Livestream doodles.
I love how drawing a man in a kilt and a japanese school uniform is basically the same thing.
Ooh, I like! Reminds me of a kinkmeme story w/Tailor!Lestrade. He made a kilt for Mycroft.
Proposal/Query
Would it be fair to say that you’re all kind of waiting, half-hoping, half-expecting me to write some big long masterfic work? Something that goes on for multiple chapters, 20k words each?
What kid of reaction might such a thing get?
SHEER, UNADULTERATED GLEE.
That would be my reaction.
So, I saw a prompt a while back that was something along the lines of what if Lestrade was a bodyguard for Mycroft. That turned into this 221B, which is the first thing I’ve finished in months (and it shows). Post-Reichenbach, rated G.
At times, it felt like drowning. He’d had little choice…
Greg as a bodyguard. I like.
Last section of this part of the arc, doves. The universe isn’t disappearing, but I do need a break for a bit. Thank you for being so utterly lovely about this fic. (And please don’t panic. The characters aren’t going away, but I do need my life back for a while.)
<3
Sheffie’s birthday: Pistachio
It is the birthday of the beloved Sheffiesharpe. Okay, beloved by me. The rest of you make up your own adjectives. It’s so cute when she goes flaily.
So I wrote this.
-=-=-=-
“Greg, I need to have a word with you.”
“Yeah, just a minute, this is almost caramelized.”
Mycroft turned back to his e-mail, hesitating, but hit send. Nothing was final. If he had to retract the offer, then there would have been an argument in any case. He was reasonably certain that he could convince Greg.
He heard Greg shifting things about in the kitchen, and straightened his shoulders. No. This was not business. It was, but this was Greg, and if he approached it as anything else, it would be disastrous. And it was Greg’s decision, no matter how sizable, or how much he objected.
“So what’s going on?” Greg asked, falling onto the sofa next to him and craning to look at his phone. “Some kind of crisis?”
“There’s no shortage of them,” Mycroft admitted, but set his phone aside, folding his hands. “I was thinking about your father, actually.”
Greg blinked in surprise, and smiled. “He get in touch with you?”
“Actually, I got in touch with him.”
“Has he done something?”
Mycroft couldn’t stop a smile. “You could say that. His recipe for ice cream.”
I love this! Mycroft has his Methods.
Also, my adjective of choice for Sheffiesharpe at the moment is (checking current list)…splendorous.
