#mycroftxreader

“If you’re not my client then who is?” He asked, steepling his fingers in a dominant fashion.

“I can’t give you much information, doctor-patient confidentiality and all that, but I do need your help.” You said, crossing your legs. You saw his eyebrow raise, suspiciously.

“How are you a doctor? You must be twenty.” You asked.

“Twenty-five actually, and I’m a doctor of psychology, I have my own practice.” You smiled, you were used to this by now.

“How can you be so young?” He asked.

“I graduated from Oxford, top of my class at 18, medical school 20, and then opened my own practice, but that’s not why I’m here.” You pushed. You watched again as Sherlock eyed you, his was clearly attracted to you, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

“But.. how?” He asked again.

“What? Like it’s hard?” You smirked, before carrying on, “Like I said I can’t tell you much, but someone of significance to my patient was recently killed in an… unusual way, and immediately after he contacted a therapist, not the police or a detective.

“How unusual?” He asked curiously.

“‘Quite literally– death by a thousand cuts. Now I can’t tell you who he is, but I can steer him into your path. I have another session with him in an hour, maybe if he saw you around my office he might reach out to you, or at the very least you could read him yourself.” You said.

“Oh this is a good one, you’re spoiling me Ms…?” He asked for your name.

“Y/L/N. Y/N Y/L/N.” You smiled.

“Well Y/N, why come to me?” He asked.

“Well, I wrote my thesis on the science of deduction, I found your website, thought finally someone who speaks my language. And you’re a mild celebrity, though I try to avoid it, I do watch the news. And I need your help.” You pleaded.

“I’ll do it.” He smiled.

“Four o’clock.” You smiled, standing and handing him your business card with your office address on it.

“Sorry I’ve got to run. I’m conducting a seminar on multiple personalities and it takes forever to fill out the name tags.” You grabbed your bag and exited the room, on your way down the stairs you passed a man heading to see Sherlock. John Watson, you recognized him from the blog.

••••••••••

“Hey Sherlock, who was that?” John asked after you had left.

“Client.” He smiled, leaning against the window, watching you flag down a cab.

“You like her.” John teased.

“No I don’t.” He lied.

“You’re still looking at her.” John observed. Sherlock looked away from the window quickly. “Who is she?”

“Dr. Y/N Y/L/N.” He smiled.

“Doctor? John was taken aback.

“There are still incredible people who walk among us.” Sherlock answered, slipping on his long coat.

“Sherlock where are you going?” John yelled as Sherlock ran down the stairs.

“The game is on!” He yelled, slamming the door.

••••••••••

“Dr. Y/L/N, there’s a Mr. Holmes here to see you.” Your receptionists said through the phone.

“Thank you Erin.” You said, putting the phone back on the receiver, and leaving your office.

“You’re early.” You smiled as you saw Sherlock standing in your office.

“Maybe I just really needed to see a doctor.” He smirked.

“Clearly.” You smirked.

“Y/N.” Your receptionist said, and you turned to face her. “Your four o’clock just called and canceled.”

“Shit, give me his file.” You ordered, she pulled it from the cabinet and placed it in your hand. You searched it for his address. You had to find him, you knew if he didn’t show up he might kill again. Obviously that was what happened the first time, he killed his flatmate.

You handed the file to Erin and she knew that you might be out for a while and not make it back for your next appointment.

“You have a session with your multiple personality at 6:00.” Erin said as you were heading towards the door.

“Not to worry. If I’m late he can just talk amongst himself.” You called back, pulling Sherlock out the door for you two to hail a cab.

Once in the car, you handed the file to Sherlock. Doctor-patient confidentiality gets thrown out the window if the patient has a potential to harm themselves or others.

“He craves power over others, since he has a lack of power in his own life. If I’m right about this, he killed his flatmate and is about to kill again. The method of death by a thousand cuts, or lingchi, is a very personal act. For someone like this, guns are too quick. They can’t savor all the little emotions. They start with the eyes, rendering the rest of the process even more psychologically terrifying for the victim. This gives them control, the victim’s life is in their hands, they can keep cutting and cutting until they’re satisfied, slowly, savoring it.” You explained as Sherlock read the file.

“So we can suspect it’s someone of significance to him. Why kill the flatmate? Had he wronged him in some way?” Sherlock asked.

