Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1122430.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV), sherlo
  Relationship:
      Mycroft_Holmes/Sherlock_Holmes, Mycroft_Holmes_&_Sherlock_Holmes
  Character:
      Sherlock_Holmes, Mycroft_Holmes
  Additional Tags:
      Mind!Mycroft_is_involved
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-01-06 Completed: 2014-02-08 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 4030
****** It's In Your Mind Sherlock. ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     Sherlock seeks help from his Mind Palace equivalent Mycroft when he
     attempts to masturbate for the first time.
Notes
     I haven't proof read this yet because it's two am and I'm exhausted.
     Sorry if it's awful.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Sherlock is laying in his bed, his hands shaking slightly as he attempts to
take his trousers off, the cold air hitting his skin, goose pimples rising up
on his flesh. Mycroft is standing at the foot of the bed watching his every
move, his hawk-like focus and precision is causing Sherlock to falter in his
normally fluid actions. His brother is fully clothed with the exception of his
blazer; slim grey slacks, a thin black belt, white dress shirt tucked in
immaculately, pressed and creaseless underneath his vest, a lovely black tie
primly tied around his neck.
“Take it off, Sherlock.” His brother’s voice is booming and confident as if he
is beside his ear stating commands instead of standing over the foot of his
bed. He can’t help but comply, his long pale fingers rushing to rip off the
pants constricting his semi-erect penis. It isn’t quite hard yet and he blames
his own anxiety for the current situation. Sherlock lays his arms at his side,
staring at his own cock with curiosity. He is just barely 14 and blooming into
his body quite late, unaware that odd appendage could offer him so much
euphoria until today.
He hadn’t meant to follow Mycroft on his daily walk through the estate gardens,
the opportunity had simply arisen and he found himself partaking of it.
Following him through the maze, he wondered if Mycroft ever got lost within it,
although he doubted that was possible as Mycroft’s mind was nearly infallible.
They walked for what felt like hours to Sherlock although his watch told him it
had only been twenty minutes. He wondered why Mycroft had chosen such a
secluded part of the estate to walk in. Surely several of the other trails
would have been easier to tread upon. They were currently walking on what
appeared to be a rarely used, slightly over grown stretch of the maze. He held
his breath attempting to walk lightly over the foliage and leaves, following
Mycroft as quickly as he could.
Rounding the corner he gasped, letting out an embarrassingly high pitched
squeak, as he came face to face with his brother’s hard glare. “What are you
doing, Sherlock Holmes!” The ice in his voice caused Sherlock to falter; he
should have known that Mycroft was too brilliant not to deduce he was being
followed.  Mycroft stood up towering over Sherlock, “I said, What. Are. You.
Doing.” His tone was demanding and strict and Sherlock found his knees knocking
together uncharacteristically in fear. Mycroft had no qualms about treating
Sherlock to his own brand of justice; he had led him so far out that regardless
of Sherlock’s screaming no one would hear him.
“I-I was just following you for fun! I promise Mycroft, I didn’t mean to spy!”
Sherlock stood before his brother clad in a white shirt and blue shorts that
were cropped before his knobby knees. He was clearly suffering through a growth
spurt – all awkward angels – but had yet to gain any height on his elder
brother. Looking up at the tall, stout figure before him he worried his lip
waiting for a response.
“What did you expect to find me doing?” Mycrofts voice was clipped with
irritation still clear but less severe.  What had Sherlock expected him to be
doing? He didn’t have an answer for Mycroft, something that he was sure was
written honestly across his features – he’d yet to master hiding his emotions.
“I don’t know Myc, I was just bored.” Mycroft’s lip twitched in the way that
told Sherlock both that he was being boring and that he was just as stupid as
ever. As much as his older brother loved him, he doubted very much that Mycroft
forgave him for being slow.
“Fine. Just leave me Sherlock.” He waved him away, the simply gesture showing
that he had finished with the conversation. Sherlock stayed where he was until
he could no longer hear the consistently timed footsteps that he had come to
recognize as Mycroft’s languid gait. Still, what had Mycroft been trying to do?
Why not return to the house and simply let him bore of this game? Was it a
challenge, an unset competition of wits set by Mycroft that he had yet to
deduce, or was he over thinking again? Mycroft did tell him that he often
missed the obvious by trying toohard.
