moriartyfox:

against-stars:

moonblossom:

against-stars:

against-stars:

Did anyone else get the impression that they’d had this argument before?

going through my art tag for that “drawings I’ve done this year” meme

this was my very first Sherlock fanart :’)

Whoops, new headcanon.

“Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on!”

The first time he hears it, he’s four. And really, when you’re four, what do you need trousers for anyway? All they’re good for is getting dirty when you’re examining the fascinating dirt in the back yard, or getting discoloured when you accidentally spill hydrogen peroxide on them.

He makes a point of making Mycroft shout it fairly frequently in the following years, marching from the kitchen to the bedroom in his pants and a school jumper. It’s not as if Mycroft’s much different from Sherlock from the waist down, anyway. Rounder, certainly, and far more freckled, but the basics are all the same, so he’s not sure what the problem is.

Eventually the awkwardness of puberty sets in and Sherlock capitulates, making sure he’s completely covered before ever leaving his bedroom, and Mycroft ceases having an excuse to shout at him.

***

It’s nearly ten years later, in a dingy single room in a flat in Montague Street, the next time he hears it. Sherlock’s lying on the bare mattress, a small morocco case on the floor next to him. Mycroft’s voice is watery and far-away, and Sherlock finds he can’t really focus on his face. The concentration must have been off. If only Sherlock’s usual source hadn’t been missing in action, he wouldn’t have had to go to someone else…

“Sherlock? Sherlock?! Keep your eyes on me. Come on, put your trousers on, we need to get you out of here, you bloody idiot.”

Mycroft’s words are sharp and cold but his arms are soft and warm, and Sherlock hangs limply against him, struggling to put one leg after the other in the cleanest pair of trousers he can find - but that’s not saying much.

***

The last time he hears it, it’s in the poshest, most unlikely place anyone could imagine.

“We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British Nation. Sherlock Holmes, PUT YOUR TROUSERS ON!”

This time, there’s no malice, but also no anguish. Just pure, unadulterated, brotherly frustration. And for a moment, Sherlock is four again, and everything is perfectly uncomplicated.

oh i’m

So many feels.