She’s My Sister// Brother!Sherlock
I really need to get on my game with these… Being stuck in your house literally 24/7 is seriously not a good thing.
Requested by Anon: Being the baby sister to Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes is already exhausting enough, but the fact that you are nothing like them only makes it more difficult. When your mother sends you away to Sherlock, you must learn to adapt to his life style.. It’s really not as easy as it sounds. But you manage, and you learn the heart of the man who really is your big brother.
Set during Season 3; I made the reader a little bit older then 17/18 because I assume Sherlock is somewhere in his thirties, so we’re gonna go with 21 or 22.
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“Mum, are you seriously sending me to Sherlocks flat in the heart of London? Of all people… He can’t even take care of a goldfish!”
Your mother cast you an indignant look as the taxi cab pulled up to the road just down the driveway from your house. “I think you need a change of scenery. Get all that rebelliousness out of your lungs.”
“Sherlock and Mycroft are both rebellious. You think I’m going to learn any better from them?” You replied, sliding into the back seat as she set your luggage in the trunk and slammed it shut. Her gaze softened as you unzipped your leather jacket and pulled out your headphone and IPhone. “You’d have better luck getting Sherlock to go on a date.”
“Just give him a chance, please? You never know y/n, he may surprise you.”
If there was one thing Sherlock never did, it was surprise you. Due to the fact that you were literally nothing like your brothers, it had made it incredibly difficult for the two of you to get along. You were the bookworm, the one who buried herself in her violin because it reminded her of something good and beautiful; the one who went on dates and to the opera and graduated high school. The one who lived.
Just as you had suspected, Sherlock couldn’t have cared less you were now living in his flat. The only thing that made it remotely bearable was John Watson and his fiance Mary, who consciously made an effort to make you feel wanted every time she came around. She even went to the trouble of putting you in her wedding.
But it didn’t mean you and Sherlock didn’t bicker like five year olds.
“Y/n, it’s quite clear that lavender is not your color.”
You turned away from where you stood playing the harmonic duet to Sherlock’s wedding song for the Watsons, wrinkling your nose as your brother looked at you with the most pompous expression you’d seen in the month you’d been on Baker Street. “You want to know what’s not your color, Detective Sunshine? Anything. You don’t wear any colors except black which I assume is about equivalent to the darkness of your soul.”
John dropped his phone at your comment, running his hands over his face to keep himself from laughing hysterically. “Oh, I can see it now.” Mary replied, continuing to rummage through the RSVPS in her hands. “You two totally are related. The sarcastic comments say it all.”
But no matter what you did, you just didn’t own up to what Sherlock referred to as ‘’the family name.’’ You were just you. Why was that not enough for him?
“I’ve made few friends since I’ve moved here y/f/n.” You murmured, leaning up against the wall in your bedroom with your phone pressed against your ear. “Mary and John are so sweet that it literally makes me want to throw up. Lestrade is one seriously good gin rummy player, and Molly is good for girl talk. I just..”
“You just want to impress your brother, don’t you?” Y/f/n replied softly. “I know you y/n and I know how you work. You love him because he’s your brother, and he’s also super protective of your heart. He doesn’t want to hurt you. I just think he does it unintentionally.”
Sherlock had just returned from the rehearsal dinner, confused to why you had called in sick at the last minute. It wasn’t until he was right outside your door that he finally realized why you had been so bitter and hostile since arriving at his flat. He rested his head against the wall outside your bedroom and exhaled deeply through his nose.
“Sherlock! Can I play pirates with you? Don’t tell me that you’re too old for it.” Y/n called out, running into the graveyard where he had been scrawling down notes in what he called his pirate journal. There was a fairly large age gap between the two of you and he was aching to play pirates again even if it was one last time. Mycroft was much too old for his imagination and it was rare for the two of you to get along.
“Only if you wear the hat!” He cried, pulling off his pirates hat and laying it against your hair. You grinned widely as it tipped to the side seeing as it was already too big for your head. “Help me find the treasure!”
Your mother told that story for years because when she came home from work, she found you asleep in Sherlocks arms on the sofa, his fingers still wrapped around his sword and his hat still on your head.
“I may not be the greatest at deduction, but my intelligence matches theirs to a certain degree.” You wiped away the tears rolling down your face, quickly hanging up the call as Sherlock came into the room. “Oh good lord, are you coming in here to make fun of me again? I don’t need it right now.”
Much to your surprise, he extended his arm and motioned for you to stand to your feet. Your heart sped up as you did, and he enveloped you in a hug so tight you could feel his heartbeat beneath your fingers. The tension in your body seeped out of your muscles as you buried your face in his neck, clutching onto his Belstaff for dear life.
“Why do you think I don’t love you?” He said softly, running his fingers through your hair. “Granted, you’re a pain because you’re so much younger then me but everything about you is Holmes. I’m sorry for being so arrogant. It’s a habit I’m trying rather hard to break.” His gaze softened as you gently kissed his cheek. “I love you but you’re an idiot.”
You exhaled through your nose and smiled softly, spinning away from your brother to grab at your violin on the other side of your bed. “Well, it’s nice to see you’re at least trying. Just do me a favor and try not to make me kill you every time we speak to one another.” You motioned with your bow to follow into the living room where you’d left your sheet music for John and Mary’s duet. “I wrote this a few weeks ago. It’s a harmonic part to your violin piece.”
“Considering I’m between college and living at home still, yes. I compose all the time.” He picked up his violin and stood parallel to you with both of your music stands facing the other person. “I want to watch cheap telly after this so you can teach me to do deductions. Sound good?”
He smiled over where his bow was poised. “I can’t think of anything else I’d like more. But you have to sweet talk Greg into giving me a murder.”