Mystrade Fanfiction: Too Busy For Love"So, you work for the government?"Mystrade Fanfiction: Too Busy For Love by HiM-e-iTSu
"Yes. Just a minor position, though," Mycroft gave his usual reply, not feeling creative that day. All his creativity was forgotten when in the morning he got a phone call from his mother. Mummy, as the Holmes brothers were used to calling her, once again decided that it'd be a brilliant idea to interfere with the life of her older son. And even though Mycroft loved her dearly, he'd really appreciate it if she stopped inflicting her wishes upon him.
"How interesting." His interlocutor replied with a forced enthusiasm that hurt Mycroft's ears. He resisted cringing and instead smiled politely. "Do you like it?"
"Very," he replied and it was the first truthful answer he gave for the whole evening.
"That's great," the man praised, smiling earnestly. "I mean, it's wonderful when you actually enjoy what you are doing. What's the sense in
On a rainy day - MystradeThe small café was full of people, as it was pouring outside. Lestrade was one of them. He hadn't expected it to rain today, so now he sat by the window and waited for it to pass by. He had no money for a cab either, just enough to buy a coffee. He sighed. It didn't look as if the rain would stop anytime soon. It was a twenty minute walk home. Well, there no helping it. Lestrade could either stay in the café for the next few hours or endure twenty minutes in the rain. Just as Lestrade was about to step outside the door, his phone went off. He looked at the text message and a small smile crept on his lips.On a rainy day - Mystrade by Rhapsody93
Are you intending to walk home in this weather? It's rather unpleasant.
Are you observing me?
Yes, of course I am. Care to answer my question?
Don't have a choice. No umbrella, no money.
I could provide you with both if you want me to.
Only need the former.
Instead of a reply a black car pulled up nearby and a man in a bla
Mystrade: Brother DearestBrother DearestMystrade: Brother Dearest by ikriam
'Brother… it's been two years since you passed away and I have yet to tell myself to stop writing to you, every day I place these silly letters on your grave only to return the next day and find them gone… perhaps the wind blew them away… or perhaps someone snatched the letters, it doesn’t really matter, you can't read them anyway… Still I convince myself everyday that I should write to you because of…. 'Him' he said it might help.
Yes, indeed… I have changed a lot since you had left us; I'm not sure how it happened…. It's been raining a lot as well, every night I could hear the endless drops of rain tapping on my windows, on the roof, and on the grounds of London. Everyone… They're still grieving over you; they still hold on to the fake hope, the voice in the back of their heads that tells them you're still alive and one day you'd return to them.
I'm writing this letter to you from the uncomfortable hospital