Young Sherlock Holmes stood in the center of his bedroom, wearing a white bath towel and a scowl. His older brother Mycroft stood over him, arms crossed, with a look of utter frustration upon his face. In between them, on Sherlock's small table, a folded set of clothing sat.
"Sherlock Holmes!" Mycroft insisted, not for the first time. "Put your trousers on!"
"What for?" the little boy asked petulantly.
"I cannot believe Mother put me in charge of getting you ready for this dinner party," Mycroft grumbled, fighting valiantly to keep from giving his little brother a clout to end all clouts. Sherlock stuck out his tongue.
"Mummy's entertaining very important people today," Mycroft exploded, "and she cannot introduce you if you are wearing sheet!"
"So why does she have to introduce me at all?" Sherlock whined.
"Because this is a dinner party," the Holmes family's butler stated, walking into the room. "Mycroft, good, you're dressed. You look dashing."
"I must apologize for the fact that Sherlock does not," Mycroft replied, glaring at his little brother. Sherlock crossed his arms.
"Something you seem to spend a great deal of time doing," the butler said dryly. "Sherlock, you'd look so much taller with your shoes on," he coaxed, bending down to address the little boy.
Sherlock jutted out his lip. "I don't need shoes to look tall. I wear good long coats and things and I make sure to associate myself only with short people."
He turned to his brother. "Mycroft, I'm not wearing those clothes. I'm going to work on my experiments in the study."
He turned, his small figure erect with dignity, and made to leave. Just as he as passing the threshold, Mycroft put out a foot and stepped the on the tail of his towel, jerking half of it off and stopping Sherlock dead in his tracks.
"You are not going anywhere, young man. Mummy expects us both in the parlor, and we're already late. Grow up!"
"Get off my sheet!" Sherlock said furiously.
"Or what?"
"Or I'll just walk away!" Sherlock threatened.
"I'll let you," Mycroft replied calmly.
"Boys, please," the butler implored. "Not here..."
Looking very much like he was going to have a tantrum, Sherlock stayed in place.
"I'll leave you to it," the much-relieved butler stated, walking away.
He reappeared a few minutes later in the parlor, where Mrs. Holmes was chatting away to her guests.
"The boys, Madame," he told her quietly, then left.
"Ah, yes," the hostess said proudly, gesturing to the doors, which opened. "These are my two sons, Mycroft and Sherlock. Come along, boys, don't be shy."
And in walked Mycroft, with a very disgruntled (though properly clad) Sherlock trailing after him.
