Now I’m amused. I told a coworker/friend about my fics. Apparently she spent half the weekend reading.
She says she won’t be able to watch Sherlock the same way now.
I gave her a hug and told her welcome to the fandom 🙂
So, I got bit my a mystrade plot bunny. It’s going to be multiple chapters, but here’s chapter 1. Might even be done tonight if the muse is kind. It’s smut/angst/emotional comfort:
Who Picks Up the Pieces –Â Six months after Sherlock’s suicide, Greg takes Mycroft for a weekend away to try to get him to deal with the loss of his brother.
teaser below the cut
Greg Lestrade heard the car driving up. He poured the wine, waiting by the fireplace with a glass in his hand. This was no quaint cabin; nothing but the best for Mycroft Holmes. A fine rug covered most of the floor with two leather chairs facing the fireplace. Through one door was a bedroom with a king sized, four poster bed made up with only the best linens. Through another door was a well-stocked kitchen. There was no reason for either of them to need to leave this entire weekend, assuming Mycroft didn’t turn and walk out the minute he realized what Greg was planning.
The door opened, but Greg kept his back to it. He heard Mycroft shaking off the cold and hanging up his coat before stepping into the room. Greg could feel him looking him over, taking in the setting. He wondered if Mycroft would be silent; he often was, even before everything had happened. It had only been a few months since Sherlock’s death, but then again, that was the point of this weekend. Try to make Mycroft stop running away and face what he’d lost.
Mycroft picked up the other glass of wine and joined him by the fireplace. Greg let the comfortable silence stretch between them as Mycroft sipped his wine. Watching him, Greg could see the way that unborne grief weighed on him. There were more lines on his face these days, perhaps a touch of gray to his hair. He’d often felt self-conscious about his weight, but he’d clearly gained, not that Greg minded it.
“I was told to come here for an important meeting,” said Mycroft as he finished his glass, still watching the fire.
Greg moved closer to him, resting one hand on Mycroft’s back, feeling him stiffen. “This is an important meeting,” he said softly.
Mycroft turned and faced Greg. Placing one hand on his chest, Greg leaned up and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. The man watched him, still holding his glass and keeping himself firmly distant from his lover.
Next Superwood Rodeo Au chapter is up
Chapter 6 – Â Dean and Castiel share a night while Sam and Jack have their own.
Next chapter will be less smut, more action, methinks.
Just a little 500 word drabble, maybe I’ll expand it if folks are interested.
Mycroft Holmes is Greg Lestrade’s Division – just a little drabble about Mycroft and Greg’s relationship.
It’s after midnight here, so let’s say this one is for Penis Friday. It started as one thing and turned into another. If it’s not my best, I’m sorry.
Fruit Salad – Sherlock should never be allowed to suck the cherry off it’s stem
teaser below the cut:
John watched Sherlock sip soda through a straw. Whoever handed that straw to Sherlock Holmes should either be shot or given a medal. The detectives eyes were on the paper in front of him, but John was trying not to stare at the pout of his lips and failing miserably.
Licking his lips, John adjusted his erection under the table, glade for the distraction as the waitress brought then lunch.
Sherlock set down his cup. John pointedly picked up his fork and knife. Sherlock had ordered a fruit salad and John had to bite his lip as Sherlock picked up a cherry and sucked it off the stem.
John felt his face warm and reached for his water, gulping down the cold drink. When he looked at Sherlock again, the man was watching him, fingers steepled and tugging slightly at his bottom lip. “Everything all right, John?”
John didn’t trust himself to speak. Instead he shoved a forkful of food in his mouth and nodded with a smile.
Sherlock met his eyes and slowly slid a grape into his mouth, keeping Johns eyes locked on his
Johns fork stilled as Sherlock slowly ate another grape. He watched the man’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.
Sherlock ate a piece of melon, then picked up another cherry. As he slid it into his mouth, he reached under the table and his foot touched Johns ankle. Johns knee jerked up, banging the underside of the table.
Finally got the next chapter up of my selkie fic.
