Various x Reader

I Can't Love You Like This ||Sherlock & Mycroft & Holmes Reader|| pt. 1

TW: mentions of she/her pronouns & birth/dead name, & unsupportive parents

y/b/n = your birth name

N/n = nickname (probably some nickname Sherlock or Mycroft gave to you when they were younger (it's also gender neutral))

"You're paying a small price compared to what he's going through." Mycroft growled at your mother. You stood behind him, holding Sherlock's hand tightly. You were the youngest out of all the Holmes, and, at one point, the most loved. Your parents adored having a baby girl, they gave you dresses, showered you in gifts, and pink flowery things, but it never stopped you from playing with your brothers, and wearing their clothes, and mimicked their behavior.

At first, you thought it was just because you looked up to them, and your parents found it disappointing that you would rather get mud thrown at you because you put worms in Sherlock's hair than pretend you were a princess, but they thought it would pass with time.

You were too young to understand the difference between their tolerance, and their exceptions, so when they didn't let you cut your hair it hit hard. They told you their daughter wouldn't be seen walking around with short hair, and that it was unladylike, and when you started crying they told you you'd get over it, and to stop crying.

But you couldn't, you really couldn't. That was probably when it hit you the hardest that all of the things they were forcing onto you were so wrong.

Sherlock found you afterwards, balled up in your bed, in your room, still crying. You remember him having scissors, and a bin in his hand, and a look in his eyes that said mom and dad aren't going to like this, but I'm going to do it anyway (though, to be fair, it was far more dignified than it has ever been).

They yelled at him when they found out he had done that. Your father took a swing at him, and no one ever took you to get the distorted mop on your head fixed. The next time you needed a hair cut, Sherlock just trimmed it again.

Mycroft was the one who took you the barber when we was home for the holidays (appalled at the state of your hair). Mom and dad weren't home when you got there, they were shopping for things for the two of you with Sherlock, so they'd be much longer than necessary. Mycroft had the idea of baking cookies, which you eagerly agreed to. Once you put hem in the oven, you were about to run into the living room to turn on the telly, when Mycroft stopped you gently.

"Y/d/n...can I ask you a question?"

You turned fully to your brother, and nodded, not quite knowing what to expect.

"I'm...not so sure this is my place to ask...and if you don't know the answer to this question, you can tell me, but I want you to be honest, okay?"

You freeze, and then nod he knows....

You didn't really know what he knew, at the time, you didn't even know what he was talking about. But you knew he knew something. Something that could get you in trouble.

"Do...do you feel like a girl...or do you feel like a boy?"

You looked up at your brother in shock; no one had ever asked you that before. Mycroft knelt down so that it was easier to look at you.

"Because some people...they are born as girls, and at first other people think they are a girl, but that person feels like a boy. They feel more comfortable with shorter hair, and with more boyish things. They feel weird when people see them as a girl." You stare at him, and feel tears threatening to break your eyes. "N/n, it's fine if you feel like that. You're not in trouble." At that you burst into tears. Mycroft pulled you in instinctively, and began rubbing your back.

"It's okay." He said, picking you up. "You're okay. Let's watch something, then we'll have some cookies before Sherlock, okay?" You sniffle, and nod, knowing Sherlock would try to fight Mycroft if you ate any before him.

You curl up to Mycroft, and watch your favorite show/movie until the timer goes off. You jump up, and rush over to the oven. Mycroft following close behind you. He opens the oven, revealing perfectly-done cookies, and filling the living room and kitchen with a warm aroma.

You helped him decorate, and ate the one you lathered in blue frosting.

"Ghastly." Mycroft murmured.

"What?" You ask, shoving the cooking into your mouth, frosting on your fingers.

"The amount of frosting you have."

You frown, "you have more!"

"The respectable amount."

"The blasphemous amount!"

Mycroft shook his head, and chuckled. He didn't think he was particularly good with kids, but he was good with you.

You ran back over to the sofa, trying to eat the cookie slowly so that you could eat more later.

Once everyone else got back, your mom and dad went upstairs to wrap the presents, and Sherlock, as expected, gave you and Mycroft his piece of mind about you eating cookies without him. Mycroft dealt with it as he always does—by telling Sherlock he can have two cookies.

Later that night, you went into Sherlock's room, he never had the door closed, which you found odd, since you always closed yours, even if you weren't in there.

"What'd you do that for?" Sherlock asked, looking up from his book, as you closed his door behind you.

"I need to tell you something." You say, sitting on his bed. "But you can't tell anyone."

"Okay, what is it?" He asks, putting a hand over the page he was on.

"I—I don't think I'm a girl."

He looks at you confused. "I know you're not a girl." He states, looking back down at his book.

You cover the page back up with your hand. "What do you mean?"

"It's obvious. Girls don't act the way you act. Get off of my book."

You nod, taking your hand off the page. "Do you think mom and dad know?"

"They're idiots," Sherlock states, then after a moment's pause, he adds, "Mycroft probably knows."

You nod again. "I told Mycroft today."

Sherlock snaps his attention back to you.

"He asked." You explain.

"Oh." He looks back down at the book, then at you. "What's your name?"

"Hmm?"

"Your new name, what is it?"

You shrug—you hadn't really thought of it too much yet.

"Can I call you y/n/n then?"

"Yeah, but I'll probably find a name I want to go by."

"Okay," there was another pause before he asked "do you wanna read with me?"

"Sure." You say, getting up to get your book, and bring it into his room with him, closing the door behind you. The two of you laid next to each other in the bed reading long past your bedtime, having a silent competition over who could stay awake longest.