Mycroft Suit Porn Sherlock

Rest in Peace, SStar

This is... I don't know what to say or do to help me process this. It hits just as hard as it does in real life.

The cynic inside me is wondering what use any of this is. It's the same anywhere, everywhere. Sadness, grief, mourning, shock, the fucking ache that seems to have calmed down on minute only to take you by surprise the next. It's all the same. And really, all human emotion is the same. It's why I try my damndest never to post anything personal. I will lap up anything personal by the people I like, but my own personal anguish or happiness seems supremely boring and pointless and generally, who cares, one day I'm going to die and it will all mean nothing. Only writing that is good/funny/engaging/moving has any point.

But I can't get past this. Again, nothing new -- I only got the news yesterday, in fact almost 24 hours. So maybe all I have to do is wait until the first sharp grief can take its course and the dull ache stage arrives.

But I can't. I keep bursting into tears and sobbing my eyes out. I know she's in a better place. This world is not that awesome to begin with. She must be in a better place.

Still, I need to try and deal with this here. I can't keep inflicting this on her brother -- God knows what he's going through, and yet he's been unbelievably tolerant of my hysterical replies to his email.

She'd just gotten herself a tumblr -- two actually, a personal one and a fannish one, and she was happy she managed to secure her preferred fannish name. I don't know it it's SStar or another name, because she had another account before her Sherlock fanfiction which was close enough to SStar. I meant to reply and tell her how ambitious to get two tumblrs at once, and I wanted to tell her about the disappointing limitations I discovered when I set up a secondary tumblr, but I never got around to it. We were both sick, we had asthma, she had work appraisal stuff to be done for her people, I had two sick girls with fevers and crazy work deadlines.

I mean, I can't... One of the joys of Tumblr for me was her random anon asks after which she would tell me it was her, and her mentions of various posts and gifs in our emails. We would perv over Mark or Mycroft together, we would discuss headcanons, we would talk about Tumblr users and my crush and she would have me in fits with her effortless snark over everything under the sun.

My browser is set up to open to a particular set of pages, one of which is Tumblr. I'm working, and when Tumblr loaded I saw some new gifs of Mark on my dash -- she never commented on Mark's Mumbai trip, and I wondered how on earth she of all people would have nothing to say, after we perved the heck out of all Mark's other appearances. She was no longer here, that's why. And now there's a new gif set of Mark on my dash from the Mumbai trip with his pink socks and I can't... I don't understand how it can circulate and get likes and reblogs and everything when SStar is no longer here to see it. She's not going to see all the spoilery pics when they start shooting the special. She's not going to watch the special. She's not going to finish her Beard fic that we did so much research for, she's not going to finish Take My Breath Away... She's not going to finish our fic which was born in one of our email conversations and that we wrote together. She's not going to read the fic I spent all day Thursday, Christmas day, working on so I could finish and gift it to her, damn it. I can't get over the fact that I spent a big part of Christmas eve and most of Christmas working on that fic so I could have it ready by New Year's for her, and I was happy and humming and glad I finally had time, the girls were a little less sick, I was less sick, work was a little less hysterical, I've wanted to gift her a fic for so long, she gifted me two, and not just because of that but because I love her and I wanted to make her happy.

And all the time she wasn't even here! She wasn't here.

Her funeral's on Monday. Her brother very kindly offered to give me all the details in case I wanted to attend. He thinks I live in the UK as well. Oh, SStar, what I'd give to be able to say goodbye in person, to tell you I will never forget you and that many other fans of yours who saw my post on Tumblr said they were very sad and that the fandom has lost one of its best writers. I wish I could. I wish I could, my dear, kind, generous, sweet, kickass, snarky friend. I miss you terribly. I will miss you terribly. I want to tell your brother to give you that message from me. I have no idea if it's insensitive or rude or the done thing or not the done thing... I don't know. He said from your inbox and sent folder I meant a lot to you. You meant so, so, so much to me too. I don't know what happens after death. Can you hear me? Can you see me? Will you visit me? Will you at least come in a dream and tell me what to do with the writing your brother has so generously decided to honor me with? Should we, fuck, fuck, should I post our fic? Should I post my part in it? I never told you the solution that occurred to me for our problem with the heroine's age. I know you would've loved it. If I lived in the UK I'd ask your brother to give me the actual notebooks rather than scanning them, I had no idea you scribbled things by hand too, you never scribbled that plot bunny that came to you in a dream, you forgot all about it and I was all why didn't you write it down the minute you woke up?

