A/N: Thank you to ShanFoster0 for requesting this!
Quick Key:
B/N=Brother's name (If you don't have a brother, just make up a name or something)
Hopefully, this doesn't take too long to write...
Pairing: MycroftxReader (I haven't done one of these for awhile. Damn.)
Warnings: Probably gonna be cussing, depression, and mention of self-harm...
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You loved privacy. Always have, always will. Secrets were apart or your life constantly.
However, you're boyfriend Mycroft was not a fan of privacy or secrets. For the first part of your relationship, he had somebody track your calls, just so he was sure you wouldn't cheat on him. Once you found out about that, however, things quickly changed.
There was always one thing that you kept private had always made Mycroft curious beyond comprehension: Your sketchbook. You almost always kept it on you except for when you shower, which is when you hid it. It was basically your life.
Today, however, you thought you'd put some trust into your curious boyfriend. You put your sketchbook on your desk and went to shower. Not covered, hid, anything. It was just laying there, wife out in the open.
You just hoped Mycroft wouldn't pry into to it...
Mycroft's POV (first time for everything, I suppose...)
I scowled at my incompetent assistant and headed upstairs to ask (Y/N) what she'd like to eat. Why couldn't my vacuous PA get off of her phone for five seconds to read through the pamphlets I wanted her to go over? Honestly...
The door to (Y/N)'s room was unlocked, which was unusual. Most of the time she would lock it because she had to keep everything a secret, for some reason. I understood that she could keep it locked at times when she was changing or taking a shower, but all of the time was a little ridiculous.
I stepped inside her room, which was empty. I heard the shower on from inside her bathroom and was about to turn back around when I noticed that (Y/N)'s sketchbook was laying on her desk. My eyes widened with understanding. She was testing to see if I'd open it...
I stood there for a few seconds, contemplating whether or not it would be worth it. My curiosity won over all and I headed for to the desk to see what my girlfriend (still not quite used to that term...) might be hiding.
My hand reached for the journal as I open it, unprepared for what I might see:
My eyes widened in shock as I flipped through the pictures. The majority of them were very depressing or terrifying. I'd never been more scared in my life while looking through those drawings, knowing that (Y/N) had drawn these.
Suddenly, the shower shut off and I silently shut the sketchbook and exited the room. I'd consult her about this later...
Time skip brought to you by:
Mycroft's Umbrella
2nd/(Y/N)'s POV
You headed downstairs, surprised that your sketchbook had stayed on the desk. You'd almost expected Mycroft to come in and take it.
Mycroft was sitting on a chair, reading, when you came into the living room. When you entered, he immediately looked up with a forced smile. Alright, something was up. Mycroft wasn't good with smiling, but he's never given you such a pained smile.
"Hey," you said. "What's up?"
"Nothing," Mycroft said smoothly. One thing about you was that you could always tell when someone, anyone, is lying. Even Mycroft.
"Mycroft..." You gave Mycroft the 'I-know-you're-lying' look.
"I just looked through your sketchbook," Mr. British Government replied smoothly as he averted his eyes away.
You stood there, processing what he'd just said. At first, you were angry with him for looking through your sketches. But then you were in full on inside panic mode as you realized what he would've seen. Outwardly, however, you managed to keep a calm expression, which made Mycroft interested and kinda scared at the same time.
"If I tell you why my sketchbook is like that and what secrets I've kept from you, will you never look in it again?" you asked.
Mycroft blinked. It was obvious that he wasn't expecting that. "Of course," he replied.
You sighed and sat down to prepare yourself. "Well, let's start from the beginning. A long time ago, but not too long, a little girl was born. Her mother loved her very much from the moment she saw her, but her father never got to lay eyes on her. He was assassinated only a week before she was born, leaving a mother, a ten-year-old son, and the little girl to fend for themselves. As you can probably tell, that little girl was me.
"My mum worked a lot so she could take care of my brother, (B/N), and me. Once (B/N) was old enough, he worked, too. I could always tell that my mum would try hard to make it look like she was fine, but I remember seeing her arms sometimes covered with small cuts...
"I didn't really know much about my mum's job until I was seven, either. That's when I learned that she really did do whatever it took to try and give her kids a good life. Even if that meant having other men use her body for...'pleasure'. It was sick, really, but she did it for us.
"Mum wanted (B/N) to go to college, so she saved as much as she could to send him when the time came. He promised he'd work hard so he could come back and support us." I inhaled a shaky breath as my composure dropped a little. "Three years later, he died in a car crash. I was 12-years-old.
"That's when my mum broke. She sobbed almost every night but refused to turn to alcohol or drugs. She quit selling her body to sickos, but worked hard throughout the day and night, getting just enough sleep to survive.
"I went to work only a couple years later, but people at school would always tease me for not being able to do or buy things that other kids did. I didn't have many friends...
"Mum managed to save enough money to send me to college as well, so I went to become a doctor and promised myself that I'd make enough money to support my mum like (B/N) wanted to." A tear ran down my face.
"During my second year of college, my mum hung herself. I felt so guilty for not being there for her... I quickly fell into depression and blamed myself for my mum's death. It got so bad that I turned to cutting once." I stared down at the faded scars on my wrists and rubbed them gently. Mycroft stared. "I got a few good friends who helped me quit, but instead of cutting now, I draw. I use my sketchbook to express those dark emotions that get trapped inside of me." I looked at my boyfriend, whose eyes were unreadable. "That's why I'm secretive about it. About everything, really.
"And that's about it... I'm sorry for keeping secrets from you," you finished, waiting for Mycroft to do something. At first, he looked at me in disbelief. Then he leaned in and embraced you, which was something he never did. You immediately hugged back, letting out the tears you were holding back.
"I'm sorry for prying into your sketchbook," Mycroft whispered. "It won't happen again."
"I forgive you," you replied in between sobs. You cried for a few more minutes before growing exhausted. Before you drifted off to sleep, you whispered something to your boyfriend that you hope he'd hear and understand the importance of:
"Thank you for listening."
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A/N: Yay! I got a request done! And I finished it on the same day I started it!
Sorry if this one seems kinda suffocated in some parts. Putting sad stuff into words insn't my strong suit. Buy I liked the challenge.
Before I end this, I'd just like to say to all of you that if you feel like life is the absolute shittiest ever or if you feel all alone, remember that there is someone that truly cares about you. If you can't think of anyone in real life, think of me! I feel really close to all (of most) of my readers, even if I haven't met any of you. You're amazing, and don't forget it. No matter what anyone tells you, you're the greatest and no one can ever change that about you.
Anywho, thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed!
REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!
-Kris