mycroft holmes and night brain?
prompt: ynm! Mycroft Holmes + night brain (x fem!reader)
sans’ corner: this went off the rails, but I don’t know whether I am okay with it or not. I hope it is still worth something. Also I apologise for the delay. Enjoy!
It is a rare sight the one bestowed upon you. As much as Mycroft would like to deny, you know that deep down every little thing affects him. And while he is not the restless type, you still know there is something wrong when you see him sitting in an uncomfortable chair in the living room, smoking on a cigar listening the fireplace cracking, right in the dead of the night. You are sure that he thinks you are sleeping, so he is taking this time in order to settle the storm brewing inside him, somehow distracting himself from thinking about it too hard. It’s an oxymoron, and yet so very Mycroft of him. You heart clenches at seeing your man hunched over the chair - but it is then that you see a sheet of paper, or rather a pile of them, sitting in for of him and a frown painted with a heavy brush on Mycroft’s face.
“Mycroft?” you softly call, and see Mycroft’s shoulder tense for a split second, which is about all the insight you need to know that he was so concentrated and immersed in whatever it is in front of him and paying little mind to his surroundings - which is against just a big red flag signalling that something was oh so deadly wrong.
“What are you doing awake?” he asks in a neutral tone. Concealing, lying, manipulating was the gist of his job - but he never took it home, nor used it against you. And yet, you had the feeling that this might have been the first time that Mycroft might have had to use his abilities with you. Another clench at your heart, this time stronger.
You observe the sitting man, and lose your words for a second. Time has never took a toll on him, and yet the lightly darker circles under his eyes narrate a quite different story.
“Just checking up on you,” you listen yourself answer. But it’s not quite the right answer, and you know it all too well.
Mycroft diplomatically tenses his lips and shakes his head. The fireplace crackles. “Just going through some work documents, coming back to bed soon,” he liquidates. “You know that I work best during the night,” he adds.
You sigh deeply and make your way towards him. Then, as if the most natural thing in the world, you pull yourself in his lap, and put your head exactly where his heart is. It beats steady, and constant - blood pumping through his body.
“Yeah, I know,” you whisper, without bothering to look at him - but you feel it that he is softly smiling, before picking up the documents he had left on the table, and dropping his cigar.
“Just half an hour,” he singsongs back with his baritone voice, and kisses the top of your head, before plunging back into the world where he does not want you to enter, because he is deadly afraid he might lose you. You let the heat steaming from both the fireplace and Mycroft’s body to lull you to sleep, while the cogs in Mycroft’s brain keep on working, and working and working. It does not surprise you one bit that when you open you eyes again it is still night, but way more than the promised half an hour has passed, and Mycroft is still deeply engrossed in the swimming words on the document, which you now recognise for what they are: records of the cases of his brother.
When Mycroft notices you stirring up, he picks you bridal style and accompanies you to the bed, but it is hard to let go on his scent, lemon and spice, and so you drag him to bed with you. The stuff clogging his brain can wait another day to bother him.
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© renaissansse, 2021.