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Out With the Old
A/N: You ask, and I deliver. Henry as Sherlock, set 6 months after the events of Enola Holmes, with reader as her sister! The fluff is wild, guys, but thereâs a lovely amount of hurt/comfort, too. Enjoy!
Gif belongs to the wonderful @anya-chalotraâ !! <3
Name: Out With the Old
Summary: Shakespearean insults are the best way to rile a private detective. Or, better yet, coax him into chasing you around his living room.
Words: 3038
âSeventy-five multiplied by sixty-three.â
âFour thousand, seven hundred and twenty-five.â
âNinety-two multiplied by six hundred and three.â
âFifty-five thousand, four hundred and seventy-six.â
âVery good! Now⊠how about seven thousand, three hundred and eighty-eight multiplied by⊠four thousand, seven hundred and fifty-six?â
âThirty-five million, one hundred and thirty-seven thousand, three hundred and twenty-eight.â
Sherlock stopped in his pacing, lowering the mathematics book heâd picked from his motherâs bookshelf. An eyebrow raised, he turned to face you, sat languidly on a chair, an extremely unimpressed look on your face.
âThat was⊠surprisingly quick,â he said.
You shrugged. âYou can do it.â
âYes, well-â His right eyebrow rose to meet the left, and he crossed his arms over his chest- âI donât blurt out the answer a mere second after Iâve heard the question.â
You attempted to remain composed under his scrutinising gaze, but you hadnât had enough time to master that ability just yet, and, well, he was Sherlock Holmes.
If it was at all possible, your brotherâs gaze hardened, and you looked away, tapping your foot on the ground, before he cleared his throat and you rolled your eyes, heaving a sigh and falling back against the chair. âMother always said my eyesight was better than anyoneâs,â you told him submissively. âI can see the answers in the book from here.â
Swiftly, Sherlock whirled his eyes up to the ceiling and shook his head. He shut the book with a resounding slam and placed it on the table beside him before spinning back to face you.
âStop cheating,â he said.
âItâs not cheating,â you insisted, standing to your feet, âitâs finding a loophole.â
âThereâs a difference between being smart and being lazy.â He watched, turning around as you walked past him and over to the vase of chrysanthemums on the coffee table. Youâd taken it from your motherâs room at home when Mycroft had started to clear it out. Home wasnât home without chrysanthemums, and it was all the better that you knew they were hers.
âIf it makes the job go faster, why shouldnât I cheat?â you asked, believing it to be a genuine question. Your hand reached for one of the pink petals lying on the wood below the flowers. It was browning at the sides, and you twisted your lips in a thoughtful manner as you dropped it back in the vase.
âFor the same reason you wouldnât cheat at a school exam,â Sherlock replied. He walked up to you and lightly rapped on the top of your head, the corners of his lips curving upwards when you swatted at him. âMental stimulation.â
You turned, leaning against the table and staring up at him. âIâm not sure thatâs the reason youâre not supposed to cheat in a school exam, but alright.â
Sherlock chuckled lightly. He found it endearing how many differences there were between you and Enola. While she was still out there, strolling around London, lodging wherever she liked with the condition that he knew where, you had decided to take up his offer of returning to his home and staying with him. In all honesty, he likely would have insisted, considering you were about a month shy of fifteen at the time, but heâd still been surprised that the both of you were so willing to leave each other.
Watching you now, as you fiddled with another of the fallen chrysanthemum petals, he wondered over the past six months. He definitely preferred being the older brother as compared to the younger one. You were a force to be reckoned with, one thing you definitely had in common with Enola, and you often kept him on his toes â especially with these lessons he had taken to teaching you in replacement of his mother â but you were incredibly sweet, and heâd learnt as much from you as you had from him during your time together.
