Title: All This Time
Summary: When Mycroft’s daughter can’t cope with his unbearable behaviour anymore, she decides to make him and everyone believe she’s dead. She goes, after six years, to live with her uncle Sherlock, trying to keep it from Mycroft and to start a new life back in London. But a new case calls for Sherlock’s help, and Mycroft himself is bringing the news to 221B...
Author: Niky (@waiting-for-orchestra)
Words: 2013 (hehe)
Characters/Relationships: Mycroft x daughter!reader, Sherlock x platonic!reader, John x platonic!reader
Warnings: some cursing, ANGST, character (fake) death
Request: Could u do a one shot where the reader is mycrofts daughter and he thinks she died years ago but in reality she faked her death because her and her father hated each other and she couldn’t stand being around him, Sherlock her uncle (who is more of a father figure to her) also thought she was dead up until about a year ago when she came to live with him and they are hiding it from Mycroft but he eventually finds out??????
– anonymous
A/N: I fell in love with this request!! This is how I’m introducing myself as the new writer in the team, and also a suggestion to the readers: listen to Tchaikovsky while reading this! I was listening to his music while writing, sooo... Hope you like it, and special thanks to the anon who requested this!
“Daddy! Daddy, look at this! Look, I made it for you! You received a lot of phone calls today and were always saying thank you, I thought it were a special day. Do you like it?” shouted little Y/N, a messy muffin in her chocolate-stained hands.
“I’m busy for these things, Y/N. If you had paid more attention, you would have noticed I ended every phone call in five seconds.”
“Is it your birthday, Daddy?”
“Get out, please.” Mycroft’s tone was cold but calm.
“At least tell me how it tastes-”
“Get the hell out!” Mycroft shouted, looking only for a second at the little kid running out of his office and going back to his paperwork.
“Uhm... dad?” murmured eleven-year-old Y/N while opening her father’s office door. Her high voice was joyful and she wore a little smile on her face.
“Yes, dear, what do you want?” Mycroft didn’t look up from his work.
“I’m eleven now. Will I get to go to Hogwarts?”
“Y/N please, you’ve grown up and your intelligence is far beyond believing in this sort of things.”
Y/N’s smile faded and she closed the door behind her back, sighing sadly.
“I can’t take this anymore, I can’t live like this!” shouted fourteen-year-old Y/N at her father. She bumped a fist on the table they were sitting at, then stood furiously and walked to the balcony. She nodded slightly, looking at the street.
“I’m done. I never want to see you again.”
Y/N ran away from the hall, leaving Mycroft, who was shouting her name, behind; leaving everything behind.
She climbed to the roof, where Mycroft instantly followed, then reached the edge and looked down, nodding again, her eyes empty, the warm summer sun hitting the back of her neck.
“Y/N, what the hell are you doing? Come here, now!”
She turned to face him.
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
And she disappeared, to be never seen again.
That had been a long time prior, thought Sherlock, the memory of his niece still vivid in his mind palace. Every moment they had spent together, he sort of missed it, no matter how much he claimed not to have feelings.
She had always seen him as a father way more than Mycroft, and he had raised her like he would have raised a daughter of his; and her fate, her end, was another reason for which he hated his brother with all his might. He wished everyday he had just had the possibility to say goodbye; she had decided to jump in a split second, when she couldn’t keep it all inside anymore.
No one knew she ever even existed except for the people in the family: she was born and died in silence, and it hurt Sherlock way more than a punch or a blade. He just wished he could have hugged her one last time. When he was lost thinking in his mind palace, the image of that little girl suddenly appeared. It had scarred him and had broken almost all his connections with Mycroft. And that was another of those times; Y/N Holmes, rest in peace.
But a knock on the door waked him from his thoughts, and he instantly assumed it was John; that is, if John hadn’t been at home already, since morning even.
“Sherlock, aren’t you going to open the door?” The doctor’s voice emerged from the kitchen in fact, slightly annoyed. He sighed, then said: “I’ll go then.”
As the door opened, a puzzled expression made its way on John’s face. In front of him was a – particularly attractive – young woman, with Y/H/L, Y/H/C hair framing her gentle features, and a pair of big Y/E/C eyes. Admiring her, he forgot they were still standing in the doorway.