“He said they got on well, and the police still think it was a random murder. But the police are idiots and my patient was obviously lying. You should have seen him, behavioral pauses and delays, verbal and nonverbal disconnects, hiding the mouth and eyes, throat-clearing and swallowing, he’s not very good at lying. The flatmate was sleeping with his girlfriend. She could be the next target.” You said, and Sherlock was staring at you in an odd way.

“What?” You asked, he was still staring and it was starting to concern you.

“It’s just that you’re so… mature and intelligent… and you should definitely should branch into criminal investigation.” He said, dumbfounded.

“You’re not the first to try to recruit me Sherlock Holmes.” You smirked.

“Oh really, who was?” He asked.

“MI6, the government, and a man named Mycroft Holmes, your brother I’m assuming.” You smiled.

“My brother tried to recruit you to work for the government?” Sherlock asked.

“Oh yes, he was very kind. He said I was perspicacious, and preeminent in my field.” You smiled, and the cab halted to a stop. The two of you rushed out.

You broke into the flat and stopped your patient from killing his girlfriend. She was tied up and he had injected her with opium to dull the pain so the process could last longer. Sherlock called the police, after a short row with your patient. He tried to escape and Sherlock caught him, and also received a punch to the face that was now swelling.

You now stood in 221B, helping Sherlock get all doctored up. You left the room to grab something for Sherlock, and left him with John.

“Sherlock… She’s a bit young for you, don’t you think?” John nagged.

“Who said anything about romantic entanglement?” Sherlock asked, defensively.

“You did, in all forms short of physical speech.” John answered.

“I know she’s a little younger than me, but John I’ve never felt like this before and it’s strange and new and I don’t know what to do!” Sherlock whisper yelled.

“A little younger, Sherlock she’s 10 years younger!” John yelled back just as you had entered the room. Sherlock looked apologetically up to you when he saw the look on your face. You had fallen for Sherlock Holmes.

“Uh, I’d love to stay, but I…” You said, thinking of an excuse as you gathered your things, ”I have my therapy group meeting… and the last time I was late the, er, compulsive gamblers were betting the passive aggressors that they couldn’t make the overeaters… cry.”

You headed down the stairs, surprised when you heard Sherlock running down after you. He grabbed your arm when you hit the coat rack downstairs.

“Y/N, wait, please.” Sherlock stopped you.

“No, I should go.” You tried to leave, but he stopped you.

“You truly are brilliant, and beautiful, and I would be a fool to let you walk out of here right now. You are the first woman who I’ve felt this way around. At first I was hesitant, because of the slight age difference, but now I see that that doesn’t matter and age is just a number.” Sherlock began.

“Sherlock–” You tried, but he cut you off.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” He asked.

“I’d love to.” You beamed.

••••••••••

Part 2

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A Study in Crayon

Monday ;

"If I ever lay my hands upon this bothersome little insect, they shall regret the very day they saw a keyboard for the first time!" Never before anyone had seen Mycroft in an angrier state than right now. Usually he didn’t show such temper; when one of his minions messed up, he just smiled; a threatening glance in his eyes and even more threatening words on his tongue...but never with any hint of emotion behind them. Even when his brother did something dangerous or, let’s face it, incredibly stupid, he only rolled his eyes in annoyance. This time however...this time he was furious. He stared at the computer screen with eyes widened, face red and sheer disgust in his glance. The reason for his angered outcry was the video that had started playing on his screen a few seconds ago...well not only on his, but, so it appeared, on every single technical device, computers as well as mobiles, within the whole MI6 headquarters. "As long as I'm your hooker (Back up and turn around) As long as I'm your hooker (Hands on the ground) As long as I'm your hooker (Back up and turn around) As long as I'm your hooker (Get down!) Hooker! (Yeah, you're my hooker) Hooker! (Government hooker)”

The song was blasting out of every single speaker, perfectly in synch with the video: a rather graphic but high quality video of a male pole-dancer...with Mycroft’s face digitally edited over his own. As degrading the clip was...the technical skill behind this was undoubtedly impressive. Not only did the video-manipulation look embarrassing realistic, the creator also managed to hack the whole MI6’s technical system... Mycroft still stared angrily at the monitor, when the video finally finished. "Whoever might be the cause for this mischievous misery..." his obvious anger has left, leaving only his usual implied threatening way...which was even more frightening. "I will get him until the last day of this week has passed, so I promise!" … The next day he wasn’t even a small step closer to the case’s solution.