Oh, SStar. I miss you so much. You know what the worst part is? I already know life has to go on. I can't believe it, I can't believe it's actually possible for me to one day sit down and write a fic or watch Sherlock or go on Tumblr or perv over Mark. I have the awful suspicion that it will happen, which feels like such a filthy betrayal on my part. I don't know. Maybe it won't. I can't imagine touching any of my fics now. The only fic I want to finish and polish is ours, my part in it.

I don't hate Mary anymore. She was a trigger, I hated her so much. Not anymore. You loved her so much, you awesome queen of snark. An anon once sent me an ask commenting on that. That I called you the Mistress of Snark. And astonishingly un-repetitve, hot smut that always boggled my mind. How can you write scenes with the same body parts, the same limited number of positions/uses for those body parts, and yet make it new and fresh and sexy and white hot and tender every single time.

I finally summoned up the courage to go back to Sherlock's POV of the Fever. You'll never read that. I can't imagine touching it. I wrote so much and was so happy thinking how it would make you laugh, you always said my Sherlock made you laugh.

Only you would joke in one of your last emails to me about from-behind-the-veil telepathic jokes. Only you, you big ball of snark.

I wish I could muster the courage to ask your brother exactly what day you passed away. If I've done the maths right then the last time we spoke was only a couple of days before that. He said you passed away peacefully in your sleep. Did you get the appraisal done for all the staff? Did you empty all your bins like you said you would?

I can't... I mean this time last year we hadn't even met. We hadn't even met. We were alive, we were crazy about Sherlock and we were trying to find the patience to wait the few more days until Season 3 aired, and we watched Season 3 and squealed and sobbed and fangirled and read Holmescest and we never knew each other. And now I miss you terribly, and I can't imagine writing again, and your brother tells me he thinks from your email I meant a lot to you. I love you so, so much. I will never forget you. I will never forget you.

I am so lucky to have met you and known you and grown so incredibly close to you in such a short period. I love you, SStar. Come and haunt me, come and visit me in my dreams with your snark and your flirtatious Sherlock and your irresistible Mycroft and your sweetness and your kindness that you always tried to refuse was part of you. I miss you so much. So many good times, wonderful times, writing together and joking and criticizing and perving and talking and just being friends, my dear, dear friend. Rest in peace, my beloved friend. Rest in peace. Rest in peace.
Mycroft Suit Porn Sherlock


I know I'm horribly technically challenged, but I don't think it's an issue of me being a tech ignoramus when Fanfiction refuses to apply their own line break. Nothing is simpler than clicking a button that says "Insert Line Break". I'm perfectly capable of doing that, and it worked with some of my fics. But lately it won't work, which makes my fic look incredibly moronic! Maybe I should just delete my Fanfiction account and be done with it. 
Mycroft Suit Porn Sherlock

Holmescest fic rec: Beautifully Broken Things by L_Morgan

This fic! Earlier I blogged about it but I couldn’t spoiler the fic, because at the time the tags didn’t include Mycroft/Sherlock. All I could say was there were lines of it still replaying in my mind, and the feels were incredible. And that I had no words to describe how beautiful this fic is. My deepest thanks to the lovely Ferrydenpurple for reccing this fic to me. <3
Just now t
he lovely author
L_Morgan changed the tags to Mycroft/Sherlock and I can finally scream in delirious joy at the top of my lungs: All of you people go and *feast* on this incredibly beautiful fic. Incredible writing, exquisite holmescest feels, just… love, love, true love. This fic. I have no words. It was a purely magical journey. Go and read for yourself, and leave a lot of love for the amazing author. Unforgettable fic. Unforgettable.
Mycroft Suit Porn Sherlock

And The Fever When I'm Beside Him: Chapter 6

Author's note.

I have no words to thank the amazing people who still ask about this fic and have stuck by it all this time. Thank you! You are all incredible.

Warnings. Anyone who is even slightly fond of Mary probably already knows this, but just in case: Mary will be treated very viciously in this fic, and John's heart will be broken.

Also, brief hint at watersports. Not the actual thing.

At ao3.

Mycroft Suit Porn Sherlock

Holmescest author rec: non_canonical

This lovely, unbelievably gifted author, non_canonical, has been a gift sent from heaven this week. With the horrible fever I've had for a few days and all the shaking and burning lungs and Mycroft hallucinations (those are good) I've been having amidst the deadlines that cannot be postponed until the fever breaks, her fics have honestly been a gift from heaven.

I'm still working my way backwards through the Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes tag on ao3 and I stumbled upon the lovely series Our Lips Must Always Be Sealed.

Then today I went to the gifted author's page seeking some solace from this horrible fever and I found this gem of a fic, In Loco Parentis. And I felt I had to pull some brain cells from somewhere and rec the author herself here, because she has really brightened up these hellish few days.