A smile still tugging at his lips, he reached for another book, flipping it open. âIf you want to work with me, you have to learn to do things the proper way. Thereâll be nothing for you to cheat on when we are out there being detectives.â Your shoulders dropped in defeat and he pat your back. The Holmes blood ran through you as proud and true as it did all three of your siblings, and you typically enjoyed these daily sessions, so why you were acting so resigned, he wasnât certain, but he would get there eventually. He always did.
âCome,â he said, sounding as encouraging as he could manage. âShakespeare. Our favourite!â
You heaved a sigh. âI do desire we may be better strangers,â you mumbled more to yourself, but Sherlock heard, and he turned, a look of satisfaction on his face.
âAs You Like It,â he remarked. âGood. Now, concentrate, Y/N.â
âIâve been concentrating for two hours!â
âCorrection: you have been attempting to concentrate for two hours.â
âThou cream-faced loon,â you said, louder this time, and he nodded, brows raising and lips pursing in clear pride.
âHamlet.â
âA pox oâ your throat,â you continued to quote, lifting your arm in the air, a sly smile on your face as you performed like you were on stage, âyou bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!â
Sherlock frowned, averting his eyes in thought. âIâm⊠beginning to think you arenât just quoting Shakespeare.â
Once you reached the fireplace in the room, you whirled around, tilting your head to the side as innocently as possible. âWhat makes you say that, thou lily-liverâd boy?â
At that, Sherlock made a face of realisation, and he held the book in one hand while pointing a finger of the other in your direction. âNow, Y/N-â
âOut of my sight!â you called dramatically. âThou dost infect my eyes!â
Sherlock placed the book on the chair youâd been sat on not five minutes ago. âIâd prefer if you didnât use famous lines from the wonderful William Shakespeare to insult your older brother.â
âI bite my thumb at thou!â
âThere will be no biting of thumbs, thank you.â
âThou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows!â
âWell, then your elbows must be very intelligent.â
âYou are as a candle, the better burnt out!â
âI remember you doing this as a child, now that I think about it.â
âThou damned and luxurious mountain goat!â
âYou would run about the house in your little night gown, quoting lines from Oliver Twist like a glorified stage actor.â
âMore of your conversation would infect my brain!â
âDo you know what else I remember from your childhood?â
âFoul spoken coward, that thundârest with thy tongue-â
âYou were particularly ticklish.â
â-and with thy weapon nothing da- what?â
Sherlockâs smile broadened into a rare grin, and he crossed his arms over his chest, likely revelling in the way the words had stopped so suddenly on your tongue, hands halting in mid-air. When your wide-eyed, open-mouthed face turned to stare at him, he briefly waved an arm, shaking his head. âNo, no, please do continue.â
You continued to stare at him, ready to run and more than ready to punch him in the face, but he just stood there, as though expectant of something, and you werenât entirely sure whether you should continue in your Shakespearean rampage or give in to his attempts to teach you and simply let your damn brother have his way.
Nevertheless, despite the differences between you and Enola, there were many similarities⊠one of those being neither of you knew when enough was enough. Apparently.
âYou are not worth another word-â you started daringly â perhaps you wanted to dare â watching with an ever-growing grin as your brotherâs eyebrows ventured to reach his hairline, and his head dipped dangerously lower- âelse Iâd call you knave.â
He blinked once. Twice. Then he jolted forward, and you let loose a little yelp before jumping away from him, leaping over a couch in a way that would have had Mycroft writhing on the floor from a heart attack at having seen such a thing. Thankfully, this was Sherlock, and if your motherâs stories and the fact that he vaulted over the couch immediately after you were anything to go by⊠he wouldnât be collapsing on the ground anytime soon.
