"…And try not to get sent to the headmaster this morning—"
"Mum," complained Sherlock.
"Alright, alright. I just worry about you," she replied, kissing her son's head with a love one would think would stay intact forever. Straightening her older son Mycroft's uniform, she sent them out the door to school.
xxx
"Mycroft, will you share your umbrella?"
He looked down his nose at his brother. "Be polite, Sherlock."
"Brother, may I please have the honour of sharing your umbrella?" Sherlock asked through gritted baby teeth.
"No, thank you. You should have brought your own if you knew it would rain today. Let this be a lesson."
Angrily, Sherlock darted under the umbrella, gripping Mycroft's elbow with a slightly sticky hand. His brother retaliated by pushing him into the muddy grass of some unfortunate neighbour's front lawn. Sherlock looked at the mud-stains on his school uniform, and with a war cry, tackled Mycroft to the lawn.
xxx
"…late and filthy!" yelled a motherly-looking teacher as she dragged the two dirt-streaked boys into the office. "That's the third time this month, Sherlock!"
"And don't think you're not in trouble too, young man," she said sternly as Mycroft's smirk withered slightly.
Sitting the boys down in a couple of uncomfortable chairs, she stalked off to call home. Mycroft grabbed a newspaper off the adjoining table, crossed his legs, and started reading like a miniature adult.
Sherlock turned to the boy seated next to him and narrowed his eyes. The boy was blond and covered in blue stains. "Why are you covered with paint?" he asked.
"I took a tube of paint from the art room and tried to start a paint fight," he replied, eyes flittering to his stained little hands. "It wasn't much of a fight. No one else had any paint."
"Fighting, for no real reason?" Sherlock sniffed.
The unfamiliar child looked at the two boys with matching mud-smears and asked if there was a real reason they were covered in paint.
"We are here because my brother hasn't learned how to fend for himself," Mycroft snarked.
"We are here because my brother is a hulking brute who refuses to share with others." Sherlock was answering the blond but glaring at his brother.
"Well, I have a real reason too. My teacher is boring and I did not want to listen to her talk about the planets all day," the boy piped up.
"You don't even need to know about the planets anyway."
"I like the planets. I just don't like my teacher."
"Hm." Sherlock offered a hand. "Sherlock Holmes."
The boy grasped Sherlock's muddy hand in his own blue-stained one.
"My name is John."