I love her writing style. Her style is very similar (while still being very unique) to thinkpink20's style, my favorite style to read and the style I find myself trying to write in, trying being the operative word here. They both write so sparingly and so powerfully, no flowery language or unnecessary descriptions.

Also, non-canonical writes breathtaking kisses (honestly, all the kisses she has written that I've read left me breathless), and while In Loco Parentis is well worth a read, every single word of it, there's a certain scene there which is almost unbearably hot. As in, it left me squirming and panting -- and I'm so sick I can barely sit up to work (on a documentary about how bad bacteria makes you sick, of all things).

I will definitely read everything non_canonical has written, simply to enjoy her style. I can't imagine how I could stomach reading anything other than Sherlock right now, but I did stumble upon Sherlock in the first place through silentauror's Resurrection, when I had no idea what Sherlock was in the first place and only wanted to read something new by a writer I loved. Wow. I can't believe there was a time my life had no Holmescest.

I think I'm digressing. This entry is to rec the masterful non_canonical. Anything else is the fever talking. Go check out her page if you were living under a rock like me and haven't read her fics yet. She is awesome. I love her. Thank you, non_canonical. You've made a very hellish week much, much more bearable.

Mycroft Suit Porn Sherlock

And The Fever When I'm Beside Him: Chapter 5

Author's note.

I really hate cliffhangers, so I was racing to finish the last two chapters early to post both. It proved impossible and turned out to be a really stupid idea, when the answer was simply to avoid the cliffhanger altogether and push it to the next chapter.
My heartfelt thanks to all of you wonderful people for your patience with a WiP that is updated with such infuriating irregularity.
Unbetaed and unedited, so my apologies for all the mistakes. I can't apologize for the possible glaring OOCness, because they're acting this way in my head. I can apologize for how weird my head is, however -- it's all I do in real life all the time. :)

At ao3.
Mycroft Suit Porn Sherlock

In the End

Title: In the End
Pairing/Characters: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for Season 3, Unrequited Incestuous Love, Incestuous Thoughts, One-Sided Sherlock/John
Summary: What goes on in Mycroft's head while he and Sherlock smoke in the cottage yard.
Word Count: 2672

This has been haunting me since HLV aired, and I needed to get it out of my system so I can finish The Fever When I'm Beside Him.

It's an *honor* to say this has been betaed and edited by the incredibly lovely and generous dioscureantwins. Her tweaks were brilliant. Any parts containing poor writing/redundancy/confusion mean I didn't take her advice and as such are in no way a reflection on her awesome beta skills.

You breathed a new, beautiful life into this fic, dearest dioscureantwins. Thank you so much. <3

At ao3.

Mycroft Suit Porn Sherlock

Why I don't like John Watson

Yesterday for the first time in my life I met (as in, received a question from an anon) someone who finds John annoying as well. It was very interesting to think and document exactly what it was that annoyed me about John. Thanks again, dear anon, wherever you are.

Mainly, John annoys me 1) when he insists on platitudes and behavior society dictates as normal (but which really isn’t), and 2) when he acts like a hypocrite. And a bunch of other times that don’t belong in either category.

Take the lab scene after Molly leaves upset because Sherlock insists Jim is gay. I was livid when John self-righteously said, “Kinder? No, no, Sherlock, that wasn’t kind.” I loathe platitudes in real life, especially if they’re glaringly false. Exactly why is it not kinder to point out to Molly that she is dating a gay man? It’s not a random assumption by a normal person. It’s a deduction by Sherlock Holmes. Apparently John thinks it’s kinder to look the other way and pretend Molly is in a great relationship and congratulate her until she gets in so deep she is positively heartbroken when she discovers the truth. In all honesty, I completely fail to see why John thinks what Sherlock said is not kinder than not saying anything.

Also, the scene when Sherlock and John are watching Raoul de Santos’ arrest on TV in the living room in The Great Game. John is livid when Sherlock says “I think he wants to be distracted” when John asks why Moriarty is doing this. He gets up in a sulk sarcastically saying, “I hope you’ll be very happy together.” It’s obvious that — despite the admiring tone — Sherlock doesn’t actually admire what Moriarty’s doing. If he truly admired it, he wouldn’t be working so hard to solve the crimes and save the lives before it’s too late. He’s not only interested in the puzzles Moriarty throws at him. He genuinely cares about saving the lives. If all he cared about was the puzzles, we wouldn’t see the anguish on his face earlier when the old lady is killed on the phone. He had already solved the puzzle correctly before she was killed. There was no reason for him to be upset if all he cared about was the puzzle and the fun. No, he genuinely wanted to spare her death. Yet John is compelled to point out, no, scream dramatically that there are actual human lives at stake and ask Sherlock if he cares. Even more idiotically, because John is upset with Sherlock because he doesn’t care about the people he sulks at first and doesn’t help Sherlock with the task of actually rescuing those very people. Sherlock may look captivated by Moriarty’s brain but is in fact working tirelessly to help them. The writers summed it up brilliantly when they had Sherlock say, “Oh, you’re angry with me so you won’t help. Not much cop, this caring lark.” Brilliant. To John’s credit, he does sheepishly relent a few moments later and start helping, and he does say, “Fantastic” to Sherlock’s deduction about the fake painting in the next scene.

