Sherlock Imagines

Unwanted 😥Mycroft X Reader

Prompt- He breaks up with you to rid of his sentiment and improve performance at work. You cry yourself to sleep and become depressed. Mycroft finally realises that he needs you and asks for you to forgive him and take him back. You reluctantly forgive him.

Warnings- alcohol, depression, smoking, cursing, and an angry Sherlock

A/N- this took forever to write. I was going to post it a week ago, but 1,020 words were left unsaved. I had to rewrite the WHOLE ending. I am horribly sorry for this inconvenience.

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At first sight, everything seemed perfectly okay and completely normal. You were the beauty and he was the beast; you were kind and happy , and he was stern and grumpy.

You were so mismatched that it worked. You were his softer side and he, your stern side. If he were in a fit of temper, you were his calm winds on a stormy sea. It just worked. The two of you were so different, but so balanced. If you were in trouble, he saw to it that you weren't in it for very long.

Mycroft was your everything. He was the somber grey in your swirly pastel colours. He was the rain that watered your bright flowers of life. He smelled of leather, cigarettes, and a soft dusting of cologne. You smelled of rose petals, coconut, and chocolate. Mycroft was the storm and you were the preceding calm.

There was no other way to put it-  you were simply meant to be. Or so it looked.

In reality, nothing was perfect or okay. Under that wide, seemingly genuine, truly not so happy smile you wore, there was pain, heartache, stress, and depression. The only person whom could see through your facade was the man that made you this way.

Mycroft knew that the smile you wore was no longer genuine, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of remorse for it.

He also knew that if he slowly let you down, you would most likely leave and he could focus on his work. Although, now that he was watching you converse with an old friend at this horribly bright and fancy gala, wearing a somewhat genuine smile for the first time in days, Mycroft was thinking better of leaving you.

Originally, he had plans to propose to you at this very gala. That was two months ago.

The proposal seemed to be all he could think about, and it made him worry about something other than his job. He didn't like worrying over something that should be so simple.

Mycroft dashed the plans and thought of breaking up with you after the gala. This was the new angle he was working at, and it was easier for him to handle. But now that he was truly thinking of it, it wasn't so simple. But Mycroft would do it anyway. He smiled to himself, putting a glass of whiskey to his lips.

You were completely unaware of Mycroft's harsh plans. As you glanced towards him - a habit you'd formed- you saw him smiling to himself with a glass of whisky in his hands. Releasing a sigh, and putting a fake smile on your lips, you tuned back into your conversation. Your friend left you a moment later, leaving you to your own devices.

Mycroft watched as you hesitated before walking to the table and seating yourself next to him. You sighed, placing your concoction of gin and tonic in front of you. Mycroft said nothing. You reached into your black leather handbag and pulled out  a lighter and a cigarette.

You stood and went to the balcony to smoke, as you were polite of others. Mycroft groaned as he got up to do what he'd been dreading all night. He followed you to the balcony and set his glass on a table that was standing in a corner. He pulled out his own cigarette and lit it. You took a drag on your cigarette, then let out a puff of smoke as Mycroft took a drag.