#hisarchenemy

[vxctorx-archived]

[ sometimes Vic wonders if his affection for the Holmes brothers is worth the amount of gray hairs they give him on a regular basis ]

[gunmetalgrey-trashpile]

let alex moran write your dating profile 2k20

for @hisarchenemy

Mycroft Holmes, 34

Lil bitch seeks distraction from all consuming career and family life, ideally someone who’s allergic to cake. Willing to accept a goldfish as a cure for loneliness, although the ability to speak is preferred. Must love a well cut suit and a complete lack of privacy.

[locktive]

mycroft holmes moodboard ☕ for @hisarchenemy, happy birthday bb! 🖤🖤🖤

(do not reblog unless you are @hisarchenemy k thank you)

[confoundingprinciples]

hisarchenemy replied to your post “hisarchenemy replied to your post “if john were to kill sherlock, it...”

the mere POSSIBILITY of it is rude !

“if it makes you feel better mycroft, i can take you out first.”

[nctanthca]

@hisarchenemy​ said: 

☎

Put ☎ in my ask for your muses info in my muses phone:

NAME: Sir

RINGTONE: It flips constantly. Normally she has her sound off and is on vibrate but it has been known to sound off the following:

The Jonathan Creek theme song ( ‘Danse Macabre’ by Saint-Saëns)

The Big Brother theme ( may or may not have been changed to this when around Sherlock one day without her knowledge; she didn’t bother changing it for a while. It was immensely amusing...)

QI theme ( for obvious reasons )

As you can see, Anthea likes themes...

PICTURE: 

LAST TEXT RECEIVED: Need I be truly concerned this time? -MH

LAST TEXT SENT: They’re too easy. I need a challenge.

[duelac]

     the  hush  of  the  theater  is  a  comforting  quiet,  differing  greatly  from  the  deafening  quiet  that  rings  in  his  ears  so  often  whilst  existing  alone.  over  time,  the  nights  quelled  together  into  one  miserable  existence. 

     glassy  nails  scrape  at  the  ridges  of  the  intricate  carving  traced  into  the  arm  rest  of  the  vintage  seat.  comforting  is  the  noise,  the  smell,  the  liveliness  of  the  space.  and,  louis  does  suppose,  the  palate.  dining  in  elegance-  lestat’s  worst  trait...  well,  one  of  them.  the  act,  for  louis,  had  become  much  easier  over  time  (fluent-  he  could  coast  through  the  motions),  but  his  self-loathing  remained.  it  sits  heavy,  bitter  on  his  conscience  as  he  leaves  his  seat,  ghosting  through  the  dark,  victorian  halls  of  the  upper  level,  through  the  opulence  of  the  foyer,  and  out  into  the  chill  fall  air.

     after  descending  nearly  half  of  the  stone  steps  leading  up  to  the  establishment,  he  turns,  black  hair  fraying  in  the  wind-  as  if  the  scent  of  cigarette  smoke  from  the  thin  man  standing  under  the  building’s  terrace  had  caught  his  notice  and  not  the  sound  of  his  heartbeat  moments  earlier.  louis’ unused voice is raspy when he finally speaks,  ❛  do  you  care  if  i  join  you?  ❜

@hisarchenemy, 𝕾𝕮.

[drkestsky]

     there’s  a  slight  limp  to  james’  usual  swagger;  the  visible  inconvenience  had  been  a  parting  gift  from  a  precarious  fall  the  weekend  before  and  was  accented  by  the  invisible  inconvenience  of  several  bruised  ribs.  however,  his  current  annoyance  at  his  physical  ‘tweaks’  dissipates  as  soon  as  he  steps  through  the  double-doors  and  he’s  greeted  with  the  stalwart  sight  of  mycroft  holmes.  plucking  at  the  ends  of  his  sleeves  with  the  opposite  hands  (it  doesn’t  do  good  to  look  unkempt  in  front  of  the  big  boss-),  james  approaches  with  a  smile  and  attempts  to  smooth  out  his  walk.

     ❛   hello  holmes-  ’s  been  a  while...  the  sky  falling?   ❜

@hisarchenemy​

[jmriarty]

          chords of a verse from eleanor rigby play through his chest as he hums them, rounding along the railing of the upper balcony. eleanor rigby fits him, but strawberry fields is what he’s going for... just jive enough to net himself a holmes boy. the flute of champagne in his hand is becoming increasingly boring, some yellow label, too little sour and unexpensive.

          he comes upon mycroft at the left tail end of the upper level, letting out a little pleased purr as he tips his glass back and finishes it. chin dropping back down,     ❛     my, this champagne really is 𝒂𝒘𝒇𝒖𝒍, isn’t it?     ❜     rounding the other to stand at his opposite (left) side, dark eyes trail from the tips of mycroft’s shoes up onwards to those distinct shoulders, not at all shy, but certainly... withheld; looking, but still appreciative. gaze turning back outwards, to the crowd below,     ❛     it’s taking me longer to find you each time they hold one of these events- any reason for that? if you want rid of my company, you can tell me.     ❜     a light little laugh follows the... gently confrontational words. oh, he’s convincing-

@hisarchenemy​, plotted.🖤