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Y/N certainly hadn’t expected to be plucked up off the side of the street on her lunch break by Mycroft’s agents. Then again, it was probably better to just assume it could happen at any time the elder Holmes brother willed it.
She’d argued in the street with them for a few minutes, insisting she had to at the very least go back and let them know she wouldn’t be returning for the afternoon. But as most interactions with his agents go, they scooped her up into the car and informed her Mycroft had it handled. Because of course he did.
None of his agents ever tended to be in the mood to chat either. From friendly banter to actual information about where the hell she was being carted away to this time, the most she usually received was a grunt or that ‘Mr. Holmes requests your presence’.”
Pretentious statement as always. Though this time slightly more informative, “Mr. Holmes requires your assistance.”
Clearly related to Sherlock, Mycroft rarely saw any need for her to be around as a whole. Generally he stuck to ignoring her presence at the flat or at Sherlock’s side, a sentiment she ended up reflecting back after several failed attempts at creating some sort of friendly dialog with her boyfriend’s brother.
That is, until he feels he needs to step in or he transports her somewhere on Sherlock’s request. Beyond that, they had little to do with one another. So clearly for her ‘assistance’ to be requested so hastily, it had to be related to Sherlock.
A queasy feeling settles in her gut at the thought. He needs her assistance… and had his agents immediately throw her into the car. Was Sherlock hurt? Staring out the tinted windows, she dreads the thought of a hospital coming into view.
But as they continue on and she starts to pinpoint the surroundings, she’s dumbstruck by the car pulling up to Buckingham Palace.
“Are we… at the right place?” She asks hesitantly as an agent opens her door.
He nods sharply and grasps her arm to pull her from the seat, “Mr. Holmes is waiting for you inside.”
“Right, of course. Mycroft just had me brought here for a cup of tea with him and the Queen huh?” She snaps as she pulls her arm back in annoyance.
The agent sighs and reaches for her arm once again but she pulls away, “You need to come with me Miss.”
“I will, you can lead me there without holding onto me like a misbehaving child.”
Shaking his head in annoyance, the agent nods toward the entrance and starts off, glancing back several times to make sure she’s following.
“I’m not going to run off, calm down.”
“If you do, it’s my head,” he grumbles, straightening up as another agent approaches them and speaks into his ear quietly. “This way, quickly please.”
Speeding up to keep up with the agent, she nearly runs into him as he suddenly stops in her path. He grabs her arms tightly and turns her toward a corner and shoves her in the direction.
“Hey-!” She snaps as she stumbles into the opening, freezing as four sets of eyes snap up to her. Immediately recognizing the two brothers and John, she zeros in quickly on her boyfriend.
Her very naked boyfriend. Sitting in a sheet. In Buckingham Palace.
“Ah finally you join us Ms. Y/L/N,” Mycroft states with a pained smile.
“I was on my lunch break when… I’m sorry but Sherlock why are you only in our bedsheet?” She asks bewildered as his cheeks flush.
“This is how they decided to bring me,” he states unhappily and shrugs. “I didn’t want to be here.”
Her gaze immediately goes to John who also shrugs, “Don’t look at me, he had me out of the city with a laptop to video call him for a six. He was like this when I got here.”
Looking back at the detective with a raised brow, Sherlock furrows his own and looks away from her, “Mycroft you didn’t need to interrupt her day as well.”
“Oh but I did. Y/N handle him. This is a matter of national importance, and this can’t continue,” he gestures angrily toward Sherlock.
“Yes, I see. Got it,” she answers, accepting the pile of his clothes from Mycroft. “Is there a bathroom or private room nearby?”
“Out the hall you came in, first door on your left,” the man she doesn’t recognize responds.
Tucking the clothes under her arm, she goes to stand in front of Sherlock and extends her hand to him.
Pouting his lips, Sherlock holds her gaze and tightens his sheet to himself.
“Sherlock, please just come with me.”