Tuesday ;

Mycroft had slightly recovered from the previous days’ mischief and made last preparations for an important meeting; the prime minister would stop by any minute to talk about some important budget questions. Mycroft invited him in the small conference room and introduced him to some new members of the staff, when a small envelope on his place caught his attention. He left the others with their conversation to inspect the piece of paper, confusion building up as he did so. "To Mymy." The handwriting was scrawly but that seemed intentional? …and obviously, the author had used a green crayon? The letter inside was written in the same way:

"I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to anger you yesterday! I hope my little gift for today will make up for any trouble I might have caused. <3”

Gift? Which gift? Moreover, did the hacker from the previous day just leave a letter in his office? Apologizing for their mischief?

“What is this supposed to be about!?” He was torn from his thought by an outcry of the prime minister and turned around in an instant…just to see, what had caused his shocked exclamation.

On the big presentation-screen on the front-wall of the room, a data had started playing. To be more exactly: a video. But it wasn’t an edited video like the one on Monday…it was a cat video.

There was a cat-video playing in the probably most important and secure room of the MI6. …suddenly the video of the kitten stopped for a moment and a font appeared on the screen.

“I am sorry, Mymy! <3 “

Only for a second, before it disappeared again to make space for the kitten once again, leaving nothing but a cute video and a horribly embarrassed Mycroft behind.

Mycroft: 0, Mysterious Hacker: 2

Wednesday;

Mycroft made his best specialist search for the source of the video until the early hours of the morning…without any success. The hacker was still unknown, and Mycroft’s mood was, to say it the nice way, in an all-time deep. It didn’t brighten up however, when he entered his office in the morning and found another one of the mysterious envelops on his desk. What would destroy his day this time?

“Morning, Mymy! <3 It almost seemed like you wouldn’t have liked my surprise yesterday. :( I am sorry again…I really hoped it would cheer you up a bit. You looked quite stressed out…maybe I can make up for it today.”

He was honestly scared of what was about to follow: Whatever the reason this person had to pester him…they really must’ve hated him with all of their heart.

Wednesday’s surprise was worse than anything before.

Taylor Swifts “Shake It Off” was playing from every speaker inside the MI6…the whole day. And not only inside the headquarters.

When Mycroft entered a coffee shop, the song was playing in the background.

When Mycroft entered his car, the song was playing from the radio.

When he visited Sherlock, the song was to be heard from the Café downstairs.

He started to grow desperate.

Mycroft: 0, Mysterious Hacker: 3

Thursday;

He was completely fed up with this misery.

While his crew was still busy with finding whoever was responsible for all this, Mycroft himself decided to take a day off. So it came that he found himself at home, in his comfortable chair, reading some random book to distract himself a bit.

Then the doorbell demanded his attention.

It was only a short ring and for a moment he thought about simply ignoring it…but then he remembered that his secretary had this bothersome habit of forgetting the key to his house inside his house and headed towards the door.

But in front of the door he didn’t find the black haired woman…he found a basket. A basket filled with muffins…and a little kitten.

With furrowed brows, he eyed the little animal, before taking a closer look to the card pinned to the basket.

“Dear Mymy!

So my surprise yesterday didn’t work either, it appears…but this time I am sure it will work just fine! Here you have a cute kitten. It listens, or rather not since it’s quite stubborn, at the lovely name ‘Buttercup’. Also, I made you some muffins. Everybody likes muffins.

Enjoy them!”

WHAT THE HELL WAS WRONG WITH THIS PERSON? WHICH KIND OF HACKER SENT THEIR VICTIM A BASKET WITH MUFFINS AND A KITTEN!?

A short visit in the MI6s lab revealed that the muffins weren’t poisoned…and a following visit at 221b revealed that Watson refused to take Buttercup and that Mycroft had to play babysitter for this brat of a kitten now. …until he founded someone who volunteered to adopt it. At least the kitten didn’t try to catch a goldfish out of his aquarium…yet he mistrusted the fury creature.

What scared him even more, was the fact, that he wasn’t even angered with the hacker anymore. What was wrong with him?

Mycroft: 0, Mysterious Hacker: 4

Friday;

Mycroft returned to work for this day, while his secretary took care of buttercup. Well to be exactly she had an eye on him, so he wouldn’t destroy his expensive furniture.

This time he found the envelope next to the coffee machine.

“Dear Mymy,”

This time the note was written with a pen and the font wasn’t as crinkly as the last one…all it all it resembled more to be written by an adult then the last one.

