Could I request an imagine where the reader is Sherlocks best friend, who lifes with Sherlock and is also extremly intelligent and a police officer (always exhausted and working late). Sherlock nows that his brother has a crush on the reader and tries to play matchmaker. I mean what could go wrong? XD
“I do sincerely apologize for our improbable circumstances again officer ____ and cannot phantom why Sherlock would do this,” Mycroft reiterates as the pair of you attempt in vain to jostle the coffin enough for it to fall onto its side and break.
It’s almost been two hours since the two of you were trapped in the wooden box meant for vampires and the dead.
Groaning when not even the combined wiggling from the combined weight could rock the coffin enough to even budge you rest your head on the interior lining. “At this point I’m not even peeved Mr. Holmes,” you say with a put upon sigh.
Running your fingers between the limited space between tracing the farbic lines you state mildly “At the very least I can feel at home in a coffin even if its not as nice like the one I have at home.”
“Ah yes, the old Count Vlad collection edition King? You are aware that those are hard to come by nowadays.”
Humming noncommittally you watch Mycroft in the darkness of the enclosed space. Despite being an unspeakable himself Mycroft didn’t have the ability to see in the dark outside his form but it made it very easy for a vampire like you to read people.
It wasn’t uncommon for unspeakables not to share similar traits but it generally put other unspeakables at odds for whom should be counted as a “true” unspeakable and which was just a human trying to pass as one.
Some people would claim that people like your neighbor Molly the necromancer shouldn’t count when she’s clearly doing something so very few humans can do.
Others would argue that werewolves like the Holmes were just animals posing as humans and many would incorrectly label Inspector Lestrade as a zombie when he’s clearly hails from the Frankenstein gene pool.
All in all it did cause a lot of arguing and jealousy among the unspeakable crowd when these tiny differences were pointed out or used in front of opposing community members but in the darkness who could judge?
Stilling your hand’s circular motion you call out to him. “Mycroft?”
“Yes?”
“Your brother is doing this on purpose,” you accuse plainly.
Even without the heightened sense of hearing you can feel the uncomfortable shifting and see the unease on Mycroft’s face. “Of that I have no doubts Officer ______ however it is the why which still remains to be unclear,” Mycroft deflects.
Now you didn’t get this far in the force just because you’re a vampire with more than five decades on the force, single handedly help Molly become more confident in talking to Sherlock by hypnotizing her to act on her desires or fight Sherlock in hand-to-wolf combat to earn his respect and a lesser extent pack status.
In the last five months on end you have been trapped with Mycroft in many unusual places; the janitor’s closet, in an elevator, the blob like remains of a decaying unspeakable in a lonely back alley, in the trunk of a lead lined car, buried alive in mermaid’s tank with only a tank full of an hour’s air and on more than one occasion the industrial freezer of a major hospital.
All of which save the freezer were non-life threatening to a vampire but to a half human unspeakable? Not so much.
Obviously Sherlock was trying to force Mycroft into doing something with the amount of life threatening situations you both were thrown into and you didn’t like it one bit.
It needed to stop because if this continued you sure as hell weren’t going to stay pack mates for long if this is how he treats his own blood.
“I think you do know,” you claim.
There’s more squirming and you can see Mycroft try to bodily press himself through into his corner of the coffin with his face plastered with what could be knowing guilt.
“I have no idea what you’re implying but whatever it is it is not what you think officer ____-”
“______,” you inject, “we’ve been trapped in so many different ways that you’d think we’d be on a more familiar basis.”
There’s an obvious heat flushing on Mycroft’s face that neither the cover of darkness from the coffin nor the cold air of the funeral home can diminish as Mycroft corrects himself,” _____ but not everything is black and white.”
“You’re right because right now you’re flushing red,” you add watching him redden further, “now are you sure you have nothing you want to talk to me about before you run out of air? Even a coffin sealed like this only has maybe a good hour and a half even if we stopped speaking entirely.”
“All the more reason to stop talking,” Mycroft maintains quickly. It’s clear as day even without the night vision that Mycroft wants to drop the topic entirely but you have to stop this for his sake at least.
“Or we talk and maybe Sherlock will be arsed to come let us out of here without having to resort to more drastic measures,” you counter, “Seriously Mycroft I know how confined spaces don’t bode well for werewolves so if you just tell me we might be able to get free-”
“…”
“What was that again?”
“Please don’t make me say it again I know that an unspeakable such as yourself has more enhanced hearing than most,” Mycroft pleads but you have to-he needs to say it again.
“But I didn’t hear you-”
“I will not repeat myself,” Mycroft declares venomously showing very clear signs of an agitated werewolf backed against the corner. The heat wafting off from the lycan was just as it would be in the heat of battle making it all too warm in the confined space and causing droplets to form everywhere within the sealed casket.
It should be said that it is never a good idea to back any unspeakable against a wall but more so for a skinchanger more specifically the werewolf variety but you had to hear it again.
“Please.”
The tenseness in Mycroft’s back dissipates only by a fraction before he utters more slowly, “I…I have feelings of admiration toward you.”
Given how most vampires get stuck with the night shifts at most places its difficult to find someone if anyone that isn’t a vampire or doesn’t fetishize your type to date and for a werewolf no less-talk about forbidden love.
Mycroft was definitely a lycan that was easy on the eyes and understood the insane things that you are put through with being Sherlock and Molly’s friend during their odd courtship.
At the very least going out with Mycroft would save what was left of your sanity and restore what little faith you had in finding some humanity in a future partner that understood the perspective of an unspeakable.
“Then why don’t we go out,” you suggest watching with morbid fascination on how Mycroft’s body tone shifts.
No longer is he pressed to his side of the coffin but more open, closer than he was originally and the heat oozing off of him a more tolerable-pleasing aroma.
“For dinner,” Mycroft asks cautiously, “I can’t imagine you could do breakfast or lunch with your condition.”
“Hell I’m good either way, “you say, “It doesn’t have to be dinner since our schedules are shit but a quick bite.” If anything you are glad for that Mycroft cannot see you under the guise of darkness as you recall the double innuendos from that last sentence but not even someone as sightless as Mycroft are blind.
“Well, I can’t say that I would mind too terribly much if you bit me,” Mycroft professes cheekily causing your blush to brighten but you were never one to be outdone.
After all vampires weren’t hailed as the second most seductive unspeakables next to succubi.
“Keep that train of flattery coming and I just might right here,” you clap back making sure that your creeping hand “accidentally” bumped into a more southern region.
“AND THAT’S ENOUGH OF THAT,” came the demanding voice of Sherlock as the coffin is unceremoniously unsealed and moonlight casts its remaining light within the casket.