Sherlock reluctantly shifts the sheet around and lets her take ahold of his hand, quickly pulling him up from the couch and out of the room.
She tugs him into mentioned room, locking the door behind them. Turning to face Sherlock, she glances around the pristine bathroom and sighs, “Seriously?”
“They practically kidnapped me from the flat, I’m allowed to be naked in my own home.”
“You know how this shit works, if he really wants you there, you’re going to be there. I was literally picked up and shoved into a car myself today. When it became obvious they weren’t going to take no for an answer, why wouldn’t you just get dressed?”
“They handled you like that? They actually lifted you and shoved you into the car?” He asks sharply as he takes a step closer to her.
“I was arguing that I couldn’t just disappear over my lunch break without telling anyone, and they didn’t like that answer,” Y/N shrugs and sets the pile of clothes on the counter by the sink. “Not a terribly unexpected thing. Annoying, but I’ve accepted when Mycroft decides I’m going somewhere, I’m going there. I’d have thought you’d have accepted that long ago as well seeing as he’s your brother.”
“They’re not supposed to touch you,” Sherlock practically growls, his eyes flickering over her form and narrowing.
Taking a step closer, he runs his fingers gently over a red mark on her arm, “Name of the agents. Or descriptions.”
“Sherlock they-”
“No,” he interrupts her and reaches his free hand up to stroke her cheek. “They’re not allowed to touch you unless it’s a matter of saving your life. That’s the agreement. And they certainly shouldn’t be handling you so roughly they leave marks.”
“We can talk about all that later, if you haven’t noticed we’re in a fancy loo in the middle of a palace, and you’re naked,” she responds and reaches out to grab ahold of the sheet. “Now could we please get you dressed? The sooner you get dressed and hear out Mycroft, the sooner we can leave.”
“We?” He asks curiously, nodding at her as she pulls the sheet down from his body.
“Mhm, thought maybe you’d be more motivated that way,” her hand brushes slowly down his chest, her fingers gently running through the hair there. “And as fortunate as the rest of London would be to get a glimpse of this on the evening news, I think you have a certain look that you like to uphold my posh boy.”
“You make good points, yet do things to encourage the exact opposite of getting dressed dear,” he clears his throat roughly, one of his hands going to her hip.
Leaning into him, she presses several slow, languid kisses along his collar bone, “We can’t do anything of that sort here of course. Consider this… inspiration to get this all taken care of quickly so I can take you apart properly at home.”
Sherlock shivers at the contact and closes his eyes tightly, “You’re being absolutely wicked today.”
“I was dragged across the city to Buckingham Palace to make my boyfriend put his pants on, I think I have the right to be a little unfair,” she chuckles against him as she continues her trail of kisses up the expanse of his neck.
“Mm- fine,” he relents, pulling her in closer and nuzzling his face into her own neck.
“Now who’s the one saying one thing yet doing another?” She chuckles as he grunts against her and she reaches over to pull his pants from the pile.
Ducking down, she holds them out for him as he rolls his eyes at her and huffs in annoyance, “I can dress myself.”
“Could have fooled me,” she teases and nods down at them. “Step in.”
Sherlock sighs and finally steps into them, letting her pull the black boxer-briefs up his long legs. Settling the waistband into place, she presses a soft kiss to his abdomen.
“And trousers next,” she states, also pulling them from the counter and holding them out for him to step into.
He does so quickly, watching her as she pulls the fabric up, and grunting in annoyance as she carefully drags the zipper up over his growing problem.
“Wouldn’t be as much of an issue if you didn’t get everything tailored so tightly,” she remarks and slots the button in place.
“You complain, yet you enjoy it,” he remarks with a smirk and kneads his fingers into her hips. “You aren’t subtle.”
“Am I supposed to subtly check out my boyfriend’s arse? I thought being allowed to look was just a perk of dating,” she teases, pulling out his dress shirt from the pile and shaking it out. “It creased a bit, but it’ll have to do for today.”
