The Science of Sentiment (BBC Sherlock x Reader)

Chapter 13: Mycroft Holmes

The next morning you once again felt yourself wrapped in Sherlock's familiar sheets. It was still dark out, and you peeked at the digital clock on the bedside table. 4:28 a.m. Lovely. You rolled onto your back and felt the warmth of a body close to your own. Flashes of the dreaded Moriarty crossed your mind, but you quickly realized that it was only Sherlock. You rolled over to drape your arm over his side, but found that it was still hard to fall back asleep.
Eventually, you simply wandered into the space of your mind to wait for dawn.

--

Poetic lines danced along the edges of your mind, opening windows to new drawing ideas. You muddled through paint choices and brush sizes, deciding what to add to your colorful canvas.
Yes, that'll do.
"(Y/n)?"
The canvas turned white once again, and you could feel the walls of your mind palace crumbling.
"(Y/n)?" The voice was more urgent this time.

You snapped your eyes open to see Sherlock's face hovering above your own, concern tainting his beautiful features.
"Damn, you scared me for a moment."
"Ah sorry- I just got lost in thought," you whispered.
He chuckled softly, rolling out of the bed.
"You're looking much better today," He said while gathering some clothes into his arms.
"It must have just been one of those 24 hour things," You reply.
"Must have been. I'm going to go change," he says, ducking into the bathroom.
You sleepily pull yourself out of the bed and leave the room.
John is in the kitchen making coffee. When his eyes meet yours, something clicks in his mind and his cheeks flush red.
"Morning, (y/n)," it sounds more like a question than a greeting.
You giggle. "Good morning, John."
He opens and shuts his mouth a few times, looking very flustered.
"Did you...and uh, Sherlock...?"
Your giggling has turned into a full laughing fit.
"You should see the look on your face," You manage to say between fits of laughter. John glares at you, growing more embarrassed by the second.
You finally manage to compose yourself and say, "No John, I can assure you we were both fully clothed last night, so don't worry."
This comment only seems to make matters worse. "Are you mocking me?" He laughs.
"Of course," you say with a 'duh' look.
With that, you turn and bound down the stairs to your own flat. At the main floor, you nearly smack into another body.
The man is who you recognized as Sherlock's brother nearly a month ago.
"Ah- sorry!" You say. The man is placing his umbrella and coat by the door and offers you a smile.
"No worries."
He assesses your attire with deductive eyes. After a moment, his tongue clicks in disapproval and he mumbles, "Oh brother dear, what have you gotten yourself into?"
"Pardon?"
"Ah, nothing dear. Is Sherlock upstairs?"
"Yeah," you say with a nod.
He moves past you and begins to ascend the stairs.
"Nice to see you too, Mycroft," you grumble.

--

In your flat you change into a short, black pencil skirt with a long-sleeved, white blouse. You brush your hair out and decide to leave it in long waves instead of styling it. You add make-up and (F/c) accessories to complete the outfit. Once ready, you eat some leftovers from your refrigerator and then head back upstairs to the boys' flat.
The front door is wide open. You wander in and sit on the couch by John. He looks up and greets you with a smile. You both turn your attention back to the two men in the center of the room. Sherlock and Mycroft are sitting across from each other, having what appears to be a staring contest.
Finally, Mycroft speaks up, "Drop the case, Sherlock. I'm not asking this time, I'm telling."
Sherlock scoffs. "What makes you think you can order me around?"
Mycroft glances at the couch where John and you sit. "If you take this case, I can guarantee you that the people you love will get hurt."
Sherlock's eyes flit over to yours involuntarily. He sucks in a breath and stands from his chair.
"Always lovely of you to visit," he says sarcastically, making his way over to the window.
The elder brother heaves a sigh. "So long then, brother dear." With that, he stands up to leave.
Sherlock now has his violin under his chin, with his bow poised to play.
"Later," he says, bitterness drenching his tone.
Mycroft walks over to the couch. "John. (Y/n)." He greets us both with a nod. Before he leaves, he takes my hand to give it a proper shake. "Take care of him, would you?"
You nod. He pulls his hand away, leaving a slip of paper in yours. You clutch it in your lap, being sure that neither of your flatmates noticed the gesture.
Mycroft begins descending the stairs and Sherlock tears his bow across the strings to play a rather unpleasant tune.