Deciding to take a calculated risk he started out to follow Mycroft again this
time taking care not to follow his path, hiding behind shrubbery and sculptures
as best he could searched for signs of Mycroft; taking in the broken twigs, the
moved leaves, the different scents with Mycroft’s own musk mingled in. When he
finally found Mycroft sitting on the hard ground, his back against a tall wall
of foliage and his head thrown back in abandon. Sherlock felt entirely shocked.
He had never seen Mycroft seem so relaxed in his life– his emotions were no
longer hidden under a mask and Sherlock found that he could never recall seeing
his brother’s true face before, not without the slight sense that Mycroft was
never truly showing all his cards. This, this was glorious. There was a light
sheen of sweet glistening on his forehead, his pale skin flushing, his freckles
contrasting gloriously. Sherlock had never found anyone attractive per say,
Mycroft had told him quite matter of factly last year he was most likely
emotionally stunted and Asexual. Although he wasn’t sure Mycroft assessment was
right he had agreed at the time.
Now, as he studied his brother, however, he felt unsure of anything. It said
something of the level of shock he was suffering that he last noticed his
brothers hand pumping furiously, wrapped around his thick cock, glistening from
Sherlock assumed was precum on its head. He grimaced at himself for not
understanding what Mycroft was doing. Anatomy books never touched this
explanation; it was always body processes, never this. Never the idea that such
a thing as masturbation could bring you to new euphoric heights. Perhaps if
they had Sherlock would have tried this out for himself.
Mycroft was biting his lip now, the soft skin beginning to purple under
pressure, and Sherlock found himself leaning forward in an attempt to hear if
his brother was speaking. There was noise but he could tell now that it was
moaning coming from Mycroft’s throat rather than words. Sherlock wondered what
Mycroft was thinking about as he cursed under his breathe, he hand now moving
to slip over the head a bit every time his hand slid up the shaft before coming
back down and gripping a bit tight at the base.  When Mycroft came Sherlock
could have sworn he saw a completely different person; someone with reckless
abandon, wanton desire, and completely and utter openness written across their
features. He found himself so enraptured by the sight that he let himself be
seen.
Time seemed to slow as Mycroft opened his eyes immediately connecting with
Sherlock’s light grey ones. “I see you Sherlock. Were you expecting a turn?”
The proper grin of mischievousness slicing through the image of pure bliss
moments before was enough to send Sherlock running towards the house. He had no
idea where they were in the gardens but he needed to escape before something
worse happened to him. He found himself cursing as he heard the racing
footsteps behind him. I hate exercise Sherlock, I’m not in shape Sherlock,
There’s no way I could play chase with your Sherlock.The words of his brother
rang in his head as he listened to the graceful footfalls behind him aware that
soon enough Mycroft’s stride would overpower his own.
He cried as his brother caught him, latching onto his shirt collar and
effectively choking him into a full stop. He threw Sherlock down on his back,
one hand keeping him firmly down, planted on his chest. He grew tired of
Sherlock’s resistance quickly, deciding to sit on him instead of putting out
any real effort. “Did you like what you saw, Sherlock? Did it make you
curious?”            
Sherlock shook his head vigorously, “No! I didn’t see anything! Let me go,
Mycroft!”  His brothers smirk didn’t make him feel safe, instead he felt caged
with no true idea of what was to come. “Nothing, Sherlock? It seems to me you
are a little pervert? You were watching me weren’t you?” He bent closer, he
face not far from Sherlock’s own, “You liked it didn’t you. Did it awaken all
those body parts you ignore?” He shifted, his hand sliding over Sherlock’s
trousers, his fingers barely brushing Sherlock’s cock.
It was more than he could analyze at this moment and he needed to leave, needed
to breathe. “Okay, I did Mycroft. I was just curious. I didn’t know – I didn’t
know what you were doing. Please don’t tell Mummy! Please Mycroft!”
His begging seemed to affect Mycroft positively as the older boy stood up
offering a hand to his brother. Heaving him from the ground and dusting the
dirt off his clothes before straightening them, he gave Sherlock a
frighteningly sweet smile. “Of course I won’t tell Mummy, Sherlock. Run along
now.”
