How Sage Became a Holmes//book the first (A Sherlock BBC Fanfiction)

221B and a Proposal

Sixteen year old me sat in my bedroom, staring out at the dreary London weather. My temper was flared, my rock music was playing loudly through my earbuds, and my mind was racing.
School.
I would soon be done with the first chapter of it, and moving on to University. Mycroft and I had started bickering about it, having very different views. He disagreed with my desire to study writing, saying it was useless and impractical. He often gets frustrated with the fact that I am not a Holmes, and lack the genius of one. It's something I've come to terms with, but at the time my "normality" made me stand out like a sore thumb.

Watching raindrops chase each other down my window, I reached into my back pocket and retrieved my mobile. I dialed Sherlock's number, thinking about how he'd probably be annoyed that I called him. He really preferred to text.
"Sherlock! Sage here." I said once the dial tone stopped. I heard a small "hmm" in response. "I've had a row with Mycroft." He sighed.
"Hm. Doesn't surprise me, to be frank. I knew you two would start going at it about school soon enough."
"Well excuuuuse me for not being able to tolerate his unrealistic expectations for my future." I replied. Sherlock scoffed.
"He is rather unreasonable, I'll grant you that."
"Well that's a bit of an understatement. Anyway, Sherlock...I was actually wondering if I could come stay with you for awhile." Silence. "Sherlock?
"You're more tolerable than some." He stated simply. I activated sass mode and attempted to respond, but he continued. "But I am unfortunately without a place to stay." I was slightly caught off guard. Last I knew, he'd lived in a tiny little one bedroom flat, a 30 minute taxi ride away.
"Oh, really? What happened?"
"My landlord wasn't appreciative of the fact that I exploded fifteen human eyeballs in the microwave and set the kitchen on fire. I've been kicked out, to put it bluntly."
"Oh, wow." Honestly, it didn't surprise me that much. "So, where is it you're staying?"
"Well, I was going to just stay at a hotel until I was able to find a suitable flat, but Molly Hooper offered for me to lodge at her flat in meantime."
"How long will that be for?" I asked.
"Until I find a new flat. I've been searching the papers, but I can't find anything just yet. I need a landlord who won't question my experiments and a place that is to my liking, but in a reasonable price range...which is proving difficult."
"Look at you, being all grownup." I teased. "Why don't you just get a flat mate?"
"Hmm. I'm probably a difficult man to find a flat mate for." I smirked at his response.
"Yeah, that could pose as a problem. I'm sure someone will come along..." I paused. "I'm going to go back to plotting out Mycroft's death. Keep me updated. Let me know when you find a flat."
"And let me know if you need assistance in the murder of Mycroft." He joked. A rarity. "As a mental exercise, I've often planned the murders of the people I know. I have keys to his house, so even if we were locked out we could easily get back in and asphyxiate him. Never mind the fact that I would love nothing more." I couldn't help but laugh.
"Yeah, alright. Bye." I hung up.
It looked like I was stuck here with Mycroft for awhile.
--------------
I awoke the next morning, (or rather in the afternoon since I was up late the night before with the inability to fall asleep.) As I lay in bed, I found myself thinking about the past two years of my life. I had little to no real relationship with Mycroft. It was so infuriating; he would often act like he cared for me, such as this whole school ordeal, but he never developed into any sort of father figure. And he never attempted to express any fondness towards me, either. I sighed deeply, and pulled myself out of bed. I'd had this conversation with Sherlock before; expressing my frustrations with University and with not being able to...do anything until I was of age. You can't exactly get a flat by yourself at age sixteen, can you? I showered and dressed myself. It was Sunday, so I didn't have to worry about any sort of school. Though I had some memorization to do for drama club by Monday, so I occupied myself with that. After a half hour or so, my phone rang, and I was surprised to see it was Sherlock. "Hello?"
"I've found a flat. With the help of a flat mate, I'll be able to afford it, especially since the Landlady owes me a favor."
"That's awesome!" I exclaimed. "Where is it?"
"Central London, 221b Baker Street. Want to come help me unpack?"

