I'm actually really nervous about this one. This isn't the type of thing I usually write, but I desperately wanted to do some Uncle Mycroft. I'm sorry in advanced if this is horrible. I really hope it isn't.
It started with a phone call.
His mobile rang with a ringtone that only belonged to one person, his dear brother, Sherlock Holmes.
"Mycroft," Sherlock greeted when he pressed answer.
"What do I owe the pleasure, dear brother?"
"Molly is at work and I have a case. You need to watch the baby."
Mycroft did not like children. And children certainly did not like him. "What about John or Mary?"
"They're visiting John's family," Sherlock responded in a bored tone.
Having no other choice in the matter, he begrudgingly said, "I'll be there in 10 minutes."
Sherlock had told him the baby was asleep and that it would only be another hour before Molly got home. Mycroft sat in chair in the nursery, looking at the crib with a nervous feeling. He did not like this feeling. He was not one to be uncomfortable in any situation.
After many minutes of silence, the baby started to cry. Mycroft froze. What in the world should he do? He shook his head. It was obvious, really. He needed to hold the youngest Holmes.
He crossed the room and picked up baby Wayland. He bounced him in his arms a few times and the baby stopped crying. Mycroft returned to his chair with him. He looked over little Wayland's face and noticed that his hair was lighter than Sherlock's, possibly Molly's color. His eyes were an impossible blue that could only belong to Sherlock. It was a nice combination.
Holding Wayland reminded Mycroft of holding Sherlock when he was a baby. Mycroft had been ten, and even at that age he knew he wasn't good with children. But holding Sherlock was nice, and holding baby Wayland seemed to be the same.
Before Mycroft realized the time, he heard the door unlock and Molly call out a soft "Sherlock?"
"It's Mycorft," he said, "I'm in the nursery."
Molly came into the room and it was obvious that she was surprised at the sight before her. Mycroft was still holding Wayland, the baby fast asleep in his arms. She smiled softly at the sight. Had she ever thought she'd get to see either of the Holmes boys holding a baby in pervious years, she would have laughed. But seeing them with baby Wayland wasn't something she'd give up for the world.
They were an odd little family, but a family still.