Mycroft's Acceptance

Enola and I sit in our office, the two of us not really having anything to do. We're only here because Sherlock is supposed to come by. The two siblings have something to discuss, so once I see Sherlock I'll leave.

Enola eyes me from across the room, she's been staring at me all day. As much as I love her, it's starting to get really annoying. "Why are you staring at me?"

She jumps at my voice and fiddles with her hands, "I'm just thinking."

"About?"

"I'm sorry, it's just really hard for me to know about you and my brother. It's gross to think about," she rambles.

"Then don't think about it," I say.

She frowns, "I just don't want you to get hurt. Sherlock is known for his..... lack of affection."

She's worried about me.

"Enola, I assure you that I won't get hurt, and neither would he. Even if the two of us were to end things, I promise it won't end bitterly."

The door opens, and in walks Sherlock who looks angry. He sits in the chair across from me, "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, who or what has pissed you off today?" I ask.

He gives me an annoyed look, "My brother."

The door opens again, Mycroft storms in, slamming the door shut behind him. "I wasn't done with the conversation, Sherlock!"

"I was," Sherlock says sternly.

It only takes a few seconds for Mycroft to notice me, the second he sees me, the vein in his forehead bulges out even more. "You! You foul, obnoxious woman!"

He storms over to me, causing me to stand up. His finger hovers in front of my face as he points, "I forbid you from seeing Sherlock!"

So that's what he's angry about. I should've known.

"And how do you plan to do that?" I ask mockingly.

He blinks, but remains quiet. His chest is rising up and down with fast, angry breaths. I can see Enola standing behind him, her eyes watching him cautiously. There's a hint of fear in her eyes. But why?

"I've called the asylum, you're lucky they have no rooms left."

My eyes widen, "For what? What have I done wrong?!"

"A woman should never shout at a man!"

Sherlock gets in between the two of us, his back is turned to me, but I can see that he's pushing Mycroft away. "Apologize to her right now."

"I'm not apologizing-"

Sherlock cuts him off, "I wasn't asking."

There's an obvious tension between them as they stare each other down. After a few seconds Mycroft sighs. "Of all the women in London, she's the one you choose?"

"Yes."

I try my best to not smile, but I can't resist it. Mycroft looks over his brother's shoulder, "I'm sorry."

Sherlock turns around, giving me a stern look. My eyes drift around the room, trying to ignore his stare. He rests a hand on my shoulder and I sigh. Why does he have so much control over me?

"I'm sorry," I reply, even though the words burn my throat.

Mycroft sticks his hand out to me, "It seems that my brother likes you even more than I thought. So, we should probably learn to get along."

I shake his hand, glancing at Sherlock to see that he's smiling.

"Agreed. However, I will not hesitate to kick your ass the second you insult me or talk down to me."

Mycroft's mouth twitches as he smiles, "Understood."

He steps away, nodding at his siblings. "I will see you two later."

Then he finally leaves. The second he's out the door I turn to Sherlock. "Why did you tell him?"

"I didn't."

I roll my eyes, "Alright, I'm going home. I'll see y'all whenever."

Sherlock grabs my wrist, his eyes watching as Enola rearranges the stuff on her desk. He looks back at me and whispers, "Go to my flat, I'll be there soon."

He slips something into my hand and when I look down I realize it's a key. I give him a questioning look but he doesn't say anything.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Enola says to me.

I make my way out of the office and glance down at the key in my hand. I wish Mycroft was here to see this, he'd have a heart attack.

~~°°••°°~~

I push the apartment door open, a gust of cold wind blows through my hair. After I light the lanterns around the room, I begin to start a fire in the fireplace. The sparks however refuse to catch the wood on fire, and instead burn my fingers.

"Shit," I mumble to myself, blowing on the side of my finger.

The skin is already beginning to bubble up, I'm sure I'll have a disgusting blister there in the morning. I ignore the pain and continue trying to light the log. A big spark lands on the palm of my hand, causing me to gasp.

"You're not very good at starting fires."

I fall backwards, landing right on my back. Sherlock stands above me, an amused grin on his face.

"I should tie a bell around your neck," I reply.

I sit up and watch as he kneels down in front of the fireplace. It only takes him a few seconds to start the fire. He turns to me, "Let me see your hand."

I hold my hand out to him and he quickly grasps it, moving it closer to him to get a better look. He lets out a sigh, "You'll need to keep it wrapped for a few days."

He stands up, offering his hand to me, I take it and allow him to pull me to my feet. He leads me over to the kitchen, and pours cold water over my hand. I try to pull it back, but he tightens his grip. After a few seconds he pats it dry with a towel and pulls out a roll of gauze.

"I can wrap it myself," I say.

He doesn't listen and wraps my hand for me. When he's done he finally lets go of my wrist, "I'll need to remember to not let you start fires."

"Perhaps, you should write that down."

He leans against the counter, his blue eyes shining with amusement. "Perhaps, I should."

I sit on the couch, he watches me from across the room. My hand pats the spot next to me, "Sit with me."

He listens, surprisingly. When he's next to me I rest my head on his shoulder, and he lets out a deep breath. I wrap my arms around his arm and he reaches his hand up to touch the side of my face.

"Will you stay the night?"

"What about, Watson?"

"He's away again."

I nod against his shoulder, "Tempting."

"Will you stay or not?" he asks.

I sit up to look at him, "Beg me."

He tilts his head, his blue eyes watching me in shock. I tilt my head as well and smirk. "I guess I'll go home."

I stand up but he grabs my wrist and pulls me back onto the couch beside him. "Please stay."

The smile on my face disappears when I notice his saddened eyes, "Are you okay?"

"This case I'm working on.... it's been bothering me worse than they normally do."

He rests his head on my shoulder, "I sleep better when you're here."

"I think the both of us would sleep even better if we were to sleep in an actual bed."

He gets up and walks to his room, stopping momentarily to look back at me. "Are you coming or not?"

I kick my shoes off and follow him, immediately crawling under the covers. He lays down next to me, pulling me into his chest. His arm wraps around me and I intertwine my fingers with his.

"I never would've thought I'd be laying in bed with you, I would've rather died."

"You fell for me first," he says.

I roll my eyes, of course he's known my feelings for him this whole time. He is the world's greatest detective.

"Yes, but you fell harder."

Author's Note: Sadly, this story will end, my love for Henry Cavill however will not. So, if anyone has any suggestions on which of his characters I should write about next, please let me know!

(This story will not be ending anytime soon)