And Sherlock had. He ran the entire way to his room, locking the door and
thrusting himself under his covers until the moon had taken its place in the
sky and the breeze flowing through his blinds was no longer a sweet heat but a
cool mist filling his room. That was where Mycroft had found him, silently
watching him from the foot of the bed. Of course it wasn’t really Mycroft; no
it was the Mycroft in his Palace. The one, who kept him aware, constantly
pushed him, and gave advice when his brother in reality was unavailable. To an
extent Sherlock’s own version was extremely life like, with knowledge that
Sherlock himself hadn’t realized he had picked up.
Today was no exception. “I said to touch yourself, Sherlock. The concept is
elementary, don’t bore me.” Sherlock gritted his teeth, trying to keep himself
from being unnecessarily smart with Mycroft. Quite similarly to the real thing,
both Mind!Mycroft and his brother would leave him without a word if they felt
put off by his attitude. He couldn’t have that tonight, he needed this. He
needed to understand why this was important; why Mycroft had been so in need he
snuck away just to partake of it.
He took himself in hand, staring up at Mycroft, his eyes wide with questions he
didn’t feel brave enough to ask quite yet. “Stroke yourself, Sherlock. Continue
until the shaft hardens, then begin to fondle your testicles.” Sherlock nearly
made a face at Mycroft’s word usage unable to decipher if it was his own
vocabulary that he was pulling from or a textbook that he had once browsed. He
followed the orders, experimentally rubbing himself and enjoying the warming
sensation pooling in his gut. His cock slowly became hard under Mycroft’s
scrutinizing gaze and Sherlock couldn’t help but wonder if that was because of
the attention or if he subconsciously enjoyed the viewer. When his penis stood
erect he moved his right hand down fondling his testicles as best he could
trying not to break eye contact with his brother he stared on emotionlessly.
“Faster, Sherlock. I haven’t got all day. Spit on your hand, it will help the
process.” Mycroft seemed closer now than before. Had he moved during the
seconds that Sherlock had wet his palm? He slipped his hand around his cock,
the slickness improving the sensation ten times over and causing his to mimic
his brother’s earlier action of biting his lip. He knew Mycroft’s room was too
close for his to make any noise. He did go faster, as fast as he could, his
breathing stuttering slightly as Mycroft bent down in his mind sucking on the
head teasingly before sinking down on his cock. Sherlock couldn’t help himself
as yelled Mycroft’s name out loud, his cum pouring out in unbelievable amounts
over his hands and sheets, his cerebral brother now gone, as if he had never
existed.
The orgasm shook his body, taking him by surprise, yet another thing that
textbooks had failed to mention. This was worth hiding in the woods for, no
wonder Mycroft had done so earlier. His body melted into his bed and he felt
the semen cooling against his skin.
The next morning he felt more relaxed than he had in his entire life, as if the
stress had left his body as well as the stores of semen he had appeared to
collect during his celibate period. He sat beside Mycroft who had already
arrived and finished most of his meal by then. Promptly stealing one of
Mycroft’s pastries he took a bite wondering what Mind!Mycroft would teach him
about masturbation tonight and wondering if he should disturbed that his
brother was currently his sexual fantasy. He reminded himself to reread Freud
tonight.
It was because of all of this that Sherlock nearly choked when Mycroft leaned
over, whispering in to his ear, hot breath causing Sherlock’s cock to flutter,
“I wonder what you would scream if I really did participate.”
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     unrelated but in the same universe as ‘it’s in your mind, sherlock.’
     many people have asked about a part 2. although technically the fic
     was complete / ended, i decided to write up a little something. I
     just finished this and it’s not reread, apologies for mistakes. but
     it’s 3am and i’m shattered. -lokin
unrelated but in the same universe as 'it's in your mind, sherlock.' many
people have asked about a part 2. although technically the fic was complete /
ended, i decided to write up a little something. today is the 2/8/2014, i have
no idea when i'll post / finish this.
 
Sherlock had finally mastered the technique behind masturbation; a twist of the
wrist here, a upward thrust there, and the quick, saliva slicked, fingering of
his arse pushed him over the edge nearly every time. On the rare occasions he
couldn't seem to push himself to completion Mind!croft would lend a hand, or
rather a voice, whispering dirty words of encouragement into his ear. Of
course, Sherlock knew that Mycroft had offered to participate more or less
after his first performance with Mind!croft but Sherlock needed to learn more.
He couldn't let his first real experience, with Mycroft, no less, be sub par.