“I’m sorry,” the woman spoke, “Does Sherlock Holmes live here? I’ve found the door open, I didn’t mean to look like an intruder in any way.”
“Yes, yes, he does.” John said, clearing his throat. “He’s... getting ready.” He added as he looked at Sherlock, who was lying on the sofa, and sent a death glare his way that forced the detective to run to his room to get dressed.
John let the woman in and closed the door, making her sit in the client’s chair as usual. Sherlock reappeared seconds later from the bedroom, and as he saw the young woman sitting in his living room, he couldn’t help but notice her familiar features. “Good... afternoon.” Sherlock murmured, busy trying to deduce her. John tried to refrain from laughing at the detective’s expression.
“No need for formalities, we’re family. Oh, right. You don’t know.” She bit her lip.
“What do you mean you’re family? Am I missing on something?” John asked, his questions ignored.
“Y/N...?” Sherlock was startled. “Y/N, I can’t believe it!”
“Sherlock, who is...?”
The detective looked much more... human, when he hugged the woman named Y/N. But who she was, John still couldn’t understand. “Sorry, you must be John Watson. I’m Y/N Holmes, his niece.” Y/N said, looking towards John and noticing his confusion. She then looked him over, deducing just like Sherlock, "Did you get married?” She then turned to Sherlock, “Did he get married? Last time I checked he had not.”
John’s expression darkened at the thought of Mary.
“Yes, he got married and he has a daughter. Please don’t talk about this ever again.” The detective hurried. Y/N nodded.
“Anyway, how are you alive? And why didn’t you tell me? It’s been six years, six years, for God’s sake! Why couldn’t I hear a word from you? And you were complaining about my two years, John. She faked her death for three times that; in our family we can always do worst than we actually do.”
“It’s a long story... I couldn’t bear the thought of living with that asshole of father I have and I couldn’t think of a better solution. I studied the place anyway, from afar of course. I lived in Switzerland until now, no one ever checks Switzerland.”
John continued looking from Y/N to Sherlock, and from Sherlock to Y/N. Sherlock noticed immediately and rolled his eyes. “John, is it more surprising that my niece is alive or that Mycroft actually has a daughter? Why are you looking at us like that?”
“I didn’t think...” he started, then stopped in his tracks. “Never mind. I’m going out, I’ll ring Mrs. Hudson.” As John closed the door, Sherlock sighed in relief.
“Now, explain.”
“It was me and a guy I knew, we’d been friends for as long as I can remember but of course Mycroft never knew. I told him everything about how my father was being annoying and all and when I told him I wanted to fake my death he stepped right in to help. Good guy, really, with a passion for criminals and crimes, like you. He set it all up, I just had to jump.
“He assured me it would have been alright, Mycroft never saw the body because he never dared to look down, and in fact, it wasn’t even there. We didn’t bother because I knew he wouldn’t have had the courage to look, even from up there. This guy stayed by my side in Switzerland, I knew Mycroft would have been drowning in sentiments and he wouldn’t have deduced anything, no matter his wit. I kept an eye on him, and on you, and John Watson too, but I lost track after some time because I was planning my return to London. I thought living with you would have been the best option, but my friend is staying nearby of course, just in case things turn bad.”
Sherlock listened with a certain sparkle of pride in his eyes. He knew she had done something terrible but couldn’t help but feel so proud of her, being able to do this much with only one person by her side. She had fooled Mycroft Holmes. “So basically this is it. Do you have an extra room?” Y/N added with a smile.
“You can stay in mine. The other is John’s.” Y/N nodded, then glanced to the door.
“I’ll bring my things in then.”
Living with uncle Sherlock wasn’t easy for Y/N. He could stay up until unholy hours at night, or wake at unholy hours in the morning. He always brought in clients, and she had to lock herself in the bedroom during those times. She kept care of the dusty flat, did the shopping, and spent her free time playing her uncle’s violin.
She remembered clearly the days when she was six, when he used to teach her. She had learned pretty well too, and had continued to practice during the years in Switzerland. The violin smelled a lot like happiness and so little like Mycroft, it made her feel calm and it was the only real way she could relax.
