"Five minutes, Sherlock! I turned my back for five minutes!" Mycroft fumed "Yet, you somehow managed to…to…" His jaw clenched as he refused to continue. Mycroft could hear the little six-year-old behind him sigh in frustration. As if he had anything to be frustrated about; it was poor Mycroft that Mother would kill. Turning toward his brother, he took in the pitiful scene.
Sherlock was wet to the bone and shivering. He had managed to find an eye patch, which he hastily strapped on the moment he procured it, and a pirate hat that was now hanging off his messy black hair. And Mycroft didn't even want to look at the rainbow colored parrot little Sherlock attracted. Let us not forget the muddy footprints Sherlock put on the walls… How he did this within the exact seven minutes that Mycroft left to his room to get his school work was a mystery.
Mycroft glanced at the muddy walls, then at Sherlock. "Anything else I should know about, Sherlock?" Mycroft hissed. There was a pause of deafening silence as the two brothers stared each other down, their silver eyes holding same amount of frustration for each other. Finally, Sherlock pulled his hand from behind his back to reveal his thumb to be stuck in a glass bottle. "Of course," Mycroft sighed, "because what's a pirate without his treasure map in a bottle." At that, Sherlock puffed out his cheeks and glared at his older brother, who at the moment could care less about his grumpy face.
Without a word, Mycroft turned away from Sherlock and swiftly popped open his black umbrella. It was mostly to annoy Sherlock, because, as much as denied it, Mycroft knew that he was superstitious. It was hard to ignore, especially when he stepped over every crack in the sidewalk and refused to go under any ladder. But when Mycroft's small act of evil was met with silence, he was struck with the realization that Sherlock never said a word since he returned from his adventure.
Glancing over his shoulder, Mycroft could see that Sherlock now had his back to him and the bird that had been bobbing its head on his was cradled in his arm. Mycroft closed his umbrella with a snap to gain the young boy's attention. "Alright," Mycroft grumbled, "don't tell me you want that bird, Shirley." Sherlock slowly turned to Mycroft, his body gently swaying with innocence.
"She isn't hurting anyone, and I'm sure Mother wouldn't mind." He whispered. Mycroft shook his head at the soft tone his brother was using.
"There is mud on the wall, Sherlock!" Mycroft huffed, tapping the footprints with the tip of his umbrella "And am I really supposed to ignore the fact that-why are you wet?"
"I don't know." Sherlock mumbled. "I'll clean it up! Promise! Can I keep her?"
Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. He quickly tapped his umbrella on the floor before he opened it, once again, and turned away. "Fine," he hissed "you had better take good care of that thing!" He snapped when he heard Sherlock breath in with happiness. "Make sure it doesn't come into my room either!"
Mycroft stiffened when he felt Sherlock's small arms wrap around his legs. He gently cleared his throat and nudged his brother off. "I'll talk to Mother for you," He mumbled "but you had better clean this mess up!" Sherlock nodded and hugged his new pet bird.
"I'm calling her Arabella!" Sherlock declared "Do you like it, 'Croft?" Mycroft let out a sigh and nodded.
"It's very charming, Sherlock." Mycroft glanced at the clock and cringed, Mother would be home soon. "Go and clean up Sherlock! And take Ms. Bell with you."
"Her name is Arabella, 'Croft!" Sherlock huffed while Arabella let out a small "Craaaw". He quickly shuffled out of the room with his new bird.
"Right, Sherlock." Mycroft groaned.
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