Watching Over You
Mar. 4th, 2016 09:30 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
krystalkatz.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
krystalkatzficzTitle: Watching Over You
Author: krystalkatz
rating: R
Length: One Shot
Genre: au, Sherlock Holmes, implied incest
Pairings: One Sided? Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes,
Disclaimer: based on the works of Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC’s Sherlock
For Riza Rahmalia (Sorry my dear I don’t remember your livejournal name >.<
Mycroft Holmes watched his brother through the security camera that he had had installed the moment Sherlock had moved into 221b Baker Street. His brother knew that it was there of course, Mycroft had long since used it as an indicator of how angry Sherlock was with him, if it was covered with a shirt or sheet then he was merely mildly angry, if it was completely disconnected then it was something that would require him coming close to apologising. It wasn’t something that he chose to do, he wasn’t known as the ice man for nothing after all, but his brother, his infuriatingly obtuse brother, was something special. He had been since the moment he was born with his profusions of copper locks.
He had never imagined that a baby could have so much hair. Feelings had been something that other people had but there was something close to pride as he looked at his baby brother and he had delighted in his mind so close to his own and yet not enough that he might become envious of it. He had delighted in teaching the young Sherlock all that he himself had learned. Sherlock had been like a sponge soaking up everything he told him with complete faith in his eyes.
Sherlock’s development had spurred on his own, with each lesson he had taught the young Sherlock the more he had had to learn, always needing to stay one step ahead always keeping his focus on him. Jealousy wasn’t something that he had been expecting but each time Sherlock’s interest had been pulled from him he had been determined to win it back. Even when mummy had insisted that Sherlock be allowed to attend school to associate with other children. It had been a stupid idea; his Sherlock would never find interest in boys with simple minds…He hadn’t accounted for Victor Trevor.
Sherlock had been truly interested in Victor and Victor had been almost enough to make Sherlock mundane but he himself had had enough influence over him to help him realise that nobody was worthy of his friendship. It had been almost cruel to see Sherlock’s face curled in tears but it had been oddly satisfying to feel him clinging to him. Redbeard had been a compromise, the red sitter had been a friend of sorts, but he had been safe only a dog and Sherlock had loved him…If the Holmes’ felt something so mundane.
Even now he could picture the pair running through the fields surrounding their home. They had become a familiar sight in the fens and dells and that had caused another problem. Sherlock was growing from the dumpy boy into something deeply wondrous, his body becoming lithe his face sharp and angular. His eyes sharp and piercing with his ripple of copper curls framing it all like a beautiful picture. Mycroft wasn’t the only one that noticed Sherlock’s growing form but also a local farmer. The man had taken Redbeard on the pretence of finding him. Sherlock of course had been far too intelligent to fall for such a trick but unfortunately intelligence mattered little against brute strength. Thankfully Redbeard had been able to slip from the ties that were holding him and rescue his brother before something more sinister could have happened but in doing so he had given his life.
If it were possible Mycroft would have given the dog a posthumous medal of honour for his noble sacrifice but for Sherlock nothing had been able to console him though he had never cried over the loss of his beloved companion. It had been the first death he had directly caused his name already meaning something within her majesties government. Sherlock hadn’t reacted to the news, his eyes cold and near empty as they stared out from behind his curls.
Oddly it had been murder that had made him come out of himself again. The murder of a young boy and the shoes that didn’t fit. It had been the first connection to a young and honourable Greg Lestrade. Of course the man wouldn’t remember their meeting but Mycroft had knowing that his brother wouldn’t give up on his new interest and of course he would need help. So he had kept an eye on him helping him move through the ranks when his otherwise unorthodox methods might have held him back. Sherlock as a teen had become sullen and withdrawn, something that Mycroft had actively encouraged…His work was sensitive amongst people who might would have used such a connection against him but knowing that Lestrade was watching over him gave him a sense of peace and contentment.
Sherlock had clearly resented his interference seeing it as more as the watchful eye of the government rather than the kindly eye of a brother who cared and again Mycroft did little to discourage that view allowing their resentment to keep Sherlock as safe as possible. His brother did nothing to make that task easy. In fact, the man appeared to go out of his way to cause threats on his life. He had hoped that dependable John Watson would encourage a more sensible version of his brother but of course he should have known that such a thing was impossible. John had become swept up in the force that was Sherlock leading them further into madness that had caused more ulcers than a man of his age should suffer.
Mycroft knew that his love for his Sherlock was more than that of a brother, more even than that of a guardian. In his mind it was a love deeper than anything normal people could understand but it was indeed a forbidden, painful, but beautiful love. His eyes moved over Sherlock as he lay wrapped in a cotton nightgown own slender hand covering his eyes while the over pressed against the floor. It looked like a painting painted by a master but the truth was not even the greats could paint something as beautiful as his brother. The man was Michelangelo’s David and Sandro Botticelli’ Venus in one perfect being.
Mycroft let out a whine, something that he would trying to focus on some paperwork that he should be doing. Moriarty might not be back but there was somebody running around acting as though he was and that was making a lot of the wrong people very nervous. It was something that was going to have an answer sooner rather than later and he was sure that Sherlock would be buzzing around like a child having too much sugar and caffeine. For now, he knew that it was best to let him rest and he would watch over him. As he thought that Sherlock rolled over on the sofa and looked into the camera and for a moment Mycroft was positive that there was a flicker of the admiration that there used to be in his eyes. It was mere fancy on his part but it was something that it would happily use for tonight and his long lonely vigil.
