Note: This was a request from @psychosociogentleman. Hope you like it!
Sherlock paces around the stairwell fitfully, tapping his slender fingers against his thighs in a manic fashion. He’s been worrying about this meeting for days now, and driving you absolutely mad. “Y/N,” he says abruptly, “you are going to…?”
His eyebrow shoots up. “And?”
You sigh again, this time artfully straightening the cuffs of your sleeves. This is really getting rather annoying. Sherlock needs to learn when to quit. “And Mummy.”
He stops and pauses. “Good, that’s…good. John is my friend, Y/N. I understand I am not the best example for exemplary behaviour, but I would prefer if he remained my flatmate,” Sherlock tells you, obviously preparing himself for what he’s going to say next. “Don’t deduce him. Don’t talk about his sister and her marriage. Do not, under any circumstances, do anything that I would normally do.”
Oh, how dull. Your brother is such a funny little fellow, thinking he can tell you what to do as he pleases. You’re obviously not going to listen to a word he says, but it’s cute to see how much sentiment he holds for his precious doctor. “Sherlock, dearest brother, light of my miserable existence- Please refrain from telling me how to act. Age has nothing to do with our understanding of the world, as you have so little it is almost laughable.” Your cold eyes flicker over his neatly ironed suit jacket. “Are you looking to impress someone? No, don’t answer, it’s obvious you are. It could be John’s sister, more likely that analyst, Miss Hooper. You’re trying much too hard.”
Sherlock swallows with a bit of difficulty as his eyes glint with a hint of hurt at your rapid deductions. “Do not drive away my only friend, Y/N.”
You smile sardonically. “I’ll do my best.”
For some reason, he still looks uneasy as you walk inside the messy old flat. These sort of things make you wish you had been an only child. What an unnecessary annoyance little brothers are. They only serve to make trouble and frustrate you with warnings of ‘don’t bother John’ and ‘leave his sister alone’, so on and so forth. Tedious.
You gently push open the creaky door, plaster on your fakest and most polite expression, and duck your head into the living room. “Hello, my name is Y/N. I am Sherlock’s older sibling,” you say quietly, your voice becoming significantly lower as you realise how many people are in the flat. You hate large groups. Why didn’t Sherlock warn you?
“And my younger,” Mycroft interjects from his uncomfortable perch on the ancient leather sofa. “Pleasure to see you again, Y/N.” He doesn’t look happy at all, but you’re used to his icy attitude. He’s held disdain for you ever since…well, that’s not important.
“Mycroft,” you acknowledge, with the most courtesy you can manage. You glance around the room, counting heads as an instinct. You’re initially surprised that you recognise each one, but then quickly remember that Sherlock gave you a briefing on who would be there. You must have deleted it in your desperate haste to ignore him.
The pages instantly flash through your mind like an overly detailed slideshow, much to your dismay. It’s already getting too busy in your mind, far too busy.
Molly Hooper- Lab analyst, insecure, cat lady, crush on Sherlock.
G…avin…(?) Lestrade- Idiotic DI, alcoholic, unhappily married, secretly a bisexual.
Mycroft Holmes- Older brother, government, annoying, stupid (but can understand if you go a bit slow).
Sherlock Holmes- Younger brother, consulting detective, oblivious, in love (with whom?).
Mrs. Hudson- Ex-exotic dancer, former drug addict, murderous husband, secret past.
Harriet Watson- Alcoholic, lesbian, recently divorced, extroverted.
You get through most of the list with relative ease, before you notice someone staring at you from the corner of the room. The person in question is really a middle aged, blonde-haired man, plainly dressed in a cashmere jumper that must have been bought by a relative a few years ago, and with an expression so determined, it seems his steely eyes are boring into your soul.
One word flashes into your mind:
You clear your throat and break away from his mesmerising stare in slight shame as you look around. “Sorry, I got a bit lost. Where were we?”
