Moved blogs

mycroftsigerholmes:

FYI

Moved blogs

FYI

Mycroft Holmes

mycroftsigerholmes:

HEY MYCROFTSIGERHOLMES HAS MOVED TO KINGMYCROFT. PLEASE FOLLOW THERE IF INTERESTED. I WILL BE FOLLOWING BACK MOST BLOGS :) THANKS.

Mycroft Holmes

mycroftsigerholmes:

HEY MYCROFTSIGERHOLMES HAS MOVED TO KINGMYCROFT. PLEASE FOLLOW THERE IF INTERESTED. I WILL BE FOLLOWING BACK MOST BLOGS :) THANKS.

Mycroft Holmes

HEY MYCROFTSIGERHOLMES HAS MOVED TO KINGMYCROFT. PLEASE FOLLOW THERE IF INTERESTED. I WILL BE FOLLOWING BACK MOST BLOGS :) THANKS.

I dislike the fact that I cannot follow the people I like and role play with

so i am currently making a main account and will change over the name when it’s complete. i hope you will come with me and we can roleplay even more :)

knickers-and-nicotine asked: ((I only replied to Baked Goods so far and Sherlock is pining, but I'm trying to help my incompetent brother purchase a greyhound ticket, so have some uni texting)) [SMS: Mycroft] If you don't see me at work this afternoon, don't overreact. I called in sick and I'm skipping my classes today. -SH

knickers-and-nicotine:

mycroftsigerholmes:

[SMS: Sherlock] Why would you do that brother mine? Afraid of a little hard work? -MH

Relief flooded him as the hand was removed, not having the personal strength to deal with containing and keeping away his thoughts about his brother.

"I’m fine," Sherlock snapped in response, almost regretting the terse tone. "I’m just tired. I don’t need you to fawn over me because of this; I’ll be perfectly fine and ready to go to class in a few days," he countered.

"A few days? That seems like more than a common cold Sherl’." It doesn’t take Mycroft long to bore of his position on the chair, rising up to take of his jacket and vest, as well as his more expensive items of clothing. He untucks his shirt and ignores the wrinkles that will soon be in his pants, toeing his shoes off and kicking them gently under the edge of the bed. He crawls on top of the covers, slinking an arm around his brother and manhandling him onto his lap nearly, placing the rag back into position and massaging his brothers shoulders. 

"Don’t you have a speaker somewhere, maybe you could turn on some music? AND don’t complain, i know you like a massage when you’re feeling weak."

I’m terribly sorry to do this, but I’m quitting all my female threads.

The only thread I will be keeping is antheapa since she is currently the only female muse that Mycroft can seem to cope with at the moment. I apologize for the inconvenience but I do not want you waiting on my threads that refuse to come to us.

From this point on, unless explicitly stated, the muse and mun are only accepting homosexual romantic plot lines. I apologize.

+A Proposal || Step-brothers

astudyinholmes:

It took a moment for Sherlock to react to Mycroft’s words, and at first he simply sat there blinking as he tried to register that Mycroft had actually said what it sounded like he said. ❝You do?❞ Sherlock asked, sounding surprised as he turned his head to look up at Mycroft with curiosity. His mother always said she was supportive, but other than that he had few experiences in positive verbal encouragement.

As if seeing Mycroft in a new light with the sudden acceptance in his step-brother’s words, Sherlock studied him with a more intimate curiosity, his interest in the other growing tenfold with each passing moment.

Mycroft was nearly out of his room before Sherlock finally got up to follow. A snack didn’t sound half bad, and Sherlock found he couldn’t argue with Mycroft logic, nor did he see much reason why they couldn’t get along. He caught up to Mycroft’s stride and matched it. ❝Y’know, I was afraid you were going to be stupid or something,❞ and of course by ‘stupid’ Sherlock simply meant less intelligent and observant than himself, ❝but you’re actually okay.❞

Mycroft let himself give a ghost of smirk at Sherlock’s compliment, which he assumed was not a common occurrence, nor would it happen again any time soon. ❝ Of course I approve. It isn’t everyday that you find yourself a world class detective living in your new house… ❞ 

Mycroft grinned as Sherlock jumped up following him out. He knew it wouldn’t take much to bribe him out of his reprieve just a few well timed compliments, something his mother was currently unable to understand.

❝Stupid? Ah, well, I must admit I feared the same of you. No wonder our parents were excited about the marriage, they must have realized that we would get along quite swimmingly.❞ 

The kitchen was quite minimalistic and it offered no comfortable reprieve from standing, so Mycroft leaned instead against the counter top looking at the food options intently.

❝What are you thinking of eating? ❞ 

Anonymous asked: [antheapa] ((Am I allowed to ask for this if we've already got paras? I just saw it and was like YES)) My character runs the MI6 and your character is an assassin trying to kill me.

antheapa:

mycroftsigerholmes:

Mycroft got undressed, folding each outfit meticulously. He knew he was being tracked but by whom he couldn’t yet tell. He locked all of the doors and checked the windows, lying down, his body worn from the effort of the day. Clad in only his silk red boxers he lay there nearly drifting to sleep, the idea of making himself a warm bath still a possibility in his sleepy mind.

"Forgive me when I say I’m just a little bit skeptical of that," she smirked, "I can’t imagine you’ve been in the game for quite some time. I don’t think you have the stamina to out last me." She leaned down, pressing her body against his, biting his lower lip and pulling back playfully.

"Unfortunately for you," she picked up the knife and held it at his throat again, "I don’t have all night to waste on something that will yield me no fruit. So here’s the deal. You give me what I want, and I give you what you want, or I can just kill you now."

"Oh, but I do invite you to try to convince me otherwise. It’s always nice when people make my job more fun."

"I’ll give you a clue, how’s that? Not a complete waste of time, now is it?" He grinned, licking his lips, and enjoying the scent of fresh blood from the nicks on his neck. He’d be loathe to admit it, but he was a masochist in the extreme; the pain only made him more excited.

"I know there will be a delivery. Sometime this week."