Vent via fanfic because I need to get it out somehow and this is the easiest way.
***
He might favor Mycroft, but that’s only because he can connect to him better. Your father loves you very much. He always wanted a little girl you know. He had been hoping Mycroft would be a girl to tell you the truth. When he found out that I was pregnant with you he went out and bought all these little pink dresses for you, even before he knew you were a girl! I don’t know what he would have done if you were a boy.
That was the story her mother told her once when she had complained about her father spending more time with Mycroft because he was a boy. Somehow it didn’t make Sherlock feel any better.
***
Sherlock. That was her name. Her parents called her Sherly. They liked long unique names that could be shorted into normal ones. Mycroft called her Sher. He was the only one permitted to do so. Sherlock herself wasn’t especially fond of her name, especially when her parents called her Sherly, but she was stuck with it.
Age 3
Sherlock bounded down the stairs and around the corner, paper hat sitting atop long, messy curls which were pulled back in a tail. She sprinted straight into Mycroft’s room, pointing a plastic sword threateningly in his face. "Surrender your treasure or face my wrath!"
Mycroft rolled his eyes at her. "Sher, what are you doing?"
"I’m a pirate!" she shouted, jumping up to stand on his bed so that she was taller. "Now give me your treasure!"
"Actually, girls weren’t pirates. It was thought of as bad luck to have a woman on board a boat."
"Well then I’ll dress up as a boy," Sherlock replied, lowering her sword and pouting a little. "Why do you always have to ruin the fun?"
Mycroft ignored her comment, sitting down and patting the bed next to him. "Come on Sher, want to see what I brought you from school?" Sherlock nodded enthusiastically, sitting down on the bed and shifting closer to her brother. This was her favorite part of her day. Mycroft would sit down next to her and spread out all his notes and worksheets from that days lesson, going through them with her and helping her read and absorb the lessons he had learned earlier. "Why don’t you pick out what you want to learn?" Sherlock sorted through the material, picking out what looked like science and French, putting aside some of the upper level maths and grammar. The materials she picked out varied from day to day depending on what Mycroft was learning. The subject itself didn’t matter, rather what the lesson itself and how important the information would be later. Originally Mycroft would help sort the relevance, but as time went on Sherlock began to sort it for herself.
"French?" he asked, testing her reasons for sorting.
"Talking with people is always useful," she pointed out. Mycroft chuckled.
"Okay, don’t be smart, I’m the smart one." Sherlock glared at Mycroft, sticking out her tongue. But it was true, Mycroft was the smart one. He didn’t have anyone to give him lessons and information at her age, instead exploring through countless books, absorbing as much information as he could. Still, Sherlock was smart too, though neither understood where they got it from. Their mom and dad, though amazing, didn’t see the world the way they did.
Age 5
Sherlock rushed outside with the rest of the students, eager for the days recess. The past two days it had been storming, and the teachers wouldn’t let them outside, instead giving them play time inside.
