ironicbee7

The blood had finally dried as you unlocked the door to your beach front cottage. Mycroft was supposed to be in London all weekend so did not need to know that your latest mission had resulted in some minor injuries. At least that was the plan, and all well laid plans usually go to waste. None of the lights in the front of the cottage had been on as you approached, however, upon unlocking the front door and pushing it open you found yourself being bathe in the glow of kitchen light. Mycroft appeared in the doorway and was quickly joined by John and Sherlock, all of whom had heard the door opening. “What are you doing here?’, R

“That’s my knee!” “I know it is” “Get your hands off me or I swear” “George, behave.” “Yeah George behave, listen to the prefect.” The hand that was on your knee vanished, leaving you both relived and disappointed. The owner of the hand was George Weasley, fellow Gryffindor and utter pain in the arse. One of the many pranks the Weasley twins had developed had backfired, leaving you all in the Gryffindor common room with no fire and no light source, whilst you were none the wiser about what the spell should have actually achieved. “Well I hope you know how to fix it

Tins littered the floor creating an obstacle course that greeted Greg as he opened the door. Without making a sound he carefully picked his way through the mess and entered the lounge, not bothering to place his suitcase down. All the furniture was pressed into the middle of the room and covered with paint splattered dustsheets. The far wall was covered in an array of different paints, all varying in shades and finishes. In the middle of the chaos was you, staring straight at him with one hand on your hip whilst other held a paint brush. “I can explain. You are supposed to be in Scotland tonight.” “I don’t see how th

Never enough you thought as you walked down the street. I’m never enough for him, the words repeated over and over in your head. They were your words, not his, and merely a reflection of your own thoughts not his. What does he see in me you muttered under your breath, hoping that passers-by could not hear you. I’m a mess just look at me; you ran a hand through your hair before pulling it up into a pony tail. Without thinking your feet had led you to the local park and the scent of the flowers tickled your nose. Screaming children played ball games watched carefully by their parents, teenagers played music and chatted, couples walk

February 14th had been and gone with no card from your boyfriend. Not that it was a surprise to you that he forgot or completely ignored the date; to him it was just another day.  But deep down part of you wanted him to recognise that the day was special to you even if he thought it was stupid. At the same time you knew missing out on certain celebrations was just part of dating Mycroft Holmes. You pushed your key into the lock and opened the door the Mycroft’s impressive London home. “Mycroft I’m home.” You highly doubted that he would be in but it felt courteous to announce your arrival. Silence met your ears as yo

Everything had happened so quickly. One moment you were walking down the street wrapping your checked scarf around your neck to keep out the chill and the next thing you knew your surroundings had completely changed. The scent of wood tickled your nose as you looked around and gently cursed, you were inside a wooden tipi on the 5th of November. Once this had sunk in you began to scream for help. Sherlock looked around the room, something was missing. The furniture was back in its correct place so what was it. The thundering of feet coming up the stairs distracted him. Opening the door he was greeted with Mary showing him the screen of her ph

Blood trickled down your face as you gripped the right side of chest whilst struggling to open the door of your brother's flat. Luckily he was out and so did not interrupt you as made your way to the medicine cupboard and threw everything on the floor in the search for painkillers. After swallowing the little pills you gently stripped off to inspect the damage that had been inflicted. Bruising was developing on your right ribs and a shallow cut ran across the top of your arm. Tenderly you probed your scalp and much to your relief found only a small cut and no swellings. Deciding to stitch the cut on your arm later you stepped into the shower

The harsh white light did nothing except illuminate the bruising across your sleeping face highlighting your injuries as Sherlock entered the room. The constant beeping of the monitor and your breathing filled the air, everything outside of the room forgotten about as he crossed the room to sit in on the plastic chair near your bed. Just shock, bruising and fractured ribs they said, nothing to be worried about but uncharacteristically Sherlock was worried. It was his fault, he dragged you out on the case as John was on a date only to watch you  be pushed and tumble down the stairs whilst he was busy being brilliant. All the pain you were feel

Golden sand tickled your bare feet as you walked on the beach, the setting sun casting orange and pink light into the sky. The idealistic beach was void of anyone else the lazy azure waves hitting the sand being the only noise. A light breeze caused the thin skirt of your floral sundress to whip around your knees. Yet despite the beautiful scenery you did not feel complete, the one person you wanted to share the view with was sitting in a stiflingly hot office more interested in his paperwork than you. Taking a deep breath you decided that you were going to leave him, the lack of attention was becoming more and more commonplace in your relati

Sherlock crouched on the sofa of 221B his blue dressing gown wide open to expose the blue and white striped pyjamas underneath. His finger tips pressed together and he thought. The thoughts of the genius drifted to Molly, brown haired brown eyed Molly, Molly who was always there and who dealt with everything he threw at her. He knew it was not love, the lack of butterflies proved that, and it was not the same way he felt about John, the strong urge to protect his blogger still had Sherlock stumped. This was different he almost wanted to apologies for everything he had done, the drugs, the insulting her boyfriends, insulting her looks. Upon de