be damned if I never get to see you again. When I say duty, it’s not because it’s what is proper or what is right for society, but because it’s what I want for us. Because I want there to be an us.”
“Mycroft…”
You felt like crying. Or, maybe, you already were.
“Please, tell me now if you don’t feel the same. Tell me if you’ve let go, if I’ve lost you-”
You shook your head and reached up before kissing him, cutting him off.
Barely a few seconds passed before Mycroft’s hands were on your cheeks, pulling you closer to him as he stepped forward.
“You’ve not lost me,” you said, tears rolling from your eyes. “You’ve not lost me. You’ll never lose me–”
Mycroft kissed you again, his arms wrapping around you and holding onto you like you were his anchor; his reason for existing.
His kisses trailed desperately across your cheek and into your neck as you held onto each other, in a mess of feelings and tears.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Mycroft repeated, his voice muffled in the crook of your neck.
“I love you, too,” you finally told him.
For the next three days, you and Mycroft were practically attached at the hip. Sherlock and James turned up the next evening, in a rush and a panic and in need of help. James noticed you were already there, and Sherlock made a note to ask his brother later.
At work, whenever you passed in the hallway, there was always a brush of hands or a smile shared. By all means, not much had changed when it came to work; but the atmosphere felt lighter.
At lunch, yourself and Mycroft sat together in the lunch hall. At least, when the other wasn’t being dragged away because of work.
In the evenings, he would walk you home, or simply take you to his home. If you were ever parted, it wasn’t for long.
“Darling,” Mycroft reached out for you. “Come back to bed.”
“Your mother is probably expecting us downstairs. It’s almost after noon!”
Mycroft caught your hand and pulled you back onto the bed with him. “I can assure you my mother’s mind will not be on whether we are late for afternoon tea. We are newlyweds after all.”
You smiled, feeling his kiss trail down your neck slowly. “We came back from our honeymoon three weeks ago.”
Mycroft hummed against your bare skin. “And we have ten years to make up for.”
“Well, I think we covered years one through five in Europe.”
“Meaning there’s five still left. Not counting the lifetime ahead of us.”
Feeling yourself agreeing with his side of the argument, you practically melted under his touch.
how do you think Mycroft acts when you're sick with a cold/a migraine attack? do you think he's the overly caring type or is he more detached and aloof, so to speak? :)
small blurb! chronic illness havers unite. not proofread :p
mycroft knows when you're going to get a migraine before you do. and yet, you never believe him when he tells you it's coming, because how would he know? so obviously when the migraine hits, you try to hide it, if only to save your pride. this, of course, he sees right through this as well.
"time to lie down, yes?" he would say, helping you up from wherever you were sat.
he would ignore your protests as he hauls you to your room with his arm around your waist, closing the curtains and propping your head up on the pillows after he lays you down and tucks you in.
he knows you arent in any serious danger, so he is not frantic or panicked. but he is doting, in his own way.
hes not a man of words, but of actions. he scolds your carelessness as he strokes your hair. he rolls his eyes as he gets into bed with you by your request. he huffs and melts as you bury your face in his chest. he kisses your head as you finally fall asleep.
Tags: Friends to Lovers, Tension, Jealousy, Confession, Humor
Warnings: None
Summary: When an unexpected moment happens, the lines between friendship and something more start to blur. Can Henry keep his feelings hidden any longer, or will everything come crashing down?
Chapter Three: The Caught-in-the-Act Moment
The village was quieter than usual, the sun slowly dipping beneath the horizon. You had been walking around the village, mulling over everything that had happened lately. Henry was, as usual, on your mind, though you tried to shake off the constant thoughts of him.
You found yourself at the smithy, your destination for the evening. Henry was at his anvil, hammering away at a piece of steel, muscles rippling with each strike. It wasn’t that you weren’t used to it, but seeing him like that always made you feel something strange.
You weren’t sure what it was, but you brushed it off as nothing.
“Hey, Henry,” you called out, leaning against the doorway with a small smile.
He glanced up, his face lighting up just a little at the sight of you. “What’s up?”
You hesitated, shifting on your feet. “Well, my mum’s heading to the city tomorrow, and… I wanted to get this ring I’ve had my eye on for a while now.”
Henry raised an eyebrow, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “Oh yeah? What kind of ring?”
You let out a small laugh, feeling a little self-conscious. “It’s not anything too fancy. Just something I’ve wanted for ages, but Mum said no because it’s too expensive. And with everything going on right now, I understand.”
He didn’t say anything right away, just nodding in understanding.
“I just thought it would be nice to have something special for myself, y’know?” you added quietly, looking down.
Henry studied you for a moment, his gaze softening before he returned to his work. “Well, maybe one day you’ll get it.”
You smiled, feeling comforted by his words. “Yeah, maybe. Maybe some handsome man will sweep me off my feet and gift me all the beautiful jewels my heart desires.” you giggle, grinning at Henry, who looked like he caught something in his eye.
Just as you were about to say more, the door opened.
You didn’t even have to look to know who it was. The familiar voice rang out from the doorway.
“Hey, Y/N.”
You turned to see one of the village boys standing there, a hopeful expression on his face.
“Hey, what’s up?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual.
“I was wondering if you’d like to go for a walk with me tomorrow. You know, by the river? The weather’s supposed to be nice.”
You blinked, surprised by the invitation. Normally, you never got asked out, and it felt… strange.
“Well, sure. I mean, that sounds nice,” you said, giving him a small smile.
Before the boy could respond, though, Henry’s voice interrupted the air between you.
“She’s already busy.”
You whipped your head toward him, startled by his sudden interruption. “What?”
Henry stepped up next to you, his hand brushing yours briefly. “Yeah, we’re already making plans.”
Your heart skipped a beat, not sure if you were annoyed or confused. The village boy stood there, mouth open, clearly taken aback.
“Wait, you two are… together?” the boy asked, his face flushed with confusion.
Henry didn’t hesitate, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah, we are. And if you don’t mind, we’ve got plans.”
You were about to say something, but Henry continued, practically dismissing the boy.
The boy muttered something about not realizing and quickly exited, but Henry didn’t budge, still standing close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body next to yours.
“Henry,” you finally managed, looking at him with wide eyes. “What the hell was that?”
He shrugged, acting like it was no big deal. “Just making sure you don’t have to deal with that. You don’t want him asking you out, right?”
You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already stepping back, giving you that cheeky grin you knew all too well.
“I didn’t need your help, Henry,” you said, crossing your arms.
“I wasn’t doing it for you,” he replied with a smirk. “Just didn’t want to see some other guy getting ideas.”
You shook your head, incredulous. “You’re really something else.”
He only chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “You’re welcome.”
For a moment, you just stared at him, your chest suddenly feeling heavy with something you couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it was the way he had acted like he had every right to interrupt or how easily he’d claimed that you two were together.
You blinked, snapping out of your thoughts. “Well, I’m not your girlfriend, so don’t get any ideas.”
Henry’s smirk only widened, his gaze never leaving you. “Who said anything about ideas?”
You flushed, quickly turning away. “Whatever, Henry.”
You needed to get out of there before you completely lost your cool.
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