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Description
You sent John to help Violet with lunch, leaning on the doorway to Sherlock’s childhood room, “Is there a reason you’re antagonizing John?”

He glanced up from cleaning his paint gun at his desk for a moment to scowl at you and then got back to it, “I wasn’t.”

“Sherly,” you sighed, “I know you meant well. Please don’t be cross. I’m awake now.”

He huffed, “Obviously.”

“So what’s the problem?”

You watched as he set down what he was doing and leaned back in his chair to look at you, hands coming together under his chin lightly to signify it was something he was thinking on seriously. You gave him a moment, waiting for whatever was troubling him to settle so that he could speak.

“Mycroft is acting strangely.”

You blinked a couple of times, processing, and then stifled a laugh, “And that is what has you in a mood?”

Your brother frowned seriously, “It is not funny, (F/n). There is always a reason for what he does and I don’t like that this time his intentions are less than clear.”

You stepped in to sit on his desk, “Sherlock… he’s been pleasant and, as far as I can tell, genuine in his attempts to change his behavior toward me. While I understand your unease, I don’t think it warrants this amount of thought. Perhaps he truly does just wish to make amends.”

He huffed out air forcefully, brow furrowed ever so slightly, and you smiled softly, guessing at the true problem, “Sherly… no matter what happens with him, he’s not going to take your place. You’ll always be my favorite brother even if you aren’t my only brother.”

He rolled his eyes, but the furrow in his brow released, “Obviously, (F/n). You don’t need to tell me things I already know.”

A small fond smirk graced your lips as you leaned forward to kiss his temple gently, “Apologies, brother mine.”

He batted you away in very convincing mock annoyance, any traces of his previous mood gone, and you stepped back, “Come down to lunch when you're finished with that?”

“Not hungry.”

You faked a large yawn as you slipped out into the hall, “Hmmm then maybe I’ll just fall asleep at the table.”

He rolled his eyes, “I’m not falling for that. That wasn’t even a convincing yawn.”

“Says you,” You sing-singed as you moved down the hall, “but as you pointed out I am so very predictable and I always get ever so sleepy after lunch… you never know. A midday nap sounds rather appealing.”

You heard him huff and knew you’d succeeded, if there as even a chance you would fall asleep at or after lunch he wouldn’t be able to stay away. A faint smile settled on your face as you headed the short distance to your room to change into something more appropriate.

Taking a moment to consider your options, you picked out a pair of tailored black trousers and petal pink cami with a lace edge and layered a slouchy soft grey cardigan over it. After glancing in the mirror to twist your hair into a bun, you decided it was still comfortable and snuggly but much more presentable than your previous outfit.

Finished with making sure your hair looked nice, you stepped out and headed down to lunch. You stopped to leaning on the doorway to the kitchen, small smile on your face at the scene before you. John was leaning over the stove, clad in one of Violet’s aprons- a particular favorite of yours with little cows all over it, to stir what looked to be a sauce of some sort while chatting with Violet.

“It smells lovely,” you piped up and John jumped a little, cheeks going lightly red.

Violet turned to smile at you, “I was just teaching John to make that strawberry glaze Sherlock likes. He’s quite good.”

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, “Fantastic. Perhaps this will coax him to eat more often when they return home.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Violet beamed, proud of her newest attempt to get her son to behave like an actual human being and eat regularly.

“On that line, he will be joining us for lunch.”

John raised a brow, “How did you manage that?”

You slid into a chair at the table, “I may have implied that I intend to take a nap during or after lunch.”

Grinning as a laugh escaped John’s lips, you stretched your arms up over your head, “How about Mycroft? Will he be joining us?”

“I’m afraid not,” Violet answered with a frown, “He asked to have it brought up. Something about being sore.”

Your brow furrowed as you thought that over. He must be hurt from when you fell on him but hadn’t wanted to say anything to worry you in the moment. Violet and John continued as you fiddled absentmindedly with the edge of your cardigan and mulled over your thoughts. You felt an overwhelming amount of guilt at the notion that he was hurt because of you to the point he couldn’t even come down to have lunch with his family.

Coming to a decision, you looked up, “Mummy, would you make two plates for Mycroft and me? I’ll take his lunch up and keep him company.”

She blinked for a moment, surprised at the request, and then nodded, “Of course, darling. That is very kind of you.”

You ducked your head sheepishly, “Hardly… I may be responsible for his soreness. I fell on him from the library ladder.”

“(F/n) (L/n)! How many times have I told you to be careful on the ladder? You and Sherlock... always finding a way to make normal things dangerous.”

You mother continued to scold you in true parental fashion, but you tuned it out, delving back into your thoughts. You had fallen from quite high and he had taken the brunt of the fall... you hoped he wasn’t too seriously injured or in pain. The last thing you needed was the fragile balance that had developed between the two of you to be shifted.

