Hope y'all like a kid!lock holiday one-shot! It's slightly AU. I even managed to post it on Christmas Day! I don't own BBC Sherlock. Happy Holidays and hope you enjoy!
Title: We Wish You a Merry Deduction
Rating: K+
"My! My! Myyyycroft! Wake up!" Mycroft felt something bouncing on his legs and groaned, rolling over and squinting at the harsh glow from the overhead light. "Mycroft!"
"I'm up, I'm up," he groaned, forcing himself up into a sitting position. He put a hand over his eyes and blinked at the 5-year old wriggling in front of him. "What is it?"
"You said we could go see Santa today!" Sherlock beamed up at his older brother. He jumped up and down again, causing Mycroft to imagine all the bruises that would form later. "Let's go! Let's go!"
"Sherlock," Mycroft glanced at his alarm clock, groaning. "It's 2:30 in the morning."
"I know!" The little boy chirped. "We have to get there early, so we won't have to wait in line! We'll be the first to see him! I'll be the first to tell him what I want, and that way I'll definitely get what I want!"
Mycroft sighed and tried to come up with an explanation that would appease the child. "'Lock, I don't even think Santa's at the store yet. He's probably making last minute preparations for Christmas." Sherlock's blue eyes stopped twinkling, and he stopped bouncing.
"But... You promised he'd be there, My!" Sherlock puffed out his bottom lip and gave the teenager his best puppy dog eyes.
Mycroft had to suppress a sigh. "Sherlock, we're still going to see him. Just... Later." Mycroft ran a hand through his hair. "I doubt he's even awake yet." I certainly shouldn't be. He thought sarcastically. "Go back to bed, okay? You can wake me up later."
"Okay!" Sherlock beamed and hopped down from the bed. "I'll wake you up when we can go!"
"Sherlock, when I said later, I meant when it's actually LIGHT outside!" Mycroft, for the second time that morning, shielded his eyes from the overhead light.
"But it's 4:30! We're going to be late!" Sherlock protested, shaking the curls out of his eyes wildly.
"We're not going to be late!" Mycroft snapped. "I swear, Sherlock, if you wake me up before it's light outside I'll kill you!" A pause. "And Santa'll put you on the naughty list!"
"No, he won't!"
"Yes, he will! And I'll tell him to do it myself!"
"... Fine!"
"SHERLOCK! WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT WAKING ME UP?!"
"It's light outside." The 5-year old said sweetly.
Sherlock couldn't stand it anymore. He'd been waiting to see Santa all week! All of the kids at school had told him all about how you would tell him what you wanted and he would leave it underneath a tree!
Not that he really believed them, but it would be nice to sorta accepted for once.
And when he asked Mummy about him, she told him that he could go see Santa in the store over the break if he so wanted, so long as Mycroft went with him.
So, of course, Sherlock did his best to try and tell Mycroft all about the wonders of Santa and his magic reindeer; all the information he'd scavenged from his classmates. All Mycroft would do was roll his eyes and say "yes, yes, I know," and then Mummy would give him the 'Look.'
Sherlock never got the 'Look' from Mummy, but Mycroft always seemed to get it, especially when he'd say something in front of Sherlock. Funny thing was, most of the time Sherlock didn't understand what Mycroft said that offended Mummy so much. All he knew was that it would upset her.
Huh. Teenagers.
After Sherlock had waken Mycroft up - at 6:30 WHEN it was light outside thank you very much - Mycroft had reluctantly rolled out of bed and made breakfast for them; Mummy and Father were away for one of Father's infamous business trips, so it was just Mycroft and Sherlock home alone with a few of the servants.
"So," Mycroft said through a mouthful of cereal. "What exactly are you going to ask Santa for?"
"I want a magnifying glass, and a lab set, and a microscope, and a book on pirates, and... and... another book on pirates and... a skull! Yeah! That would be cool, don't ya think? A skull!"
"... Yeah, Sherlock, I bet that would be cool. Except how about you just leave the skull out...?" Mycroft forced out a smile.
Big blue eyes blinked. "Why would I do that?"
"Well... Normal kids don't ask for skulls, 'Lock."
"But I'm not normal." Sherlock cocked his head.
"No," Mycroft murmured. "You're not." Sherlock blinked again, but continued shoveling cereal into his mouth, and Mycroft sighed. He knew Sherlock would understand one day, no matter how much he wished it would never come.
"What do YOU want for Christmas?" Mycroft blinked. Sherlock was looking at him, eagerly waiting for his response. He'd even stopped devouring his cereal like a wolf, a habit both Mycroft and Mummy found slightly detestable.
"What do I want?" Mycroft repeated. Sherlock nodded, and Mycroft hummed in thought.
"An umbrella. Although I know I'm only going to get some new schoolbooks." He shrugged. "I may even get another copy of "Treasure Island" that we can read together. My old copy's all worn out."