THE END
A/N: I know that it’s not Arashi and I’m honestly not expecting anybody to read it but I hope that it’s okay ^_^
Author: krystalkatz
rating: R
Length: One Shot
Genre: au, Sherlock Holmes, implied incest
Pairings: One Sided? Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes,
Disclaimer: based on the works of Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC’s Sherlock
For Riza Rahmalia (Sorry my dear I don’t remember your livejournal name >.<
Mycroft Holmes watched his brother through the security camera that he had had installed the moment Sherlock had moved into 221b Baker Street. His brother knew that it was there of course, Mycroft had long since used it as an indicator of how angry Sherlock was with him, if it was covered with a shirt or sheet then he was merely mildly angry, if it was completely disconnected then it was something that would require him coming close to apologising. It wasn’t something that he chose to do, he wasn’t known as the ice man for nothing after all, but his brother, his infuriatingly obtuse brother, was something special. He had been since the moment he was born with his profusions of copper locks.
He had never imagined that a baby could have so much hair. Feelings had been something that other people had but there was something close to pride as he looked at his baby brother and he had delighted in his mind so close to his own and yet not enough that he might become envious of it. He had delighted in teaching the young Sherlock all that he himself had learned. Sherlock had been like a sponge soaking up everything he told him with complete faith in his eyes.
Sherlock’s development had spurred on his own, with each lesson he had taught the young Sherlock the more he had had to learn, always needing to stay one step ahead always keeping his focus on him. Jealousy wasn’t something that he had been expecting but each time Sherlock’s interest had been pulled from him he had been determined to win it back. Even when mummy had insisted that Sherlock be allowed to attend school to associate with other children. It had been a stupid idea; his Sherlock would never find interest in boys with simple minds…He hadn’t accounted for Victor Trevor.
Sherlock had been truly interested in Victor and Victor had been almost enough to make Sherlock mundane but he himself had had enough influence over him to help him realise that nobody was worthy of his friendship. It had been almost cruel to see Sherlock’s face curled in tears but it had been oddly satisfying to feel him clinging to him. Redbeard had been a compromise, the red sitter had been a friend of sorts, but he had been safe only a dog and Sherlock had loved him…If the Holmes’ felt something so mundane.
Even now he could picture the pair running through the fields surrounding their home. They had become a familiar sight in the fens and dells and that had caused another problem. Sherlock was growing from the dumpy boy into something deeply wondrous, his body becoming lithe his face sharp and angular. His eyes sharp and piercing with his ripple of copper curls framing it all like a beautiful picture. Mycroft wasn’t the only one that noticed Sherlock’s growing form but also a local farmer. The man had taken Redbeard on the pretence of finding him. Sherlock of course had been far too intelligent to fall for such a trick but unfortunately intelligence mattered little against brute strength. Thankfully Redbeard had been able to slip from the ties that were holding him and rescue his brother before something more sinister could have happened but in doing so he had given his life.
If it were possible Mycroft would have given the dog a posthumous medal of honour for his noble sacrifice but for Sherlock nothing had been able to console him though he had never cried over the loss of his beloved companion. It had been the first death he had directly caused his name already meaning something within her majesties government. Sherlock hadn’t reacted to the news, his eyes cold and near empty as they stared out from behind his curls.
Oddly it had been murder that had made him come out of himself again. The murder of a young boy and the shoes that didn’t fit. It had been the first connection to a young and honourable Greg Lestrade. Of course the man wouldn’t remember their meeting but Mycroft had knowing that his brother wouldn’t give up on his new interest and of course he would need help. So he had kept an eye on him helping him move through the ranks when his otherwise unorthodox methods might have held him back. Sherlock as a teen had become sullen and withdrawn, something that Mycroft had actively encouraged…His work was sensitive amongst people who might would have used such a connection against him but knowing that Lestrade was watching over him gave him a sense of peace and contentment.
Sherlock had clearly resented his interference seeing it as more as the watchful eye of the government rather than the kindly eye of a brother who cared and again Mycroft did little to discourage that view allowing their resentment to keep Sherlock as safe as possible. His brother did nothing to make that task easy. In fact, the man appeared to go out of his way to cause threats on his life. He had hoped that dependable John Watson would encourage a more sensible version of his brother but of course he should have known that such a thing was impossible. John had become swept up in the force that was Sherlock leading them further into madness that had caused more ulcers than a man of his age should suffer.
Mycroft knew that his love for his Sherlock was more than that of a brother, more even than that of a guardian. In his mind it was a love deeper than anything normal people could understand but it was indeed a forbidden, painful, but beautiful love. His eyes moved over Sherlock as he lay wrapped in a cotton nightgown own slender hand covering his eyes while the over pressed against the floor. It looked like a painting painted by a master but the truth was not even the greats could paint something as beautiful as his brother. The man was Michelangelo’s David and Sandro Botticelli’ Venus in one perfect being.
Mycroft let out a whine, something that he would trying to focus on some paperwork that he should be doing. Moriarty might not be back but there was somebody running around acting as though he was and that was making a lot of the wrong people very nervous. It was something that was going to have an answer sooner rather than later and he was sure that Sherlock would be buzzing around like a child having too much sugar and caffeine. For now, he knew that it was best to let him rest and he would watch over him. As he thought that Sherlock rolled over on the sofa and looked into the camera and for a moment Mycroft was positive that there was a flicker of the admiration that there used to be in his eyes. It was mere fancy on his part but it was something that it would happily use for tonight and his long lonely vigil.
THE END
A/N: I know that it’s not Arashi and I’m honestly not expecting anybody to read it but I hope that it’s okay ^_^
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2016-03-04 09:51 am (UTC)And of course it will be mycroft the one who lead sherlock way, as sherlock said they hardly have friend when they were little. It felt sad when mycroft know his feeling and realise that it was imposible ToT
And the part of admiration eyes make my heart fluttering, hope holmes saw through mycroft feeling, or maybe he did know it, he just love to play a trick on his beloved brother <3
Thank you thank you so so so much *send kisses