Description
You sent John to help Violet with lunch, leaning on the doorway to Sherlock’s childhood room, “Is there a reason you’re antagonizing John?”

He glanced up from cleaning his paint gun at his desk for a moment to scowl at you and then got back to it, “I wasn’t.”

“Sherly,” you sighed, “I know you meant well. Please don’t be cross. I’m awake now.”

He huffed, “Obviously.”

“So what’s the problem?”

You watched as he set down what he was doing and leaned back in his chair to look at you, hands coming together under his chin lightly to signify it was something he was thinking on seriously. You gave him a moment, waiting for whatever was troubling him to settle so that he could speak.

“Mycroft is acting strangely.”

You blinked a couple of times, processing, and then stifled a laugh, “And that is what has you in a mood?”

Your brother frowned seriously, “It is not funny, (F/n). There is always a reason for what he does and I don’t like that this time his intentions are less than clear.”

You stepped in to sit on his desk, “Sherlock… he’s been pleasant and, as far as I can tell, genuine in his attempts to change his behavior toward me. While I understand your unease, I don’t think it warrants this amount of thought. Perhaps he truly does just wish to make amends.”

He huffed out air forcefully, brow furrowed ever so slightly, and you smiled softly, guessing at the true problem, “Sherly… no matter what happens with him, he’s not going to take your place. You’ll always be my favorite brother even if you aren’t my only brother.”

He rolled his eyes, but the furrow in his brow released, “Obviously, (F/n). You don’t need to tell me things I already know.”

A small fond smirk graced your lips as you leaned forward to kiss his temple gently, “Apologies, brother mine.”

He batted you away in very convincing mock annoyance, any traces of his previous mood gone, and you stepped back, “Come down to lunch when you're finished with that?”

“Not hungry.”

You faked a large yawn as you slipped out into the hall, “Hmmm then maybe I’ll just fall asleep at the table.”

He rolled his eyes, “I’m not falling for that. That wasn’t even a convincing yawn.”

“Says you,” You sing-singed as you moved down the hall, “but as you pointed out I am so very predictable and I always get ever so sleepy after lunch… you never know. A midday nap sounds rather appealing.”

You heard him huff and knew you’d succeeded, if there as even a chance you would fall asleep at or after lunch he wouldn’t be able to stay away. A faint smile settled on your face as you headed the short distance to your room to change into something more appropriate.

Taking a moment to consider your options, you picked out a pair of tailored black trousers and petal pink cami with a lace edge and layered a slouchy soft grey cardigan over it. After glancing in the mirror to twist your hair into a bun, you decided it was still comfortable and snuggly but much more presentable than your previous outfit.

Finished with making sure your hair looked nice, you stepped out and headed down to lunch. You stopped to leaning on the doorway to the kitchen, small smile on your face at the scene before you. John was leaning over the stove, clad in one of Violet’s aprons- a particular favorite of yours with little cows all over it, to stir what looked to be a sauce of some sort while chatting with Violet.

“It smells lovely,” you piped up and John jumped a little, cheeks going lightly red.

Violet turned to smile at you, “I was just teaching John to make that strawberry glaze Sherlock likes. He’s quite good.”

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, “Fantastic. Perhaps this will coax him to eat more often when they return home.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Violet beamed, proud of her newest attempt to get her son to behave like an actual human being and eat regularly.

“On that line, he will be joining us for lunch.”

John raised a brow, “How did you manage that?”

You slid into a chair at the table, “I may have implied that I intend to take a nap during or after lunch.”

Grinning as a laugh escaped John’s lips, you stretched your arms up over your head, “How about Mycroft? Will he be joining us?”

“I’m afraid not,” Violet answered with a frown, “He asked to have it brought up. Something about being sore.”

Your brow furrowed as you thought that over. He must be hurt from when you fell on him but hadn’t wanted to say anything to worry you in the moment. Violet and John continued as you fiddled absentmindedly with the edge of your cardigan and mulled over your thoughts. You felt an overwhelming amount of guilt at the notion that he was hurt because of you to the point he couldn’t even come down to have lunch with his family.

Coming to a decision, you looked up, “Mummy, would you make two plates for Mycroft and me? I’ll take his lunch up and keep him company.”

She blinked for a moment, surprised at the request, and then nodded, “Of course, darling. That is very kind of you.”

You ducked your head sheepishly, “Hardly… I may be responsible for his soreness. I fell on him from the library ladder.”

“(F/n) (L/n)! How many times have I told you to be careful on the ladder? You and Sherlock... always finding a way to make normal things dangerous.”

You mother continued to scold you in true parental fashion, but you tuned it out, delving back into your thoughts. You had fallen from quite high and he had taken the brunt of the fall... you hoped he wasn’t too seriously injured or in pain. The last thing you needed was the fragile balance that had developed between the two of you to be shifted.