Sherlock preferences

Mycroft's pov

This follows on from the anorexia one shot I did a while ago. This time it's from Mycroft's pov. Might need to be two parts, depends on how much I write 😊 thanks for reading all my shit guys!!! I really appreciate all of you, like you don't even understand the love I feel for every single one of you lovelies ❤️❤️❤️

Mycroft's PoV-
It had been a while, I wasn't worried, (y/n) normally got fatally engrossed in a books and forgot the time. She had been absolutely addicted to the Harry Potter series that I got her for Christmas last year. She must have read every book three times over.

A few hours elapsed and I heard the soft tapping of (y/n)'s feet coming down the stairs. It seemed unusually quiet, when I walk down the stairs it normally creaks like crazy under my feet but for (y/n), it was almost silent. She hopped up onto the barstool in front of me and I smiled at her, welcoming her company. I asked her if she was enjoying the book, she smiled and said yes but her expression seemed almost forced and I got a little worried. Her face seemed paler than usual, she was almost the same milky hue as Sherlock. I could tell she knew I was deducing her so I changed the subject quickly by sliding a bowl of soup towards her -I'd been cooking all morning- and smiled. Instantly, she pushed it back towards me with a pale arm. Her arms looked thin too, peeking out from the large baggy jumper that she had been insistent on wearing the past few months. I had a hunch at what was happening but I stayed quiet as not to upset her.

I reminded her that she hadn't had any breakfast but this didn't persuade her. She hopped down from the barstool and slipped silently back upstairs to get changed for Angelo's. I wasn't confident she would eat there either but Mary might have been able to persuade her to have some bread at least.

As night time rolled around, I hadn't heard from (y/n) all evening. She was due to go to Angelo's in half an hour so I plodded up the stairs to change into my dressing gown. On the way I was going to make sure she was ready to go. The stairs (as I remembered) creaked hyperbolically under my feet as I ascended the staircase.

As I passed (y/n)'s room, I heard what I feared the most. As I looked through the rusty keyhole, I saw her coiled up, tap measure in her hand, yelling abuse at herself. It was then my suspicions were confirmed, she had anorexia. I ran in and scooped her up in my arms. She was remarkably light and her legs gave way, making us both collapse onto the bed. I tried to express really how much I loved her but nothing I said really got through to her I don't think. I began to think hard about how serious the situation really was, it would be a harsh ask, but I'd need to weigh her. I didn't know how much weight she'd have to gain to get back to healthy weight. I needed to know.

105lbs. That's what the scaled read. I tried my very best to stay calm and collected but inside I was having a panic attack. She was 20 pounds underweight! I didn't know what to do. I just hugged her until she said she'd get better... For me... I love her so much but I didn't believe her. Things like this don't just get 'fixed' overnight.

I lead her downstairs and sat her back in front of the heated bowl of soup I'd made. She stirred it for a while. You could cut the tension with a knife. She then jumped down and put on her shoes, I knew instantly what she was doing and I didn't buy the fact she was 'cold'. The heating had been in all day, I knew she was trying to escape from me. As soon as she dashed out of the house I texted John (Sherlock could not be trusted in situations like this) as I knew I could never catch her on foot, and got a cab to 221b.

When (y/n) arrived -as I knew she would- John and I were ready and waiting. She was panting like a hound and she collapsed down on the sofa after learning Sherlock was out. Minutes passed, and soon Sherlock arrived. I could hear the 17 uneven squeaks up to the front door of the living room and I tried to make a steely cold face as Sherlock entered to warn him as to the situation. Stupidly, he didn't look at me (or her for that matter) and said possibly the worst thing you could say to an anorexic. "You've put on three pounds since I last saw you".

My blood began to boil and by anger exploded out in a whirlwind of annoyance at Sherlock's stupidity. I can't remember what gapped led in the last half hour, my vision was blurred due to the anger that was sloshing round inside my head. All I remember is (y/n) emerging from the bathroom and forgiving Sherlock. I clearly didn't forgive him. How could he not even look? What an absolute idiot. I'm ashamed of him.

(Y/n) embraced me and I hugged her warmly back. I just don't understand?... 'How can she see that she is fat? She is skinnier than Sherlock... I really am so worried about her....' I thought to myself as he cried down my arm.

I tightened my arms in to greet her emotional embrace and soon, I began to weep too. She looked up into my eyes and promised with confidence "I will get better Mycroft. I promise"
"I'm so sorry Mycroft..... So very, very sorry"

A/N sorry this is really bad guys 😂😂😂👌🏻🔫