âIâm glad to see you take after me with your love for literature!â he called out as he chased after you, stopping only to quickly grab the vase of chrysanthemums youâd accidentally knocked before it wobbled off the edge of the table. âThough perhaps you should lessen the enthusiasm!â
âNever!â you shouted back, the grin on your lips impossibly wide. You couldnât remember ever having this much fun with someone who wasnât Enola or your mother. And youâd never dreamed of Sherlock, the supposedly work-oriented, anti-fun detective, being the one providing this entertainment. He was racing after you, in his buttoned shirt, trousers and dress shoes, you in an old pair of his breeches and a loose blouse (he allowed you to flout societyâs â and Mycroftâs â standards of young women wearing dresses and bows in their hair when he knew nobody was expected at the house that day). Abnormal grins were on your faces as you ran circles around the large room, you giggling uncontrollably and him with determination glittering in his eyes.
âYou might as well stop running!â he called. âI always captured you and Enola in the end!â
âNut-hook, nut-hook, you lie!â you yelled, twisting to stick your tongue out at him and squeaking as you tripped over a pile of unnoticed papers laying haphazardly on the floor. You stumbled, trying to regain your footing, until you felt two strong arms encircle you and trap you against a hard chest.
âI think youâll find that I do not lie, little Shakespearean,â Sherlock said, eyes devoid of the previous determination and now sparkling with mischief as he turned his head down to look victoriously at you. You laughed, pushing at his arms.
âAway, you scullion! You rampallian! You fustilarian! Away, you three-inch fool! You- ah! Sherlock! No!â You threw your head back in laughter as you felt his fingers dig into your sides.
âGo on,â Sherlock encouraged, âspew your insults. I am all ears.â
Listening to your contagious giggles, the man found himself close to beaming. Doubtlessly you would not remember the times when you and Enola had been young â no more than four and five years of age, respectively â and would adorably cajole him into chasing you both around the house, receiving well-earned tickles in the end. Mycroft had called it childish. Mother had called it sweet. Father had shouted at them to keep the noise down. He hadnât much cared for their opinions at the time and he knew he wouldnât now.
âSherlock!â you screeched, bending over his arms as he let his fingers trail quickly up to your ribs. âStopitstopitstopit!â
He shook his head fondly at your chaotic laughter, wondering briefly how heâd ever lived so long without it.
âNinety-three multiplied by one thousand and sixty?â he asked casually, simultaneously wiggling his fingers into your neck and chuckling as you scrunched up your shoulders.
âSHERLOCK!â
âTell me the answer. Show me how clever I know you are.â
âUh- uh- wait! Nihine- ninety-eight thouhouhousand, five hundred and eiGHTY! I said it! I SAID IT, Sherlock, STOHOHOP!â
Sherlock stopped immediately, retracting his hand and keeping you upright as you fell back against him, residual giggles spilling from your lips while you panted for air. âSo you did,â he agreed, patting your stomach twice. âWho needs cheating when you have a brain as intelligent as yours, hm?â
You raised your head up to stare at him. âThat wasâŠâ
His eyes narrowed, daring you to quote Shakespeare again, and you smiled in defeat. âTerrible,â you finished. âSimply awful. If thatâs what big brothers make a habit of doing, I might just leave here forever and stay with Enola.â
He chuckled again, releasing you and walking to pick up a stack of papers that had flown from his desk as heâd zoomed past just minutes before. âAh, but then, who would keep me company?â he asked, offering a warm smile as you collapsed on the couch.
âYouâve lasted long enough by yourself,â you told him.
âBeing alone can become routine, yes, but that does not mean you should have to like it.â He neatly settled the papers back and turned to face you, leaning against the wooden desk, hands braced behind him and one ankle crossed over the other. You glanced up as he spoke. âI have enjoyed having you here, Y/N. I must say itâs been easier for me to get out of bed each morning.â You dropped your eyes again, a hint of a terribly suppressed smile gracing your lips. âAnyway,â he said. âI think weâve had our sufficient fill of Shakespeare today. What about Oliver Twist? Think you can remember some lines?â
At your lack of response, he frowned and absently bit his bottom lip, staring at your bowed head as you fiddled with a stray thread of the couchâs armrest. He glimpsed the clock on his desk. Half-past twelve. Youâd worked longer and harder than this before and enjoyed it all immensely, so why you werenât so keen now, he still wasnât sure.