For one he wanted Mycroft to desire him so badly, sexually, not in the way a
hunter views a pair of rare tusks. As a prize to display. For Sherlock, he
needed Mycroft to want this, to need him, and for that possibility to occur he
had to perfect this to an art; show Mycroft what he was willing to do to please
him, to woo him. It was the foreplay of their relationship. Mycroft would take
no less from him than his very best. A sloppy performance would mean Sherlock's
last performance.
Currently he was staring out his second story window, the night time air
blowing in and wrapping itself around his body. He wore flannel trousers and a
white t-shirt; all that was needed in the warm summer nights. It was nearly two
a.m. when he saw he shadow moving towards the gardens. He gasped at the sight;
they were alone on hundreds of acres of land. Anyone on their land would be
family, and in this case Sherlock could see the reflecting sheen of his
brothers watch in the low lit light. He wondered why his brother never removed
it, other than when he showered, habit he supposed. He leaned back on to the
balls of his feet debating his choices; follow and quite possibly find
surprising information, or stay here and learn nothing for sure. It seemed odd
though, he mused, as he silently made his way down the stairs, slipping into
his sandals near the door way. Why would Mycroft visit the Garden this late at
night? Surely he would have the cover he needed in the darkness, in the comfort
of his room for masturbation. It had to be something more interesting.
The night was brightly lit by the full moon above him, the landscape outside a
hue of blue with faint touches of white and green throughout it. Creeping into
the hedges of the maze he kept an ear open, waiting for a noise, or evidence,
of where his brother had gone to. The ground was hard underneath his sandals
and his body felt chilled the longer he stayed outside, the hindsight that he
should have brought a coat was flickering through his thoughts. The crackling
of the leaves began to sound more ominous the longer he walked, until he found
himself jumping at the long shadows that the hedges were casting around him. He
stopped, holding his arms across his chest tightly, attempting to clear his
mind; his mind palace failing to appear, the anxiety he was feeling seemed to
short out his minds eye.
Sherlock felt the fingers slipping around his mouth before he heard the quiet
laughter behind him. Screaming, as best he could with a large hand silencing
him, he fought, trying hard to keep from being drug down. He landed hard on his
arse, falling back into his attacker. Sherlock was panicking, his breathe
coming in short gasps, as his assailant wrapped his other arm around him, his
long fingers wrapping around Sherlock small, limp cock. When the figure spoke,
Sherlock stilled, his body becoming immediately pliant, "You never learn do
you, brother mine?" Mycroft slowly let his hand fall from Sherlock mouth, down
to his white cotton shit, gently rubbing lazy circles around his hardening
nipples.
He took a breathe trying to collect data from Mycroft. He wore boxers, a soft
green color with a pattern; the texture was soft, a jersey material. He wore a
light jumper; thin, loosely knitted, baggy on his tall, thing frame. Sherlock
might tease his brother about dieting but he knew deep down that where Sherlock
would be fit due to metabolism, Mycroft was fit for other reasons; one being
his pre-fitness training for the military. He was hard against Sherlock's back,
his cock fitting nicely against Sherlock's cleft. He rutted against his little
brother, clearly enjoying their little game.
"I - Who explores the gardens at night?" Sherlock said the words hastily,
attempting to inject how indignant he felt into the venom of the words.
Mycroft, to no ones surprise, huffed a laugh into Sherlock's collarbone,
unmoved by his outburst. He pulled Sherlock's collar out to the right, taking
his time as he licked long, wet trailed from his shoulder up to his earlobe,
sucking the flesh into his mouth and nibbling, letting his hot breathe blow
into his brothers ear.
"Little brother, you're always so stupid. What are you going to do when someone
besides your brother decides they want to fuck you? Will you follow them in the
dark too?" He pulled Sherlock flush against him, reaching down, slipping his
hand into the waistband and cupping his cock. "Will you let them use you too?"
Sherlock tried to whimper, or at the very least deny the accusation, but the
squeezing of his testicles, and sudden flick against them, caused him to seize
up in pain. He tried to turn around and chastise Mycroft but he found himself
anchored in place by Mycroft's strong left arm, his right currently busy,
pinching his foreskin harshly. "Will you let them hurt you, Sherlock? Just like
this?" He flicked Sherlock's balls again, biting his neck simultaneously.
Sherlock found himself shivering, the actions both frightening and arousing
were having an obvious effect on his virgin body.
