Sherlock Holmes X reader / Preferences

A/N: okay this one is kinda platonic but I hope you like anyway, also in this one the readers a girl, sorry.

Y/N hobbled through the grocery aisle, a bathrobe lazily slung over her shoulder. After slow consideration, she selected a carton from the refrigerator. She tripped over to the register and dissociated throughout the cashiers attempts at interaction. The moment she stepped out of the store her body was racked with her suppressed coughs, she of course being too socially meek to even consider coughing within earshot of other people. She arrived at her front door and pushed it open with her shoulder. Greeting her was large, tall, steel serving tray in the middle of her kitchen. The tray was littered with multiple medicines, tissues and humidifiers. Accompanying the array was a note, the paper stock was particularly glossy and read ‘Holmes’. The calligraphy was written in metallic gold ink. Y/N's face lit up, but quickly twisted into one of confusion. ‘There are two Holmes…. Which one is it?’ More acquaintanced with the younger brother, Y/N slid the phone out of her robe, and called him. “Mr Holmes?” She greeted him. “It’s John, Sherlock’s been fixated on a decapitated head for the last hour, is something wrong? You’re usually here by now.” John answered. “Uh, yeah, sorry, I’m a bit sick, I received a package of medical goods, by someone named Mr Holmes. That wasn’t Sherlock, was it?” Y/N manages before letting out a dry cough. “I’ll ask.” Y/N decides to open up a pack of cough drops, and swallow a handful of them. “He says it wasn’t him.” John reports. “Mycroft then? That’s certainly out of character.” Y/N choked between cough drops. “We’ll visit today, once I can drag Sherlock outside. Rest up.” John orders. “Thank you for your concern, take care.” Y/N hangs up and opens Mycroft Holmes contact. Daunted by the task of actually having to interact with Mr Holmes, Y/N stares at the blank message for some time. Mr Holmes was rather cold, significantly more than his younger brother. Any interaction between Y/N and him was short and curt, and not once has she seen him smile. She quickly types ‘Thank you for the package, Mr Holmes.’ Y/N slams the send button and reels away from her phone. In an instant her phone buzzed. ‘Take care of yourself-  MH.’ Y/N grips at her phone in confusion, for the first time in the three years Y/N had vaguely known Mycroft he had emoted in some way. The thought filled her with something between happy and bashful.