“I am glad you liked my last gift at least a little bit more than the others!

Maybe you like me now? Like, you know, at least a little bit?

Because I need to talk to you quite urgently.

I just didn’t know how to ask you….so yeah.

Sorry about all that.

My social skills are a little bit “rusty”. “

He wasn’t sure if “rusty” was the correct term for what had happened in the previous days.

“As I fear that you will refuse to meet me in person, or try to arrest me the very moment you see me,”

Well the hacker wasn’t completely wrong.

“I left a letter in a place of your house that only you would find.

It is of biggest importance that you and only you read it, be careful that no one follows you on your way home or my life would be in danger.

And as little as you probably care about that, remember: I gave you not only a kitten but also self-baked goods. How cruel some a human would you be, to have my blood on your hands?

I also promise that it won’t be to your disadvantage to read it.

Thank you in advance,

Kisses and hugs,

Y/N.”

For a few seconds Mycroft’s eyes lingered over the last word. “Y/N”. At least the mysterious hacker had a name now…and he would have been surprised wouldn’t it have been a woman’s. The kitten videos already lead him to assume something like that.

It took him a while to make a decision: On one hand this mischievous person had already caused him enough trouble and if they were dead he certainly would sleep better at night…wouldn’t he? On the other hand he was curious; intrigued with the cleverness of whomever was behind all of this. And so far they appeared to be harmless enough: the muffins weren’t even that bad.

Also, how much bad could it do to just look for and read this one letter?

Very much.

If there was one thing, Mycroft Holmes hated more than ridiculously stunning hackers, it was chaos.

But just that was, what the whole affair had caused in his house.

Almost frantically looking for the letter he had turned everything “only he would look at” upside down. His private notes were in a mess over the desk, his underwear (he indeed believed the Hacker would be shameless enough to go to such private places in his drawer) wasn’t sorted by colour anymore and even the content of his bathroom cabinet was spilled all over the room. What he didn’t find though, was the mysterious letter.

With a deep sigh he decided to make a break and strolled in the kitchen.

He was a unique mastermind how could it be possible that he wasn’t able to find a letter this child of person had hidden in his very own house?

As he opened the fridge to get a slice of the cake Mrs. Hudson had given him at his last visit in Bakerstreet, his eyes fell on Buttercup. The ‘creature’ as he had decided to call her, was playing with a stuffed mouse in its new punnet and purring satisfied as she saw him. Never in his dear life he would have admitted that the small fur-ball was a quite amiable company.

Without looking Mycroft pulled the box with the cake out of the fridge…and stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes fell on something that had been hidden under it.

A remarkable thick, brown envelope.

That has been…unexpected.

Not even angry about this obvious indictment of his eating habits, he tore the brown paper open, his eyes eagerly flying over the familiar font.

The whole way of writing was different: formal even. Formal enough to be usable as evidence in a court, which it obviously was intended to be.

“Dear Mr. Mycroft Holmes.

The evidence which I present you here came to me through a quite delicate way, so I hope to have your understanding if I do neither introduce me, nor the people who have been of aid to me, namely.

In the following letter you will find the private correspondences of various individuals who are responsible for a quite outrageous number of crimes that have taken place within the last three years. The letters included will, if used wisely, not only draw light into almost a dozen of unsolved murders, but also take the men responsible for them into prison.

Please use the provided information wisely, for the way I got it will most likely get me killed within the next 48 hours.

Regards, X.”

He read it multiple times, unable to believe what he just had been given. Quickly he took a look at the other sheets and indeed: They were screenshots of emails.

Including date, time, name of receiver and name of sender, they were correspondence of people he knew all to well: Most of them criminals who managed to get away from a well-deserved punishment by having flimsy alibis or just not the right connection to the case…and the emails which proofed fake Alibis and arranged murders would get them straight into jail.

He gasped at the value of the information given to him; his workers had tried months to lay hands upon this information but none of them had managed to do the job.

Of course she didn’t write in her name though; collecting this must’ve gone some not-so-legal ways. Only the hacking of private correspondence without permission could get herself into seriously threatening trouble.

Whoever this human was, she was a genius.

And as good as dead.

For one of the pages wasn’t a screenshot, but another letter: written in the curly, green Crayon font Mycroft had grown almost fond of.

“Dear Mymy,

When you read this I’m most likely already 6 feet under.