He pursed his lips. âYouâre usually eager to solve these problems. What has you so unmotivated today?â
âItâs nothing,â you told him immediately, and he nodded slowly. Heâd learnt in his line of work that it was always better to ask more questions and persist, but there was a limit with everyone, and he hadnât quite explored those limits with you just yet. Nevertheless, as he readied himself to rephrase his question in an effort to figure out the cause of your lack of drive today, you spoke again.
âI just⊠I miss Enola,â you told him quietly, obviously relenting, and he moved forward to settle himself in the armchair next to you. âAnd Mother. Thatâs all. We used to do these things together. And I suppose⊠I have so loved doing them with you these past few months⊠but, sometimes, I get bombarded with memories, of times when she and Mother were still here, and they make me sad.â
He entwined his fingers together and nodded, glancing away for a moment. âI understand.â
You hated yourself for it, but you hardened your gaze enough to make your face look the slightest bit irritated. âHow can you understand? You donât know what itâs like to miss a sibling.â
His face fell the slightest bit, and you blinked, shaking your head. âSorry,â you told him, âI didnât mean it.â And you didnât. Not really. But there were times when you thought about how easy it had been for Sherlock to take the train down to your house in the country, and how he had never taken advantage of that beforehand. You could already confidently say you had learnt to love him in the six months since heâd taken you in, and you were sure he felt the same.
But why couldnât it have been sooner?
âI did think of you both.â You flicked your eyes up again when he spoke, soft and clearly considerate of his words as he placed his interlaced hands on his lap and stared at them with furrowed brows. After he sensed youâd looked up, he lifted his own eyes and nodded once. âOften. Just⊠well. I think perhaps I left it too long, and then each time I thought about coming to visit, I worried perhaps you wouldnât want to see me.â He breathed a quiet chuckle and heaved a deep breath. âA weak and foolish excuse, I know, but I was a weak and foolish man. If I could go back and change the way I acted, I would. I would write to you, as Enola suggested, and come to visit as much as I could.â He glanced up again and sent you a sad smile. âIt was two wonderful relationships wasted, and I apologise from the bottom of my heart.â
You felt a sort of relief at his words. Finally, after years of wondering, after years of waiting⊠sitting with Enola on your motherâs bed as you looked through the clippings of all your brotherâs cases, and talked together in hushed whispers about what he might be like⊠you had an answer. It wasnât the best answer, and a part of you doubted you would ever fully understand it, but you had it, and that was more than youâd possessed a minute ago.
âYouâre here, now. Thatâs what matters,â you told him, offering your own smile, and he mirrored it.
âAnd, for what itâs worth, which Iâm sure is a lot,â he said, leaning towards you, âI am one hundred percent certain Enola and Mother do not go a day without thinking of you, too.â
âLikewise,â you told him, feeling your heart warm, and he gave you another smile before he reached across for a small blue ball on his desk, throwing it in the air. Perhaps youâd be more inclined to play a game instead.
âShall we return to your lessons?â he asked.
âWhat if I cheat again?â you asked, your lips curling up into a smirk. He chuckled, standing to his feet.
âAh, well, you see, I know now how to curb thatâŠâ
You desperately shook your head, putting your hands up in surrender. âIâll tell Mycroft on you!â you threatened, and the look he gave you made you burst into laughter after three seconds of pure silence. The both of you knew you wouldnât speak to Mycroft if you could help it, and, to be quite honest, neither would Sherlock.
He threw you the ball as you made to stand up, chuckling when you yelped after seeing it coming towards you a little too late, struggling to hold it properly.
âEnolaâs twice as good at these things,â you told him, tossing it back to him. He caught it easily.
âWell, if sheâs twice as good, then youâre just good. And, often-â He aimed the ball in your direction- âall you need is a good person to get the job done. As dear William says⊠brevity is the soul of wit. Catch!â
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