BBC Sherlock Imagines (Book 3)

Mycroft: Good Eats

Request for  ahtenaismona. Thanks for wanting to give Mycroft some love!

~

"What time will you be home tonight?" you asked Mycroft, preparing your coffee as he was preparing to go out to the door and to work.

"Late." Not a time, you thought, but okay. You watched as he grabbed his gym bag from the floor, double checking his running shoes were in there.

"Honey, you're working out late AGAIN tonight?! That's the fourth time this week! Are you married to me or the treadmill?" you asked, letting your jealousy get the best of you. Four nights a week did not sound a lot, but for the past three weeks, he was home late working out almost every night. It was hard to be without him. You missed your grumpy man.

"I'm married to neither," he smiled, his nose wrinkling with sass.

"You're a real arse, you know that?" You tried to hide your anger, but it was hard when you knew something was wrong and he refused to tell you or talk about it. You had asked him on multiple occasions about work, Sherlock, or anything else that remotely mattered in his life (besides you), but he never budged.

"I do know one thing, (y/n), and it is that I'll be home late. See you tonight." And with that, he was gone.

~

221B was a place you frequented quite regularly - usually to pass along a message to Sherlock that Mycroft himself did not want to. You didn't mind, you liked Sherlock. You knew that in marrying Mycroft, you were marrying into the entire Holmes family. As a brother-in-law, Sherlock was acceptable. He greeted you, occasionally analyzed you (usually for psychological problems that, he said, would explain your attraction towards his brother), and ordered you to make tea once or twice. For you, that meant he liked you. So when you walked into 221B today and Sherlock ignored you, you knew something was wrong.

"Why is it that BOTH of the Holmes brothers seem to not be talking to me?" He ignored you, concentrated on his laptop. "Sherlock," you said, throwing a pillow at him. He didn't react, just continued sitting there and staring, his finger occasionally scrolling on the trackpad. "What are you looking at?" you asked. You stomped over to his desk, and before you could read the webpage, he closed it, stood up, and walked past you into the kitchen. "What was that?" you asked, knowing that you for sure saw the word 'diet' on the webpage.

Sherlock continued to ignore you, leaning on the counter with his arms outstretch and head hanging down.

"Sherlock," you said again.

He turned his head. "Oh hi (y/n), didn't see you there."

You rolled your eyes and walked up to him, crossing your arms. "Okay, what the hell is going on. Something has been bothering Mycroft for weeks now. All he does is work out and he barely eats! This is the most stressed I've ever seen him! I even made him his favorite dessert and he didn't eat it! Did something happen at work? Is the world about to end? Is Jim Moriarty back? Tell me Sherlock, because if you don't I swear I will use all the tea in your flat and NOT refill it or by you more, and you'll be forced to go into the grocery store with human beings. So tell me now what is wrong with my husband, or else!"

By now you were fuming, all the anger and nervousness from the past couple weeks spilling out of you and onto Sherlock Holmes.

His eyes were closed, a painful look on his. "Okay fine," he said, opening up his eyes and looking at you. "I called him fat."

~

You marched through the halls, past the fancy paintings, and over the polished hardwood floors. Without knocking, you burst into Mycroft's office. It was only 3:00pm, but there he was, on the treadmill.

"(Y/n) it's 3:00pm, what are you doing here?" he asked, stopping the treadmill and grabbing his towel that hung over the side.

"It's 3:00pm, why are you running?" you asked, watching him through the slits in your eyes.

"I was taking a break, it's been a long work day," he said, motioning to the stack of papers that were on his desk. You didn't say anything, just stared at him. He looked away, the sadness that had adorned his eyes these past few week shining in his eyes.

"He called you fat, he told me." You finally spoke, and it hurt you to say it, but if you didn't bring it up, he never would. Mycroft looked at the floor, leaning against one hand on the desk. "Mycroft," you whispered. Him not responding meant you were right, you had guessed what had been bothering him. You stepped closer. "Sherlock is always making jokes about your weight, why did this one bother you so much?"

He opened his mouth to speak, his lips parted and almost forming words, but his voice failed. You grabbed his hand, clinging hard to it. He glanced at you and pursed his lips. Visibly, it was obvious this was a painful subject for him to talk about. "Well, I had actually been losing weight, and he said that, and it felt like-" he stopped himself, shaking his head. Showing emotion was really against his natural biology. "It felt like I had really not made any progress. At all. So, naturally-"

"You decided to exercise your body to exhaustion and not eat?" He looked at you again, in the eyes this time, and nodded like a little kid caught taking cookies out of the jar before dinner. Bad joke, too soon, you thought. You whispered his name again, "Mycroft." You still held his hand, and lifting your other one, you patted his belly, which was significantly smaller than before. "I love all parts of you, even the ones that you don't like. And to be honest, it doesn't feel right anymore when I hug you. There's less of you to love," you sighed, wrapping your arms around him.

He patted your back. "Well, I'm just trying to be healthy."

You looked at him, now laying your hand gently on his face. "Well stop trying, because you're horrible at being healthy. You need to eat more."

He nodded in agreement, grabbing your hand that was on his face and stroking it. "You need to worry less," he said, taking your hand and kissing it. Finally, your husband was back. His affection, although minimal, meant more to you than the world.

"Don't tell me what to do, Mycroft."

A/N

Shit, two in one. That's what I'm talking about. That's called procrastination, people. I got HECKA work to do, but I would rather live in the world of Sherlock!!!!

Hope and pray that I can continue to write and update, if not regularly, then at least semi-frequently.

Random: Favorite piece of clothing you own currently? And why?