November 1931 –Â Hamish is growing up fast, and John relies on him when they go out for a rescue.
teaser below the cut
John carried in an armload of wood, quickly shutting the door against the cold sleeting rain. The radio played softly, some wordless music while Hamish leaned over his maths homework. John couldn’t help but smile as he watched his son and crossed to the fireplace. Hamish had reached that gangly stage of thirteen when he was all limbs and nothing seemed to work together quite how it was supposed to. Putting the logs down and feeding one into the fire, he spoke without looking over at him. “How are you doing?”
“Not bad,” grumbled Hamish, fisting his hands in his curly hair. “At least maths make sense.”
“Don’t neglect your literature though,” said John, standing and thumping a thick volume by Hamish’s elbow.
Hamish rolled his eyes and picked up his pen again. John ruffled his hair and Hamish batted his hand away. Still smiling, John reached over and turned the radio up as the news came on. More bad news about factories closing and unemployment going up. John was very glad he didn’t have to worry about that. There were rumors Mycroft might close the factory in town, but so far he’d been making every effort to avoid it. John took fewer supplies from Mrs. Hudson and slipped a little extra money into the woman’s pocket. He was considering asking Mycroft to reduce his stipend. After all, everyone needed to pitch in.
 He picked up some sewing and settled in by the fire. Hamish was growing so fast John was half-tempted to put him in a skirt. Already it was clear he’d be taller than his father, not that it was particularly hard to do. He turned the work towards the light of the fire, listening to the storm kicking up stronger outside, body tensing as he knew this was just the sort of weather they got called out in.
Sure enough, the wireless crackled to life. “John.” John dropped his sewing and went to answer while Hamish turned off the radio and got up to fetch their supplies.
“Here, Mrs. Hudson, what is it?” answered John.
“Family of five was due up here an hour ago from a village south. They never arrived.”
“We’re on it,” said John, taking his mackinaw from Hamish. At least they had a powered little boat now that made it much easier in weather like this. He quickly banked the fire before heading out, ducking his head against the driving weather, Hamish on his heels.
In a few minutes they were heading out, Hamish manning the spotlight up front while John steered the boat. The wind and waves whipped cold and salty around them, making it difficult to see. “There,” shouted Hamish over the roar of sea and engine, pointing at Sherlock’s dark form, barely visible above the crashing waves. A faint bark carried above the noise and Hamish shouted directions to his Dad as Sherlock led them across the stormy bay, light of the village just visible in the distance off to the right.
Stichnick gave me a prompt the other day of John and Sherlock trapped in a cold car, so here’s what I came up with:
Body Heat –Â Trapped in a car without any heat, John and Sherlock find themselves in a compromising situation.
Teaser below the cut
“Well this is bloody brilliant,” grumbled John, turning the key again to no avail.
“When the temperature drops to a certain point…” Sherlock started.
“Shut up,” grunted John. He wrapped his coat tighter around himself. Outside the snow was blowing hard enough to make it nearly impossible to see. A gust of frozen wind rocked the car. Of course they were in the middle of nowhere for a case, of course they were stuck in a blizzard, and of course the car had decided to die on them.
John blew on his hands as the air grew colder. He was wearing a jumper, but not a heavy coat and already he was starting to shiver. “Still no signal?” he asked Sherlock, peering at his phone.
“No.”
“Fantastic.” John cast his eyes heavenward and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Sherlock turned around in his seat and started rooting around in the back seat. They’d borrowed this car from the local mayor and the back seat was filled with odds and ends. Really the whole car was a heap of junk, which was probably why he didn’t mind loaning it out. After a few minutes Sherlock came up with a stained blanket that smelled a bit too much like grass and horses in the small space.
“I think I would rather freeze,” grumbled John.
Sherlock settled back in the passenger seat, then suddenly reached over and hooked a long arm around John, dragging him into his lap. “What the hell are you doing?” John hissed.
Ch 4 of save a bull, ride a cowboy is up.
This one ended up being mostly a threeway between castiel/jack/sam, but a bit of plot is starting to creep in there too. Maybe.