All in all, life in 221B had been going on quite well for Y/N, until one rainy day in November in which she heard loud knocks on the door. Sherlock and John were both out investigating a crime scene and she couldn’t receive clients, so she let Mrs. Hudson open the door. But after hearing her voice saying that Sherlock wasn’t home, she heard loud footsteps coming towards the flat anyway.
“Maybe it’s Lestrade”, she thought, but it couldn’t be: he was with the boys at the crime scene. Who else could have...
Then it hit her, finally, and she cursed herself for not realising earlier. She tried to hurry to the bedroom and hide, but it was already too late. Mycroft stormed inside when she was just crossing the kitchen, and she froze there, her back towards the living room.
“Who’s... Who are you?” Mycroft asked, noticing her presence.
“Oh, I am... Sherlock’s... girlfriend.” she answered without turning around.
“Oh, he’s always been the sentimental one.”
“And you’ve always been the annoying one.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Mycroft moved closer to her and grabbed her arm, to turn her around. When he finally saw her face, he recognised those familiar features. It was unbelievable, but it couldn’t be anyone but her, his daughter. His dead daughter.
“Y/N...”
“You started it. You could have just not cared. Like you always did. You could have just ended it there, left those papers on the desk and left.”
“Six years... all this time... you were alive, you were fucking alive and you didn’t tell me? For God’s sake Y/N, I am your father!”
“My father and the reason I faked my death. I couldn’t just die. Hell, I was fourteen, I had a life ahead of me, I wouldn’t have thrown it all away for you. Sherlock’s the sentimental one, huh? But look at you, couldn’t stand to look down at my dead body, couldn’t come to my funeral, all because sentiments were blocking you, scaring you, because you’re a coward.” Y/N’s voice became a threatening whisper at the end, and Mycroft was frozen by the truth held in her words.
“I know I’ve been a terrible father but my work...”
“You’ve been an ass.”
“Y/N, if you don’t stop this right now I...”
“You what? I’m not a little girl anymore.” Mycroft’s expression softened, but the tension could be cut with a knife. Y/N’s gentle face was contorted into a disgusted expression, and Mycroft’s fingers around her arm were only making her more annoyed. She felt his hold loosen, and shook her arm away. Her father’s eyes, sweeter, met hers, full of rage.
“Y/N, you know, no matter how I acted, I always loved you. Your suicide – fake, as it turns out – was a main thought of mine during these years. It killed me too. I always, always regretted not being a better father to you, really.”
“No. Sorry. I’m really, really sorry. It doesn’t work with me. You are not my father and you never were.” And with those words, she stormed to the bedroom, locking the door behind her – forever.
I'm thinking about signing up for Japanese on Duolingo. Do you think I should go for it? 😅
I’ve started it and oh my god am I relieved that 6th-grade me decided to learn Hiragana and Katakana because wowie that saved me a lot of brainache. So do that beforehand. Also it’s fuckin hard and I’ll probably only end up being able to understand Japanese rather than communicate overly well myself but that’s better than nothing.
You have rewatched every Sherlock episode several times, for, I believe, two main reasons. You dedicate a considerable amount of your time to writing, so it is very likely your main hobby. You have no particular ships for Sherlock - probably that is why you write almost exclusively reader inserts. You are uncomfortable about writing about themes of a certain social relevance, but consider them really important and of main knowledge for others. Did I get them right? 😘❤
Oh wow, you actually did! I’m impressed!
I’m afraid I have watched Sherlock more times than I can count, and indeed, I don’t really have a main ship. I kind of shipped him with Irene for a while, but not enough for it to become an OTP, hence the reader inserts…
And if by matters of social relevance you mean stuff related to sexuality and all that jazz, I guess I’m just afraid of offending people. The internet can be a very, uh… fickle place when it comes to opinion, so I try not to step on that field too much. I’m a very open person to things like that, though. I’m not really tied to the concept of gender itself. To me there’s not actual need to label what you are as long as you’re happy, but I do think those subjects are important and should be talked about more often.
