sherlock holmes was your baby brother.

he protested that quite often- just how you protested you were mycroft's- but you never really listened, and you weren't sure sherlock did either.

five years older, you were smart, as all of the four holmes children were. smarter in iq than mycroft- a feat- and maybe twenty points from eurus. it annoyed him greatly- though less so with you. you didn't call him stupid, at least, not how mycroft did.

you'd been close when he was small. the only one he'd let comb his hair ages four to sixteen, and best friend ages zero to thirty-two. classic older sibling things, punching (or psychologically tormenting them- the poor seven year olds) his bullies, teasing him gently, sneaking out in the dead of night.

begrudgingly, he put you on his list of friends- now second only to john watson. you were approaching first, seeing as the friends title between he and john was slowly adding a three-letter prefix.

you hadn't seen sherlock in a while.

naturally, as he'd been 'dead' for two years- it was dreadful, having to pretend to poor john that he was dead- he couldn't exactly make weekend trips.

undead as he was- you'd taken to calling him a zombie, he'd taken to calling you a cunt- he seemed to be having a horrid time with it. being alive again, being public, being a person. it had never been his strong suit.

you weren't exactly surprised when he knocked on your door at 11pm on a fucking sunday, expression carefully smoothed, but off. as if a paper that had been crumpled and then ironed over.

"john's married," he stated simply. his next words were softer, and he reminded you oh-so viscerally of the trembling seven-year-old sobbing into your chest. "mary's pregnant."

"may-" he cleared his throat, shaking hands clasped behind his back. he looked like he desperately needed a smoke.

"can i stay at yours tonight?"