Mycroft was amused, Sherlock could tell from the tone of his voice; he sounded
like he was smirking. He rutted against Sherlock, throwing him down
momentarily, onto his hands and knees, forcing his pants and trousers down
before pulling him backwards to once again rest against Mycroft's thick cock.
His brother was a lazy fuck, no matter the subject. They were both sitting
down, Mycroft's back supported by the hedge behind him, licking at every piece
of skin he could find. Sherlock couldn't help himself, between the pain and the
pleasure, he was hardening.
His pants were now wrapped around his ankles, keeping him from moving too
quickly. He finally began to move his hands, regaining his senses, reaching
behind him and grabbing a hand full of his brothers thinning red hair, more
than aware his brother's scalp was extremely tender. He'd intended to cause
Mycroft enough pain to let him go, but he immediately noted his miscalculation.
His brother enjoyed pain. He bucked up, his hard cock rubbing against
Sherlock's arse, his hand pumping Sherlock's cock even more furiously.
Sherlock found himself caught up in the act, his own voice sounding alien to
him as he moaned out loud, the friction of a 'strangers' hand on his cock
nearly to much for him. Mycroft let go of him without warning ripping an
unsatisfied groan from Sherlock. He didn't pay attention to it, pushing his
brother forward onto his face again, letting his fall into the dirt, his cheeks
and knees scraping against the hard, cold ground. Mycroft dug in his pocket
with his free hand, using the other to hold the base of Sherlock's neck,
ensuring his body was effectively pinned to the ground below.
He brought out the lube, soaking his hand and cock gratuitously, before taking
both his hands and gripping Sherlock's hips tightly, dipping his face down, his
tongue licking one slow, deep, stripe up Sherlock's ass, his tongue pressing
down hard as it glided over Sherlock's tight hole. Sherlock was scrambling for
purchase, no longer sure of whether he wanted to participate with his brother
any longer. "Please, Myc, let me go, please, I'll be good!" He whined again,
loudly, as Mycroft held him down again, taking one finger and slowly pushing it
into his tight arse.
"You're so young and beautiful, Sherlock. What are you 15 now?" He shoved the
finger in deeper, Sherlock's pained moans satisfying him for now. "I've seen
the way you watch me, Sherlock. Ever since you watched me masturbating, you've
caught a desire for me, and my thick cock. Haven't you?" He leaned over,
waiting for Sherlock's response; he refused, his mouth tightly shut. Mycroft
gave a very slight shrug before reaching around and slapping Sherlock's
testicles, causing his eyes to tear up, and for him to scream in pain. "I asked
you a question, Sherlock."
Sherlock tried to look back at Mycroft, to make eye contact, but his brother
held him back in place, his cheek against the rough edges of the ground. "Yes,
brother dear, I want your cock." Mycroft started to slide in another finger,
shaking his head, "What was that Sherlock?" He began to scissor Sherlock,
enjoying the pained moans that were beginning to sound somewhat enjoyable. He
was beginning to pant now, his cock glistening and red from Mycroft's
attentions.
Sherlock panted into the ground, his lips wet, "I want your thick cock. Please
fuck me Mycroft."
He worked his way up to three fingers, enjoying the encouraging whimpers of
Sherlock now. It was always this way with people who wanted, no, /needed/ to be
dominated. Mycroft had known the moment Sherlock screamed his name the other
night, he wanted this. Even now, when he yelling no, he pushing back, enjoying
the process. Sherlock knew he only had to murmur a safe word. Any of their
childhood lingo would have worked, but Sherlock was too far gone to care.
Mycroft lined himself up, plunging slowly into Sherlock, enjoying the sweet
pressure now tightly coiling around his cock. He didn't rush the process,
understanding that even with a kink as embedded as Sherlock's, hurting him
unnecessarily wouldn't help the situation. It took a few minutes but he was
filling his brother up completely and Sherlock was muttering praises.
He wrapped his arms around Sherlock, working himself to completion with a few
short thrusts, feeling vindicated when Sherlock came with a earth shattering
orgasm. His entire body melting into Mycroft who fell back against the foliage,
bringing his brother with his, letting his cock slowly slip out.
Sherlock whispered first, "Why did you come out here?
Mycroft smiled into his ear, "I was tired of waiting, brother dear."
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