Sherlock preferences

Mycroft oneshot - idiot

Mycroft -

It was early... Very, very early in fact; and dark if we are being precise about it. The time on the clock read 2:03am and your tired eyes strained to keep themselves open as the the digital minutes drained by... The light coming off your laptop had an etherial blue tinge to it. It was so because you had made the effort of putting it into night-mode so you didn't hurt your eyes. The dull stinging you felt behind each socket told you, however that this change had made no difference whatsoever. The effervescence which floated above your coffee cup (your fifth one of the evening) was illuminated by the computer screen, making it appear to be a dark night in  a haunted marsh somewhere, not your livingroom. You blinked slowly as you read and re-read your essay but to no avail... with 300 words left, you just couldn't decide how to conclude.

Frustrated, as well as tired, you slammed your coffee cup down onto the desk, sending a couple of droplets running down the handle; burning your fingers. You stood up in the blackness with your scalded fingers in your mouth and took a step forward which was far, far to confident considering your awful visibilty in the shadows.

"Oh FUCK!!" You yelped, in absolute pain as you whacked your shin against the end-table next to the sofa. You stooped down, clutching your leg with tears welling in your eyes when you heard footsteps creaking down the stairs and across the hallway. The light flicked on, revealing Mycroft in his burgundy, tartan pyjamas and work shoes (that he had obviously just slid on when he heard the commotion as the laces were still untied and hanging free by his ankles).

"Precious? What on earth are you doing out of bed?... I thought we had a break in or something!"

You looked up at him from the floor and as soon as he saw the tears in your reddened eyes, he rushed over to you and helped you up before sitting with his arm round you on the sofa.

"My dear, are you quite alright?..." he questioned, as you rubbed your eyes far too hard for his liking.

"Yeah..." you sighed, bring your knee up to your chest to rub your throbbing shin. "I just... caught my leg..."

"Precious, im sorry you hurt yourself, but that's not what I mean... you know that's not what i mean..." he made long, sympathetic eye contact with you and kissed your cheek warmly before continuing: "why on earth were you out of bed so early? When did you get up?..."

You sighed again and gave Mycroft an awkward shrug. He followed this action by shuffling away from you a little and beckoning for you to lie across his lap. You did so with great satisfaction and smiled as he started to curl strands of your hair round his fingers.

"Tell me..." he said, again, waiting for a reply.

You looked up into his eyes and upon seeing how full of concern they were, you felt obliged to tell him the truth...

"Well... I have this essay that I was commissioned to write for an esteemed literature journal. 2000 words on Shakespeare's 'The Taming of the Shrew' and how women and femininity are presented within it."

You paused for a moment, rolling your head sideways to kiss his stomach. He thought that it was a rather odd thing to do but he knew you liked it and decided to not make a comment due to your current emotional precariousness.

"The essay is due in a week and I cannot for the life of me come up with a conclusion... I've read it through a thousand times but my brain feels like its been pulverised and poured into a mug... I- I just- I just don't know how to finish it... I'm an idiot..."

On hearing the word 'idiot' pass your lips, Mycroft went into full protective boyfriend mode and sat you back up so that you could lean against his chest as he gave you a talking to.

"How many times do I have to tell you (y/n)? I hate the word idiot because you most certainly are not one! The fact that you were commissioned to write a piece shows that you are an incredibly intelligent woman and this, right here-" he tapped his forefinger gently against your temple "- is just a simple case of writers block!"

He then leant forward, closed the lid of your laptop and smiled at you, even more sympathetically than before. You grinned back at him and kissed him, first on the lips and then wandered over to his neck for a few moments.

"Now..." he murmured in your ear "lets get you to bed... there are 5 empty coffee mugs on the table and if you really have had that much caffeine then you'll be crashing right around now. (Y/n). (Y/n)?..."

He shook you ever so gently and smiled as he noticed you had fallen asleep with your face in the crook of his neck.

"Ok missy... time for bed..."

He smiled and shifted his weight from under you so that he could pick you up. He gently raised you off the sofa as your breathing deepened and the muscles in your face relaxed, giving you a perfect natural beauty. Mycroft carried you upstairs and slipped you back into the covers before kissing your forehead and climbing back into bed himself. By 3:16, you were both sound asleep once more in each other's arms.