“Of course it is,” he sighs unhappily, holding his arms out for her.
Slipping the first sleeve up his arm, she goes behind him to press a kiss to the base of his neck, causing a shiver to run up his body, “Always so sensitive love.”
“If you keep this up much longer, we’re both going to be leaving immediately after this,” he pouts, slipping his own arm into the opposite sleeve.
Coming back around him, she deftly does up the buttons of his dress shirt. Carefully tucking it into his trousers, she circles around him to pull out any wrinkles the best she can.
“Now I’ll let you handle your shoes and socks yourself since you’re behaving,” she chuckles and clears a space away on the counter for him.
Rolling his eyes, he hops up onto the counter and sets to the task.
Her mind wanders as she watches him, his long fingers moving swiftly across the laces.
“Distracted by something?” He asks after a few minutes, a smug grin on his face as she’s pulled from her thoughts and looks back up at him.
“Always you.” She pushes his legs apart to stand between them, “You are quite distracting.”
“I find myself in a similar problem with you,” his hands cup her jaw as his thumbs stroke over her cheeks. “You’ve made my life far more complicated.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she teases, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to his lips.
“Oh it’s truly terrible,” he says lowly, pulling her face back to his own to kiss her again. His tongue swipes along her lip and he smiles in triumph at the sound that escapes her. “And yet I find myself liking nearly every moment of it.”
“Poor Sherlock, being forced to confront the fact he has feelings,” her hands squeeze his clothed thighs.
“There are some advantages to sentiment though I suppose,” he continues, opting to press various kisses across her face. “I quite enjoy all this.”
“As do I,” she agrees, taking a step back from him and grabbing his suit jacket from beside him. “Now hop off and get this on.”
Letting out an exaggerated sigh, Sherlock slips to the floor and accepts his jacket from her. Pulling it onto his frame quickly, he glances into the large opulent mirror beside them.
“At least the agents have good taste,” she remarks, reaching out to smooth out his jacket. “I love this suit on you, especially with the black shirt underneath.”
“I know you do,” he smirks and reaches up to run his fingers through his hair trying to tame the curls.
Circling behind him, Y/N sets to fixing the back of his hair, “I think this is the best we’re going to be able to do without any product.”
“If he plans on sending me anywhere, I’m going back to the flat first,” Sherlock complains as he stares at his reflection. “I’m not staying like this all day.”
“If you’d have cooperated in the first place you wouldn’t have had to go out like that at all,” she counters, chuckling at his scowl.
“You really think they’d have let me fix my hair for the day?”
“Mm, good point, probably not.”
“I don’t want to do this case,” he sighs after a moment.
“Why not?”
“I don’t do anonymous clients. He knows that. I’m always going to be missing information, and that’s not how I work.”
“Well it’s not your ideal… but look around. Based on where we are, that he had you dragged here in literally a bedsheet, and says it’s a matter of national importance. I think you can narrow it down to someone from a specific family of people. Depending on the rest of the facts, I think you can get by on that information. Besides, he’s not going to let this go.”
“I’m not a child, he can’t just force me to take the cases he wants me to.”
“Well he can make life really inconvenient for us if you refuse. And as annoying as being carted away and expected to do whatever it is; he is rather useful when you need him. He also cares for you, not that either of you would admit that without threat of death or dismemberment.”
Sighing once again, Sherlock turns away from the mirror and gives her a stiff nod, “I will listen to what they have to say. But if I don’t like it, we’re leaving.”
“Sounds like a deal, just give it a shot. Something this big is bound to be interesting anyways.”
Giving him one last look over, she gathers up their bedsheet from the ground and puts her hand on the doorknob.
Reaching out to her, Sherlock carefully intertwines his fingers with hers as she pulls open the door with her other hand, a soft smile on his face.
“To battle then?” She asks, squeezing his hand in hers.
“To battle.”