It had been a long struggle of a day at public school for the young Sherlock Holmes. All during scheduled recess the five year old had occupied himself with observing the movements and characteristics of ants trailing across the concrete playground. In fact, he was so intrigued with them, that he took a jar from the classroom, added in some soil, and placed a few ants inside to further study for when he should return to his room back home. For once, Sherlock could hardly wait for his brother Mycroft to come get him at the end of the day.
Rushing through the front door and up the stairs, Sherlock quickly cut around corner to his room and slammed the door shut behind him. Taking the jar from his bag, he placed it on the cluttered desk his mother had given him. Taking a large handled magnifying glass, Sherlock looked closer at the soil to find that the ants had burrowed tunnels down into the dirt. Tossing the magnifying tool back onto the desk, he dug through his stacks of encyclopedias searching for an answer to these ants' behavior. Popping out from under the pile of books with the volume he had been searching for, Sherlock flipped through the table of contents; thumbing out the page in which common ants were listed.
Before Sherlock even had the chance to finish the first paragraph, there came a knock at his door. He ignored it, knowing that whoever was on the other side would state their business. Just as he suspected, Mycroft had opened and peered inside his younger brother's room. "Tea is ready, Sherlock. Come to the sitting room-" But before he could demand anymore, Sherlock had cut him off by waving his hand. "Go away, I'm busy." Climbing over the mess he made, he pushed other books out the way to set the open encyclopedia comfortably next to the jar.
Mycroft squinted at the dirt, the tiny burrowing movements catching his eye. "Good Lord Sherlock, did you bring those ants into our home? Take them out at once." But Sherlock was having none of that nonsense. It was for research! Before he even had time to protest, he looked up from the page to find that his brother was already taking the jar from him.
"These belong outside, Sherlock," he explained, turning heel for the door. Sherlock instantly ran after him, upset that he would take away his subjects.
Spilling the dirt out onto a small patch of grass outside the front door, Mycroft stood and ushered Sherlock back into the house, leaving him no time to mourn his loss of observation and study. "I won't forgive you!" Sherlock yelled, running all the way back up the stairs and back into his room. Mycroft could only sigh, and place the dirty jar in the bin. He hoped that Sherlock would one day realize that he did these things for Sherlock's own good.