"Mycroft, I'm going out!" I called on my way out the door, slamming it before he could respond and inquire as to where I was going. I hailed a cab, and gave the cabbie the address. "Baker Street, please." I said. "221b Baker Street." It was a 15 minute drive to Sherlock's new flat. When we I arrived, I payed the cabbie, hopped out and skipped over to the door. I raised my hand to the knocker, about to knock, when the door flew open. A short, cheery lady, probably in her early sixties smiled at me.
"Hello, ma'am. I'm here to see Sherlock Holmes?"
"You'll find Sherlock up unpacking, deary." She pointed behind her up a flight of stairs.
"Oh, thank you...?"
"I'm Mrs. Hudson, dear."
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, lovely to meet you." I quickly dashed up the stairs and found the door at the top to be open. I peered in to see boxes scattered everywhere: on the table, on the couch, one of the two chairs, and all over the floor. Sherlock was sat in one of chairs; his feet were stretched out in front of him and his hands resting on the arm rests. His eyes were closed, and they remained so as I entered the room.
"Hello, Sage."
"What happened to unpacking?" I asked as I took off my coat and threw it over the couch.
"Hm. It became boring." He said as he jumped up from his seat. I surveyed the room, wondering where best to start was. I poked through the boxes on the couch. One was filled to almost overflowing with science equipment; at least two different microscopes, slides, Petri dishes, etc. Another had clothes that had obviously been thrown in carelessly, and yet another had just a few dishes; four mugs, six plates, and a couple water glasses. I glanced up at Sherlock, who was rummaging around some boxes on the kitchen table.
"Ok." I said, pulling my hair up into a ponytail with a hairband on my wrist. "Let's get to work." I put a reluctant Sherlock on the task of unpacking his many boxes of books, and filling the shelves that lined the wall opposite the couch. I decided to bring some order to the kitchen, unpacking what few dishes Sherlock had, as well as the boxes of various clothing, papers, and even more science equipment. After an hour and a half, almost everything was out of boxes...just not necessarily put away in proper homes. In fact, after observing our handiwork, I determined that we made even more of a mess than before everything was unpacked. At least it was all out of the boxes. I then found the kettle and boiled water for tea. Sherlock had resumed his "thinking position" in the chair, and barely bothered to acknowledge me as I brought tea over, setting his on the side table by his chair and sitting down across from him.
"Well then." I said, as he stared blankly into the distance. I took a sip of my tea I looked at him over the rim my cup.
"Well what?" He asked, sounding slightly bored.
"Are you getting a flat mate anytime soon? And I can I stay with you tonight?"
"Yes I'll be getting a flat mate as soon as I can, and yes you can stay the night." Silence.
"Listen, Sherlock. I have a plan. What if..."
"Are you going to propose you help pay the rent, because I don't think-" I shook my head.
"No, that's not going to work out. I don't have a job at the moment. But concerning Mycroft and school, I have thought of a way to resolve the conflict that you might be able to help me with." He raised an eyebrow.
"I don't have much influence over my brother."
"Oh, I know. That's not what I had in mind. What if I...not lived with you exactly, but...stayed with you for long periods of time, and...well,"
"You're hoping that I'll let you solve crimes with me, so that you get time away from my admittedly hard to live with brother, but also in hopes he'll think my intelligence, use of logic, and chemist's degree will rub off on you, and you'll feel inspired to skip off to University and do something useful with your life." I stared at him.
"Well essentially, yes."
Thinking this over, the corner of Sherlock's mouth upturned in attempts to conceal a smirk.
"Hmmm. I suppose we could work out some sort of an arrangement-" He was cut off by the sound of my phone ringing. I glanced down at it sitting on the table to see that Mycroft was calling me, no doubt wondering where I was. I hit "ignore".
"Well, do you agree to it? You've told me multiple times you consider yourself better off without any human ties, and I thought you'd be against the idea."
"You're clever enough for the job. For the most part. Somewhat. You'll do." I glared at him, and my phone went off again. I shifted my glare towards it before tapping the ignore button again.
"So, when do we start?" I was interrupted once again by a string of text alerts. Under the name "Mycroft Holmes" was a list of various texts one after the other:
Sage? Where are you?
Are you with Sherlock?
Come home.
Sage?
I looked up at Sherlock, who was also receiving a spam of texts inquiring about my where-abouts. I sighed and turned to Sherlock.
"I hope we don't have too much of this to deal with..." Sherlock also sighed, and turned off his phone.
"Mycroft and his angry outbursts and general dislike of everything is something I've been dealing with my entire life. I think I'll be fine." My phone rang again. I looked down at it in my hand and glanced up at Sherlock. I rolled my eyes and answered it.
"Mycroft. Hi. I'm with Sherlock, I'll be back for dinner." I hung up. "And to pack." I said, putting my phone in my pocket and smirking at Sherlock.