Milk
Pre-John stuff. Because that, Coulson, and Papastrade are the only things I’ve been thinking about this week. No really.
———
For three weeks the drug addict had been holed up in his flat, always complaining of boredom but never leaving, even when Greg offered him a key to get back in. (“As if I’d need a key to get back here.”)
The kid—couldn’t barely be out of uni—simply sat on his sofa refusing food and raiding his refrigerator in the middle of the night and the only personal information he’d given out was that his name was “Sherlock.” (Who the hell named their kid Sherlock? Probably a street name, though a weird choice. Though he was a weird kid.)
“Sherlock is missing.”
“I told you I wouldn’t keep him on a leash, Mycroft. He’s left my flat, that doesn’t mean he’s relapsing.”
“He is no longer in sight.”
“Have some faith. He’s your brother for godssake.”
“It’s charming you think you know Sherlock so well. Just because he has an affinity for your sofa does not mean you understand the psychology of a drug addict.”
“I can see why he doesn’t like you.”
“Call him, Sergeant. He won’t pick up.”
fannishminded answered your question: mybelovedcheshire replied to your post Hours. …
Mycroft and Greg meet up while Covering up/Investigating a crashed spaceship
Greg’d barely had time to register the strange metal sheen in front of him before he could hear one of Mycroft’s black cars sliding up in front of the crime scene tape. “Alright, everybody back!” he called, used to the routine by now.
“Detective Inspector.” The beanpole of a looming Holmes nodded his head in greeting. Lestrade returned the pleasantry.
“How I Met Mystrade”
insanitychan: Mystrade, platonic or otherwise. I absolutely love “first meeting” stories.
This ended up coming out more like three “first meeting” stories, but I figure you deserve at least that since I made you wait so long. So, for InsanityChan, the “How I Met Mystrade” stories.
———
Chance and coincidences were not things Mycroft appreciated. He appreciated logic and plans. Thought out ideas and strategies. His days were scheduled to the minute and any deviation always caused unnecessary issues. Issues he rather hated.
When he was younger he’d been more flexible out of simple necessity. Sherlock kept him on his toes at all hours and his schedule was never stable. He was lucky if he managed to successfully pencil in supper between six and seven every evening. But four months at university had spoiled him.
At two in the morning, the crash of Mycroft’s bedroom door slamming against the wall woke him from his scheduled eight hours of sleep. He bolted up-right in bed and thirty-eight seconds later his brain caught up with his eyes.
“What Makes You Beautiful”
Lestrade-centric video for all the Gravesdiggers out there. And for Lestrade. You guys are awesome!
(I’ve been made aware that this video is blocked in some countries. If that’s the case you can download it HERE)
“I’m supposed to show up in court and give evidence and I’m just really nervous I’m going to muck the whole thing up.”
“Don’t worry about it too much. First time I was in court I was probably the least civilized defendant ever. You’ll be fine.”
Fucking Valentine's Day
Finished this early, but here’s my Valentine’s gift to all you guys!
—-
Valentine’s day was fucking awful. And usually the Yard didn’t seem too preoccupied with the holiday, but for whatever bloody reason, this year the decorations were broken out mid-January. Lestrade blamed Sally for the earnest celebration, though she vehemently refused to be pegged for the disturbance to the office. (He’d later find out it was a mixture of Anderson and Gregson.)
Torchlock Story-thing
Sorry, here’s the story for the anon in proper form.
ENJOY.
“I didn’t want to be a part of their club anyway.”
Chai
