Various Array of One Shots ✔️

The Punch Is Good >> Mycroft Holmes X Reader

Title: The Punch Is Good

Paring: Mycroft Holmes X Reader

Warnings: hints at what happens near at the end of S3Ep03 Sherlock

Spoilers: go and watch the previously said episode if you're unsure

A/N: Written in celebration of my birthday: I seriously believe that Mycroft is the very underrated Holmes brother. He needs more love! And less stories where he's the baddie. ^u^

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Standing in the corner of the kitchen, you observed the busting mother of Sherlock and Mycroft as she rushed around the cooking area, fussing as if her sons weren't fully grown capable men with professional careers. Since Anthea had been allowed a day off with her family for Christmas, and Sherlock had brought Bill Wiggins and the Watson's, you had felt that the invitation that he had extended your way was to be only mutual: you were a plus one, someone only thought about in hindsight. But it wasn't like you had anyone else to celebrate with.

That was what you were, really. A forgotten, often trod all over, misued and misinterpreted friend of a very important man: practically the Brittish government.

Who, by the look of things over the hot cup of cocoa that you held close to your face for warmth, was having a hard time from his own mother. Chuckling at his folly, you glanced to Bill, who dropped his gaze - had he been looking at you? Deduction was Mycroft's and Sherlock's strong point, not yours - to the bowl of punch.

"Troublesome, aren't they?"

You flinched at the sudden words in your moments of daydream-like state. It was then you realised that the one who had spoken Mrs Holmes. Giving a chuckle, you shook your head.

"No, they're goregeous boys, Mrs Holmes." You nodded, taking in the silent bickering between the brothers, "I try to keep them in line."

She squinted slightly, then grinned. "Ah, you must be the one and only (y/n) that Myc keeps talking about." She winked, the added, "Nothing but good things, though."

You couldn't help the blush that mercilessly stained your cheeks. "I'm just a friend, Mrs Holmes."

She giggled, adding, "Not the way he tells it," and at that, she left you standing with a cold cup of hot chocolate, overthinking as she went to tell off her husband.

Not the way he tells it...you wonder. How was the way he told it? You were the friend regarded as backup, the after hours pal. Someone who came to the odd work party as a mutual plus one, argued with his younger brother - and at times, Mycroft himself - until a stalemate was reached and often had him over for tea at the most strangest of times in your dingy apartment, mostly always in oversized men's t-shirts as nightdresses and bed hair.

How could it be not the way he told it?

When you looked up from your daydream you noticed the boys weren't at the table anymore - and neither was Mr and Mrs Holmes. Following the sounds of chitchat to the front yard, you saw the pair of them, Sherlock and Mycroft smoking from the window. With their backs turned to you, you could almost imagine them years and years younger, still in school, still smoking and bickering and secretly caring for one another.

"Boys!" You heard Mrs Holmes cry from the doorway, aghast at their activity.

"It was Mycroft." you heard Sherlock blame.

After a few seconds, you heard a scuffle of feet and saw the suited form of Mycroft coming inside. As your eyes met, his seemed to smile, but you had to ask him a question that had a possibility of making it disappear.

"Why am I really here, Mycroft?" You whispered, aware of his father in the other room and Bill in the kitchen.

"It's Christmas," he declared. "And you had no place else to celebrate."

"True,"You nodded, "but I - what - I mean, what is going on? I'm like a go-to- girl with you, and your mother thinks we're - are we? I don't know."

"I like you, ______, you should know that." Mycroft replied softly, stepping closer. You could smell the mixture of aftershave and cigarette on him. "And you're not a second choice; you're one of the few I can trust. And care about."

You held your breath. "Really?" You managed to say. You knew Mycroft wasn't one for emotions that would allow weakness.

"I wouldn't go and play around with feelings, _______. Of course I do. And of course, Mummy goes ahead and ruins the surprise..."

You frown, "Surprise?"

"I was going to ask you if you wanted to go to dinner." He smiles. "A proper date, not a plus one event, just you and I."

"I'd love to, Mycroft," you smiled, leaning closer to his clean-shaven face to kiss his cheek.

"Another thing you'll love, apparently, is this punch Sherlock's boasting about," Mycroft gestured to the kitchen behind you in the hallway. "It is supposed to be good."

You grinned, taking the spare hand of the British government in your own and making your way to the punch.