” Have you seen him?”
Mycroft glanced back to his mother. She had been crying again before Mycroft had arrived. He tried not to mention about it.
” Seen who?”
“ Him. ” She was having trouble saying his name after his death. Afraid that she’ll break down completely. ” Have you visited his grave yet?” Mummy asked, failing to keep her voice steady. Mycroft didn’t answer. She didn’t need an answer. His answer was written all over his face.
” Mycroft..” Mummy started, but Mycroft stopped and got up.
” I must be going now, Mummy. Work to do.” He muttered straightening his jacket. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to talk about such tedious things as feelings. There was a sudden twist in his heart when the realization hit him; he sounded just like his little brother. The tall man stopped. He gripped the handle of his umbrella even tighter as he tried to keep his composure. Holmes men didn’t cry. They were strong. They didn’t cry.
Mrs Holmes eyed her oldest son with her blue eyes and what she saw, was pain. Pain of loosing a brother. Pain of loosing someone you cared about deeply and had looked after for many years now. ” Mycroft, darling.” Violet Holmes started and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. ” Visit his grave.”
Black, cold marble. His tombstone even fit him perfectly. Big golden letters indicated the name of the person who had been buried there. Unfortunately for Mycroft, this person was his baby brother.
Sherlock Holmes, it said. Nothing else.
When they had asked him if he wanted to put something on the tombstone, he had never replied. Sherlock wouldn’t have wanted anything simple and dull such as: Beloved son, friend, a brother. No. That wasn’t him.
What was he supposed to say? Hello? Goodbye?
” Remember the day when Mummy had her big dinner party? ” He wasn’t sure why was he doing this. ” She was so stressed about that. Fussing about, you know her.” He paused. ” You were five and Mummy told me to look after you while you played outside. I didn’t want to be your babysitter, I wanted to be with grown ups with their fancy way of talking and wine glasses. God I remember how bitter I was. We were sitting under that tree and you came to me with a frog. I told you off, didn’t I? I was so angry.” Mycroft paused again to glance away from the grave. ” I was so angry at Mummy, at you and every guest in that ridiculous party. Because it wasn’t fair.” There was something heavy, building up inside of him. It hurt like hell.
” And then, you came back and sat down next to me. Remember what you said, Sherlock? What you told me? You said ‘Don’t worry, one day you’ll have your own parties with lots of people and then you don’t have to look after me.’”
He stopped. This was utterly ridiculous. Yet something made him go on.
” I’ve always looked after you, Sherlock. Always. Mummy told me to look after you and to make sure nothing bad happened to you. And now..I’ve failed. I made a promise that I couldn’t keep.
Forgive me, brother.”
Because there’s not enough Mycroft/Anthea out there. Adult content.
Summary: Mycroft and Greg have decided to stop smoking. This proves much more difficult for Greg.
It’s incredibly difficult to disconnect the smoke detectors in the lavatory at Scotland Yard, but Greg’s gotten it down to a science. He’s tried, oh he’s tried so hard to stop, and he doesn’t smoke around Mycroft anymore, but there are some days where all he needs is a bloody fag and no coffee doesn’t help, thank you because I need to feel that nicotine coursing through my system now not later and not never.
based on this fic, which is REALLY GOOD and you guys should definitely read it
they make the best 1984 reference. i freaked out a lot; it was so great
Updated the list, because I stumbled upon *the* prompt fill page.
Delivery for M Holmes
Full of Stars (a sentence fic with a mix of A/M and S/J)
Spend All Your Time Waiting
Car Sex (adult content well duh)
The Ten Commandments (list fic, wing!fic - I think these are fallen…
Title: Each Man Kills The Thing He Loves
Rating: Teen (ff.net rating)
Warnings: Violence, Series 2 spoilers
Summary: “You’ve dedicated your life to protecting your country, Mycroft Holmes.” Moriarty began softly. “How far will you go? I’m not asking much, really, just your dear brother’s life. Will you do that for me? Sacrifice your brother to protect your country?”
I always enjoy fic that explores Mycroft as a character, and his interactions with Moriarty which go unseen leaves much to interpretation. I feel Mycroft does severely regret what he revealed to Moriarty, and this fic does a good job showing that guilt.
Title: Find Your Footing
Rating: Teen and Up (Archive of our Own rating system)
Pairing: Mystrade, implied Mormor
Warnings: Mild violence, Coarse language, Reichenbach spoilers
Summary: In the aftermath of Sherlock’s fall, Lestrade and Mycroft begin to forge a real friendship. As they drift together, however, there may be forces at work to tear them apart.
I was sent this fic by a friend, and I personally enjoyed the steady build in the relationship, and the fact it didn’t instantly dissolve into mush the moment they interact. A sweet, and very well done story. I most definitely recommend you check it out.
Jack was glad to finally be back at the Hub. He felt disgusting, having just returned from wrestling a Weevil in Bute Park (as you do) and was now covered in mud, blood and sweat. A hot shower and a good strong cup of coffee were top of his agenda - Maybe, with a bit of persuasion, he could get Ianto to bring him the coffee while he was in the shower (and who knew what kind of fun that could lead to…)
He stopped dead in his tracks when he finally noticed the man sitting in the chair in front of him. He was smartly dressed in a light grey suit, Saville Row tailoring by the looks of it, and running his fingers along the wooden handle of his umbrella. His gaze was fixed upon the Captain, expressionless and impossible to read. Everything about this man screamed “government” and it was no secret just how much Jack loathed everything and everyone affiliated to it (of course, a certain former Prime Minister was completely to blame for that). In all honesty, Jack didn’t like it one bit.
“Captain Jack Harkness,” said the man. “It’s been far too long.”
Jack stared back at him quizzically. “I’m sorry… Have we met before?” he asked.
“No,” replied the man. “But I have my spies,” he added with a smirk. “Believe me Captain, we’ve been watching you for a very long time. Torchwood may be, how do you put it? Outside the government and beyond the police, but you can’t escape me.”
“Mycroft Holmes,” he interrupted.
Reluctantly, Jack took Mycroft’s outstretched hand, shaking it out of common courtesy more than anything. He knew that name from somewhere.
Jack’s piercing blue eyes burned straight into Mycroft’s soul as he studied him for a moment or two, still unsure as to whether he was friend or foe. “So, Mr Holmes,” he finally spoke. “What do you want?”
Mycroft laughed. “Why do you automatically assume that I want something, Captain Harkness?”
“Because why else would you be sitting here? This place isn’t exactly a tourist destination.”
“I suppose… And I never really cared much for Cardiff,” he answered with a smirk. “And yes, you’re right… I do want something. I want you Jack. You and this little band of misfits that you call a team.”
“Because I need you. Or rather my brother does, he’s just too stubborn to admit it.” Mycroft reclined back in the chair, pressing his fingertips together like some kind of Bond villain. “Tell me, Captain… What do you know of Sherlock Holmes?”