"An umbrella?" Sherlock wrinkled up his nose in distaste. "That's boring."
Mycroft scowled. "No, it's not! It makes you look dignified and important!"
Sherlock giggled. "You're only a teenager. People aren't going to view you as important even if you became president now!"
It was times like there when Sherlock seemed older than the 5-year old he really was.
Another scowl. "That's not true! Now, do you still want to go see Santa or not?"
"Of course, My! Pleeeaasseee!"
And then those times were gone in a blink of an eye.
Mycroft sighed. "If you will leave me alone and will entertain yourself until lunchtime, we'll go. And I'll also ask Chauffeur if we can stop and eat lunch out today."
"Okay!" Sherlock beamed and hopped down from his chair, running out of the kitchen with the pitter-pattering of bare feet.
Mycroft rolled his eyes. Huh. Kids.
"Finally, Mycroft! You're so slow!" Sherlock scowled, the scowl looking misplaced on his chubby little cheeks. He squirmed in his seat. "It's been all morning!"
"I had things to do, Sherlock." Mycroft explained, ducking his head and stepping into the car. He gave the chauffeur a nod, and he gently shut the door. The auburn haired teenager leaned over and grabbed the seat buckle, holding Sherlock still so he could strap him in. He leaned back and strapped his own self in, and then they started on their way.
"Do you think Santa'll like me?" Sherlock fiddled with the neatly folded letter he was clutching. He and one of the maids had written everything down for Santa because Sherlock insisted that 'Santa needed to have a detailed list so he could get everything he wanted.'
"Why wouldn't he like you?" Mycroft shrugged, absently wondering if anyone he knew would be there with their little siblings. Perhaps it would give him more respect; not that he didn't have a lot already, just that it would make him look like the perfect older brother.
"Maybe he'll be my friend. I need a friend! Maybe I should ask for a friend for Christmas instead..." Sherlock pondered this, then unfolded his letter, being careful not to tear it. "Can you write that down for me?"
Mycroft watched on with sadness hidden sloppily in his eyes. "Sure," he held out a hand, and Sherlock happily complied. The teenager pulled a pen from the seat pocket and hastily scribbled down 'a friend.' Sherlock snatched it back and refolded it, squirming in his seat again.
"I really hope he likes me!"
"Mycroft," Sherlock pressed himself up against his older brother's leg. "I don't know if I want to do this anymore." Mycroft surveyed the holiday decorated house and pathway that led to the bright red throne with a fat man in a similar colored suit and hat. Several green and red elves with pointy hats wandered around, stopping to talk with kids or to pose with Santa.
"Come on, Sherlock!" Mycroft pleaded and checked his watch. They'd been waiting in line for 25 minutes, full of screaming, snotty, whiny kids, and Mycroft hated every second of it. And by the looks of it, Sherlock did too. "We did not just wait in this line all for nothing!"
"But he looks creepy. And you always say not to talk to strangers. Isn't he technically a stranger?" Sherlock pointed out, and Mycroft sighed. Such a little smartass, he thought.
"It's okay. I'll be standing right over there by the exit, okay?" Mycroft pointed to the other side of the candy cane littered fence, and Sherlock's wide blue eyes followed his gaze.
"No! You can't! You have to go with me!" Sherlock protested, tugging on his brother's hand. Mycroft sighed and glanced around him; he hadn't cared if anyone saw him in the car, but now...
"I don't know, 'Lock..."
"Pleaassee, My?" Shit, not the puppy dog eyes; Mycroft winced inwardly and glanced around again.
Oh, crap... there was that Gregory kid he knew from school. Greg... Lestrade, was his name? Whatever it was, it started with an 'L.' He was in several of his classes, and though he was bright, he wasn't as intelligent as the Holmes' brothers. As if he knew someone was watching him, he looked up and met Mycroft's gaze. Mycroft gave him a small smile, and Greg beamed and waved one of the little girl's hands he was cradling towards them, and Mycroft made his decision.
"Okay, I'll go with you." He sighed. "But I'm not going to 'sit on his lap' so to say."
"I wouldn't expect you to," Sherlock scoffed. "I think you'd crush him."
"Sherlock!"
"Hey, Merry Christmas, you two!" A smiling elf with striped stockings waved to them from the gate in front of the house. In all their bickering, they hadn't noticed how close they were to Santa. "Just walk up the path, and there you'll see Santa!" She beamed, and Sherlock gripped Mycroft's hand even tighter.
"Thank you," Mycroft nodded and nudged Sherlock to the path. Sherlock looked up with wide blue eyes but followed him down.
"Ho, ho, ho!" Santa chuckled. "Come here, little boy!" Mycroft gently pushed Sherlock toward the Santa, who stumbled, and one of the elves lifted him up and placed him on his lap. Sherlock looked up with big, big eyes.