Until His Last Vow, instances like these left me miffed. His Last Vow, however… I went from miffed to seriously horrified. The scene where John sprains Billy’s hand was horrifying to watch. I completely realize this is my problem, because many blogs I adore and am positively smitten with found it sizzling hot. I don’t. This is a doctor who was also an ex army soldier. Presumably he knows how to incapacitate without causing bodily harm. As much as I love Mofftiss (and have the most painful crush on Mark Gatiss and his brain), they did mention something along the lines of adding a dose of Martin Freeman to John’s character. This felt like one instance where that went too far. Again, I find it personally hard to find causing pain enjoyable or worthy of respect. It might be me who’s wrong. Or it might be a simple matter of different tastes. Still, I didn’t so much as flinch in A Scandal in Belgravia when Sherlock lists to Greg the injuries that we know he plans to cause the CIA agent who hurt Mrs Hudson. So I’m guessing the spraining of Billy’s hand in His Last Vow turned me off because we actually watch it happen. We didn’t actually see Sherlock hurt the CIA agent.

Pretty much all of His Last Vow turned me off what little interest I had summoned up in John. The lab scene, for instance. John says it had only been a month and that Sherlock should have contacted him when he felt the urge to do drugs. So what are you saying, John? You’re stating that you believe your absence from Sherlock’s life is what drove him to drugs. Wonderful. So why did you absent yourself from his life for a complete month? You obviously didn’t get sucked into the joys of married life enough to stop caring about what happens to Sherlock. You’re screaming about it, so you still care. If you still care, why is it up to Sherlock to seek you out if he feels he’s about to slip? Why aren’t you blaming yourself at all? At the very least the blame is 50-50, because you should’ve kept in touch with your “best friend” as well.

Then the missing chair scene, although that one didn’t leave me livid, just miffed, because after all even though John is the only person who could stand Sherlock’s eccentricities enough to remain his flatmate until Sherlock “died”, John is a regular guy after all and has clearly failed to see the significance of the missing chair. Probably.

Then the scene that really, really made me seethe. After Sherlock exposes Mary and they all go back to Baker Street. Again, John is a doctor. He knows how dangerous it is for someone who had the surgery Sherlock had one week ago to exert all that effort. Sherlock is almost crawling up the stairs by the time they get to the landing. For John to scream at Sherlock to shut up and then insist on having a full-blown tantrum about life and what he had ever done to deserve what Mary did to him, to him, never mind that she shot Sherlock, never mind that Sherlock is barely able to stand… I found that extremely hard to watch. I didn’t hate John for marrying Mary. I didn’t hate him for taking 10 years to decide to raise his hand and shake Sherlock’s extended hand at the end of His Last Vow, although I wanted to shake him in that scene. But I really, truly hated him when he screamed and ignored the risk to  Sherlock’s health like that. The fact that he was under unbelievable pressure doesn’t make a difference to me. Again, we’re talking about an army doctor. An Afghanistan veteran. He is definitely capable of prioritizing under pressure. If he weren’t, he would’ve died in Afghanistan.

Still, these views are mine. I’m not saying they’re correct or they make sense or they are the only way to interpret or react to John’s behavior. As a diehard slasher whose OTP is Holmescest (which will never be canon), and whose second OTP is Greg/Sherlock (which will probably never be canon), I have a very real interest in seeing Johnlock happen in canon. I just don’t believe that Sherlock is the lottery winner for having John, or that John is all sweetness and light like he is so often portrayed. I’ve always found Sherlock to be the sweeter, more vulnerable of the two.

I might be too protective of Sherlock, but I strongly believe that when Johnlock happens, John will be the incredibly lucky one, not Sherlock.

Mycroft Suit Porn Sherlock

And The Fever When I'm Beside Him: Chapter 4

Author's notes:

Chance Emmerich is loosely based on Charles Ulrich.

To the lovely, lovely dioscureantwins, who took a thorough look at another fic of mine that I have failed miserably to wrangle into shape: There's a sentence here from that fic that has strongly benefited from your beautiful betaeing. Thanks so much. <3

Unbetaed and unedited. My sincere apologies for all the ridiculous plotholes and/or plotlines.

At ao3.