Or well, rather not because I’m pretty sure they will just throw me in a river after stabbing me or something like that; Shovelling a grave would probably just cause to much noise.

Anyways; Some of the people named in the documents here have found out I hacked them…and aren’t quite happy about that. Who would have expected that?

I had some personal reasons to see them in prison though, and don’t regret my decision. I saw you entering the flat of your brother a few times and after finding out who you are, I just had to get this information through to you. If I just plainly sent it to you, you certainly would have thrown the envelope away,” She was right about that, he only opened correspondence he either expected or whose sender he knew. “I already said sorry about the rather unusual way of approaching you but I really wanted to catch your attention. Maybe not only because of the important stuff but also because I harbour a slight crush on you.

Haha, much easier to write something like that, if you know that you won’t be alive to be able to be embarrassed about it later on.

Anyways now that I rest in sort of peace it can do no harm to tell you my real name though I’m sure my former boss wouldn’t be too happy about it. (But why would I care I’m dead, haha)

Love and kisses,

Y/N L/N.”

This one was obviously not intended to be seen in court so Mycroft quickly shoved it into his pocket before rushing in Athena’s office without knocking.

“I want this papers safe and secure, copy them on our servers and send copies to the priorities of Scotland Yard instantly! It’s of national importance!” He threw the papers on her desk, before hurrying outside, even forgetting his umbrella as he left the house.

Y/N L/N…who’s name he found only once in the whole phonebook and prayed it would be the right one.

The flat was in one of the darkest corners of London; a place he usually wouldn’t even think about visiting, but right now he didn’t care at all. He literally rushed up the stairs in the 4th floor, taking two steps at once and hoping that the wonderful genius who haunted him this whole week would still be alive. Without knocking he entered the flat, surprised to find the door open, and falling over a complex construction of pots and ropes in the process.

He cursed swiftly about the awful noise he made and quickly found his way back on his feet…just to find himself eye in eye with a Taser.

The Taser was held by a young woman, standing right in front of him with eyes widened in shock and hands shaking from surprise.

“…Mymy?” You stared at him as if you’d have seen a ghost: that was about the last thing you had expected.

“You are the hacker who caused this whole mischief?” For a second he was of course surprised to see you: the woman who had lived in a flat close to Sherlock’s until a few weeks ago. Never leaving her house and only looking distrusting out of the window every once in a while. …although the name of the flat-owner “Sarah Johnson” had obviously just turned out to be fake. Yes, Mycroft had his eyes on all people living close to his baby-brother.

Within seconds Mycroft had regained his usual cold manner, but there was still an unusual spark in his eyes. “I would have expected someone as clever as you to have a better alarm-system than that. I got to admit that you don’t look quite dead to me.”

“Well it worked, didn’t it? I would have knocked you out, hadn’t I recognized you soon enough!” Your reproachful glance didn’t even cause him to flinch. “Also I didn’t have time to figure out something better,” you muttered as you put the Taser away and turned back to close your just packed luggage. “Only through sheer luck I survived so long, I won’t wait here for that luck to come to an end, so if you excuse me now.” You turned around again, when you realized what just had happened. “Wait…what are you even doing here!?”

Mycroft simply ignored your question and took the luggage out of your hand.

“Good thing you already packed, we mustn’t lose any time.”

“Any time for what?” Never in your life you had felt so dumbfounded.

“To bring an important witness to a save place where no one can kill her.”

“A witness? Mymy excuse me, but if I appear in front of a court they will imprison me for hacking not only some private Computers but also the MI6’s servers!”

“Well nevertheless I can’t just let you get murdered. We will bring you to a safe place anyways. After all your information will help me imprisoning a few most hideous criminals.”

“And where exactly would be this ‘safe place’?”

“In my house of course. I have a spare guestroom and I need someone to take care of the creature anyways.” You didn’t even question the creature-thing anymore, being too confused about what was just happening.

“And if someone asks what I am suddenly doing at your place?”

“Well, we’ll just make up a story that you are my new girlfriend or something equally ridiculous. People easily tend to believe such stuff.”

“I won’t answer any questions regarding my old job and old boss, you are aware of that, right?”

“Well I guess then you’ll just have to bake me muffins in order to keep me too occupied to ask you such questions.”

“Only, if I can blast Taylor Swift while baking.” It took a few good arguments in Mycroft’s inner monologue to convince himself that it wasn’t a mistake to take you with him.