"What's your name, son?" The man in red asked Sherlock, and Sherlock's eyes grew even wider, and he didn't say anything.
"It's Sherlock," Mycroft burst in, and both elves, Santa, and Sherlock looked up. "His name's Sherlock." He said swiftly, feeling his cheeks heat up.
"Well," Santa boomed. "What would you like for Christmas, Sherlock?"
"Why should I tell you?" He said boldly, and the Santa looked taken aback.
"Because I'm Santa, of course! Ho, ho, ho!" The man in red and the elves laughed, and Mycroft had the gut feeling something bad was about to happen.
"No you're not." The 5-year old retorted, a frown decorating his face.
"Why, yes, I am! Ho, ho, ho!"
"Uh, Sherlock," Mycroft interrupted. "I think you might want to-"
"You're just a man in your late forties that's down on his luck, that's why you took this job. You're married, and that's obvious because you're wedding ring gives your white gloves a bulge. You have... One? No, two pets, and one sheds really, really badly. Haven't you ever heard of a lint roller? That's what Mummy, when she's home, always uses on mine and Mycroft's clothes! And-"
"Get that kid outta here!" The elf who had had been beaming at them earlier was yelling at the other elf and at Sherlock, who was totally oblivious to the angry shouts of the elves and parents who were near enough to her, continued spouting off deductions.
"Sherlock!" Mycroft gasped. "Oh my God, sir, I'm so sorry!" Mycroft lunged forward to grab Sherlock just as soon as one of the males elves, who in tights, no less, Mycroft noticed in disgust, grabbed his little brother's arm. What a disgrace to elves everywhere!
"Come here, you! Didn't your parents ever tell you not to-"
"HEY! Don't talk to my little brother that way!" Mycroft snatched a pink flowery umbrella from one of the by standing parents and WHAP! Hit the elf right on the stomach, and the elf hunched over in pain. "Don't EVER lay a hand on my little brother!" He snarled. Mycroft gave a small cough and straightened back up. Don't ever let it be said that he wasn't dignified.
"Come on, Sherlock. Let's go." Mycroft grabbed Sherlock's hand, handed the stunned mother back her umbrella, and led Sherlock away from the Santa.
"I don't think he liked me very much," Sherlock stood on his tippy toes and whispered near Mycroft's shoulder. "I don't think that elf liked you very much, either.
"Hmm..." Mycroft said. "What a pity."
His sarcasm flew straight over the 5-year old's head. "I don't see why that's a pity, My. Don't be ridiculous." Mycroft rolled his eyes. "But I saw what you did with the umbrella. You looked funny with a pink umbrella!" Sherlock giggled.
"Ah, well, I wouldn't buy a pink umbrella." Mycroft shrugged his shoulders. "But I would buy some lunch. Join me?"
"Yes please! And you know what?"
"What?"
"Santa can't have any!"
"Hey, Mycroft!" The teen in question looked up from his textbook. Today was Mycroft's and Sherlock's first day back in school, much to Mycroft's delight. Now, don't get him wrong, he liked Sherlock well enough, he... just got annoying. All of the time. "Mycroft!"
Mycroft met the gaze of one very special Gregory Lestrade.
Shit.
"Hello, Gregory." Mycroft forced a smile, and Greg's face adopted a grin.
"So, what was that that I heard - or saw - at that department store back over Christmas break?" Greg's grin grew wider.
"Gregory, I'd prefer it if we kept this just between us two." Mycroft could feel his cheeks begin to pink, and it looked like Greg noticed that, too.
"Hey, everyone!" Greg called out loudly. Most of the class quieted down and turned to look at him.
"Gregory, I'd really prefer if you-"
"Mycroft just wanted to say he hoped you all had a wonderful holiday!" Greg hopped up on Mycroft's desk, shoving his book over, and Mycroft put his head in his hands to cover up how red his cheeks were. When he looked back up, he was just getting a bunch of funny looks, but everyone resumed their conversations.
"You know my little sisters weren't able to see Santa after that, right?" Greg whispered in the auburn haired teenager's ear. "They cried the entire break. I think my ears are still ringing."
"I see," Mycroft forced another smile. "And why should that affect me?"
"Why, I'm offended, Mister Holmes. I thought you better than that!" Greg hit Mycroft's shoulder gently with the back of his hand. "Actually, I wanted to thank you."
"Thank me? Whatever for?"
"My mum was going to make me get my picture taken with Santa, with my little sisters. And you got me outta that! So, I owe ya one." Greg leaned away and winked. "So, you know, thanks and stuff." Greg hopped off of the desk and sauntered away, not even sparing Mycroft another glance.
Huh. Mycroft thought. Teenagers.
Hope you enjoyed! Leave a review if you liked it, of if you have any constructive criticism! Happy holidays!