Good Girls, a drabble written whilst listening to Good Girls – 5SOS
Set when Sherlock was about 14, and Mycroft was about 18
"Sherlock?" Mycroft was knocking on Sherlock's bedroom door, "Sherlock?"
No noise came from behind the locked door.
"Damn you, I'm going round to climb up, last chance before I am royally pissed." Mycroft was growing increasingly annoyed and worried.
No sounds.
"Hmph."
Mycroft climbed down the stair slowly, as to not make a sound and wake their parents, who were asleep – unsurprisingly – as the time was bordering into the early hours of the morning. Mycroft would go to find Sherlock and make sure he was okay every morning. He knew what Sherlock was like, self-deprecating at best, self-destructive at worst. Mycroft liked to check on him at his hardest hours, bandage his wounds, and try to prevent them if possible. He knew how hard it was at his age, few friends, many enemies... Mycroft didn't like seeing his brother like that.
Mycroft left the back door open, and began to shimmy up the drain pipe below Sherlock's window. He only had to climb up to check on him every month or so; Sherlock usually knew Mycroft would check on him, and left the door open; when the door was shut it was usually a bad sign.
Mycroft saw Sherlock's window was propped open, with a note tacked to the glass.
Mycroft,
Don't worry about me, I've gone to be sociable with idiots, I find idiots aren't so idiotic when you get used to them. You should try getting a girlfriend, might remove some of this paranoia.
Don't tell Mother and Father.
I love you,
Sherlock
This was so Sherlock, but also not at all Sherlock. Mycroft was proud that Sherlock was trying to be social, it was something he'd never mastered, but he was worried, Sherlock had implied he had a girlfriend, was the world ready for Sherlock having a partner?
"Sherlock."
Sherlock could almost hear her smile. "Hi." He was grinning.
"Meet me at the 3rdstreet light down from the north end of the street."
"I'll be 3 minutes."
"Me too."
"Love you."
"Love you too."
Sherlock smiled to himself. Idiots were really nice people, when you got to know them.
He reach the specified street light, about 2 and a half minutes before schedule – he had underestimated his walking speed – it was a nice street, detached houses, three bedroom, two bathroom, one ensuite shower room, one family bathroom, £300,000, 10 years old, he'd never have expected her to live here, but he liked it, he actually liked it; or maybe his love for her was spilling over.
His head whipped quickly around to face the house behind him, he had heard a noise; what was it? He saw his girl – his girl – shimming down the outside of her house.
She strolled over to him, smiling her beautiful smile that was infectious.
"I thought you were a good girl." He was grinning.
"Good girls are bad girls that haven't been caught."