Wanna see some more?

mystradesexytimes:

No sheet, Sher - oh, wait.

So, the amazing, incredible, unbelievable Kami (msaether) has done it again with this latest commission. I wanted a Mystrade version of the Buckingham Palace scene. Let’s just say Greg’s reflexes aren’t as good as Sherlock’s.

There’s too much fuckawesome in this drawing for words. Thank you bby for being a megatalented genius who makes me wibble in glee!

I wanted to roll this out for Penis Friday and I’m tagging a bit early for Silver Fox Saturday so I don’t forget.

katzensprotte:

katzensprotte:

Tilly requested Mycroft and Greg cuddling. I hope you like it and I also hope you are feeling a bit better! <3

Edit: You can buy this as a post card now here!

I uploaded this to redbubble, because Nyx asked for it during the stream yesterday! I’d have made a new post and tagged you, but I forgot to ask for your url yesterday! Sorry!

sashkash:

Holiday themed sketching - Happy Valentine’s Day, peeps <3

(via cumber-porn)

katzensprotte:

My other entry for the Breaking the Sex Mold challenge/exchange. More Mystrade! Yaaay! This one’s for a fic by Shrlckhlms. Again, gonna edit later with more information.

katzensprotte:

Tracionn requested some Mystrade. So here is some Mysrtade! I HOPE YOU LIKE IT! Anatomy is really a bit not right here, cause I used no reference (‘cept for the faces and ahahathedicks). Also I’m sorry, that it’s a bit different from what you requested. Mycroft just didn’t want to keep his clothes on and I just didn’t have any control over anything whatsoever! HOPE THEY LOOK LUSTY ENOUGH THO!

TL;DR: TRACIONN POPPED MY MYSTRADE CHERRY

teafortrouble:

The beautiful mercuryalice graces me with the unmitigated sass from which her Greg is made. Simple fluff. : )

sashkash:

I wanted to draw freckles - ended up with a racy Mystrade sketch. Oops.

sherlockbbcfanart:

Stop reading. by *HAHAAAAAAAAAAAA

(via steamysherlocksmuff)

fanart-ficlets:

Twenty Minutes

The world frequently fell into showers of explosions, whether literal in all their fiery glory or metaphorically with a signature, and Mycroft was frequently there to watch the skies burn.  He stood at the edge of the flames, extending his hands towards the building heat, as if trying to thaw the deep cold settled within him.  Disappointment, ever present, as the chill lingered, amplified by the shallow echo of a Holmes household long gone empty.  It was, in those last moments of the current year, that a string of four text messages changed everything.

Urgent
Come Quickly
London Eye
Lestrade

Ten Minutes

And, oh, how he was not expecting what was to follow, a singular unique sensation to be caught completely off guard.  He thought, for a moment, if it were possible to happen again, he would very much look forward to the way his heart raced for a brief second and his senses heightened.  Clarity never knew a purer form than that of stifled panic, for Lestrade never texted him when he could speak and had only ever demanded his presence in such a rushed manner once in the whole of their friendship.  A not-so-fond memory, he hadn’t liked seeing Gregory covered in that much blood.

Five Minutes

The brittle snow and brutal winds whipped off the Thames, an uncommon but not rare December winter storm causing his car to skid into a curb and a violent shiver to assault his frame as he opened the door.  Alarm, then confusion, as he flicked the button on his umbrella and held it aloft over his head.  Lestrade merely stood at a distance, silhouetted by the city lights and the backdrop of London’s revere.  No danger, no harm, no urgency required in the least.

Three Minutes

“We met here.” Lestrade muttered once Mycroft was in hearing distance, thumbing out a cigarette from his coat pocket. “Six years ago, today, almost to the minute.”

“I recall.  You threatened to throw me from the bridge for interfering in your case.” Mycroft mused, giving him no more than a glance as he still beside him and shifted the umbrella enough to shelter them both from the falling snow.  “I believe that was also the first time you really met Sherlock.”

“Bit different though.”

“Indeed.”

Silence, the flick of a lighter and the glow of flame, a plume of translucent blue smoke and then, ever so subtly, a hand sliding within his own, fingers entwining.  Sentiment was a funny little thing.  Greg glanced up at Mycroft, handing him the lit cigarette, pulling a second from the nearly empty pack.  He leaned up to press the end against the glowing embers currently blazing bright at the tip of the cigarette poised between Mycroft’s lips, pulling in a few short puffs to ignite his own.  

One Minute

Mycroft sought to thaw the deep cold that had settled within him, stretching out his hands towards the building heat of flames.  The world fell into showers of explosions, and they stood together to watch the skies burn.

Happy New Year

(via teafortrouble)