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A Collection of 221B Drabbles

Chapter Text

“Mycroft!” The tones of the younger bellowed from his bedroom. “Come play with me!”

“Sherlock, I can’t come and play with you. I’m working.” The elder huffed through gritted teeth.

“Mycroft!” Sherlock burst into the room. The door ricocheted off a meticulously neat stack of textbooks, causing them to cascade across the floor. Mycroft growled. He looked up to shout at his brother. Then he stopped.
“What are you wearing?”

“I’m a pirate, Mycroft. And you’re my hostage!”

“Oh really, Captain Holmes?” Mycroft smiled. He folded his arms in an act of defiance; his nose stuck into the air. “How do you plan on making me comply?”

Sherlock frowned in thought. He gasped, “You can share my treasure, My.” He whipped his blunted dagger out, pointing it at his brother’s throat. “Or ‘tis the plank for thee.”

“I would much rather become a member in your crew, my brother.” Mycroft said, extending a diplomatic hand for Sherlock to take. “You and I, sailing the high seas. It will be an adventure.” Mycroft looked at Sherlock, slicing into the younger’s thoughts. “Our final quest before I go to university.”

“Hmm.” Sherlock gnawed on his bottom lip. “Okay.” He stretched out a sticky hand to help guide Mycroft across the schoolbook stepping stones.

Mycroft often warmly reflects these times with his swashbuckling brother.

Chapter Text

It was like his skin was being pulled by white hot electrodes.

His head burnt with memories. Bitter and sweet – he saw Sherlock sweeping the bow of his violin across the taut strings. He heard the gunfire of Afghanistan, and saw the destruction. He saw Sherlock fall. Broken wings of a falling angel.

He felt the pure joy they had shared. Genuine delight at solving cases. At having a fridge free of fingers and thumbs, and other things that ooze. At being together. At their friendship. Some moments were so happy.

And they had shared a bed. Nothing more to it than just friends. Sherlock had soothed the nightmares. John had tamed the raging fire.

John woke with a jolt. His shoulder ached. Like the bullet from his dream had really pierced it again. No sound – save his heartbeat and ragged breath. No sound. No sooth of violins, no obnoxious detective rambling. Unadulterated silence. Wasn’t it hateful? Absolutely. John understood now why Sherlock had detested it so. He hated the silence. The sound of boredom.

John curled into a ball, feeling his heartbeat decelerate. He was alone. So alone.

John picked up his laptop and began to type a new blog post. Sherlock’s side was freezing; the duvet bunched up around John. And John was typing, alone in the double bed.

Chapter Text

He had proposed over breakfast. Popped the question over bacon, eggs, tea and toast. And he had been so calm – John could be forgiven for thinking that he was joking.
“We should get married, John.” In that thoughtful, pensive voice he sometimes adopted. “Would you do me the honour of being my husband?”
“We’d have to go to Canada if you want to be married.”
“A Canadian wedding could be devised,” Sherlock bit into his toast. “We could always elope.”
“It would save the drama.”
“We’d have to avoid Mycroft.”
“Ah. Get married here and honeymoon in Canada?” John suggested.
“That’s not a marriage.”
“It’s a hypothetical situation!” John exclaimed. Sherlock’s smile disappeared. “Isn’t it?”
Sherlock remained downcast.
John slithered off his seat, and smashed his mouth to the detective’s. “You sappy git. Canada, then?”
“I really love you, John,” Sherlock gazed his light, steel-blue eyes up at John. “Please don’t leave me.”
“Can I use the loo?” John asked.
Sherlock pulled a face, releasing his arm. “Go – be disgustingly human.”
Upon his return, John captured Sherlock’s long fingers. Sherlock watched him curiously. John kissed those wriggling digits in turn. On the third, he slipped a thin golden ring. “I love you.” He whispered as their lips brushed together.
“I love you too,” The smiling, newly-engaged, detective touched the metallic band.

Chapter Text

“Gregory,” Mycroft groaned, bending over the DI’s desk. “I really must return to the office.”

Greg smiled against Mycroft’s lips, “No, you don’t. The world can run without you for a little bit.” The politician had just asked Greg to move in with him, and the result had been a make-out session in Greg’s office.

“Gregory!”

“Fine. I’ll see you tonight, then. In our flat.”

Mycroft licked his chapped lips. “Absolutely, mon chèrie.” He moved into a standing position, and smoothed down his clothes. He leaned in for a gentler kiss when Sherlock burst into Lestrade’s office.

“How dare you?”

“Hello, John,” Greg sighed. “Did he steal your phone again?”

“Sorry Greg,” John came round to stand beside Lestrade. “I told him not to go through my messages.”

Sherlock continued raging. “Of all the people in the world, you chose him? Really? So, where did you meet?”

“At your funeral,” Greg mumbled, avoiding Sherlock’s scowl.

“At my funeral? Great, Mycroft, just great.”

“My dearest brother,” Mycroft closed his eyes and sighed. “I believe you once told me that ‘you can date any of my friends, over my dead body’.”

Sherlock growled, storming out of the room. “Come along John!”

“I’d better…” John said. “Congratulations!”

“Cheers, John,” Greg replied. He shut the door. “So, where were we?” he asked, kissing his beloved.

Chapter Text

It started off as an experiment – will sharing John’s bed help his nightmares? Let’s find out – and it had quickly morphed into the two sharing kisses and having intimate moments. And then he realised that he was in love with his blogger.
He – the great Sherlock Holmes – was hopelessly in love with the good Doctor John Watson.
And then the pair had the idea of marriage. Or civil partnership, to be pedantic. But it had to be secret; if Mrs. Holmes found out, it would become an elaborate, lavish and wholly unnecessary extravaganza. Yikes.
A lot of thought went into selecting witnesses. They needed someone they could trust to keep schtum, and who would be happy to witness them exchange vows.
If we didn’t need witnesses, thought Sherlock, I’d carry him to the registry office this second…
Lestrade was John’s suggestion. He had respect for them; he wouldn’t tell anyone in the force out of spite. Sherlock had nobody else to ask besides Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Molly or the skull. All were crossed off the list – even Jesse, whom was never on the aforementioned list seriously.
In the end they were witnessed by Lestrade and one of John’s old army buddies called Lavi. He’d quit to fight demons, he said.
Despite the drama, they were united – the detective and his blogger.