All Just By Happenstance
Summary: One little boy with the world's largest imagination could never imagine himself a friend to keep the loneliness at bay.
A/N: Because I'm procrastinating my other fic apparently. And this is for my one and only pufferfishies, who is the best Sherlock ever to my John. Which reminds me, you can catch us on our roleplay blogs at jwatson221. tumblr .com and shomes221. tumblr .com along with our other amazing crew! Anyways, this is for her because she's amazing and deserves something nice!
Disclaimer: Of course I don't own these characters, we all know this.
Another hail of gun shots cut a small corner of sail from the mast. The ship was sinking fast, and it looked bleak for the whole crew. The captain ducked under a sagging plank of wood, shouting orders for his men to take cover. His parrot had fallen down dead just a minute before, happily sacrificing itself for the life of its master. The captain would mourn later, after his ship was safe again on the high seas. The young man's heart beat, pushing blood, hot and heady through his veins, ducking once more to dodge the bits of metal meant to take his life. He watched, shocked, as one of his crew members fell, screaming in agony before him. The tips of the man's grubby fingers just barely brushed the tips of the captain's boots. Adrenalin, hot and new surged through the captain's veins, giving him the courage to rush forward, towards the enemy fire, his sword brandished, thirsty for blood. The blade glinted silver under the light of the sun, a whistle sounding as it arced through the air, towards the throat of his enemy. A battle cry burst through his lips.
"Sherlock? Sherlock, are you out here?"
A new enemy called from afar.
The captain snarled, gnashing his teeth together, "Mycroft!" the child whined, stamping his foot into the leaves.
The elder boy gingerly pushed aside a branch, his mouth pulled down into a dramatic frown, disgust evident in his sharp gaze. He stepped into the small clearing amongst the trees, the favorite spot for his younger brother to get away and play. Alone. He smoothed his palms over the gray, yellow, and white argyle print sweater vest he wore. He narrowed his gaze at his younger brother who had twigs, leaves, and other detritus sticking out of his curls.
"It's Blackbeard, not Sherlock and you just sank my ship!"
The little boy yelled indignantly, stamping his foot once more with more emphasis as he threw down the large branch he had clasped in his hand.
Mycroft sniffed, straightening the tie he wore tucked under the sweater vest, "Quite a feat I'm sure, but mummy is asking after you. Lunch is ready. Your'e to come home right away."
Sherlock glared at Mycroft, his silver eyes screwed up as he tried to read the elder.
Mycroft noticed, smirking, "Really brother dear? What, pray tell, are you trying to deduce from me?"
He raised a challenging brow.
Sherlock grinned, "How many biscuits you pilfered from the jar mummy keeps in her study. You were there just before coming for me, so you were trying to read her latest research. You've got ink from freshly printed papers on your index finger."
Mycroft huffed, shoving his hand into his pocket.
"I'm going to tell mummy you stole the good biscuits and tried to correct her work," Sherlock giggled, his eyes glowing merrily at getting one over on Mycroft.
Mycroft narrowed his eyes, "You tell mummy on me and I tell on you!"
Sherlock flinched, blinking at Mycroft, and then frowning. His face falling into a petulant sulk, "There's nothing for you to tell on me for!"
Mycroft chuckled, clucking his tongue, "What about the scorch mark under your rug? You've always kept the rug along the left side of your bed. I was just in your room not twenty minutes ago searching for you when I noticed it was moved so I investigated and found the mark."
Sherlock gaped for a moment before snapping his mouth shut, "That was an experiment Mycroft," he argued, as if it would help his case at all.
An air of superiority washed over Mycroft, his spine straightening even more, if it were possible.
"Experiment or no, mummy wouldn't take kindly to the fact her youngest son, who is just barely five years old, was playing with fire in his room.
Sherlock curled his fists into tight balls, "Just because I'm five does not mean that I am an idiot. I'm probably smarter than you but you shove so many cakes and sweets into your mouth that you don't even notice!"
It was a lame comeback, and they both knew it, but Sherlock stood rigid, jaw clenched tight, refusing to give his older brother any leeway.
"You are not smarter than me brother dear, not by a long shot."
He watched the words hit Sherlock, a slight pang in his chest when a small flicker of hurt danced through his gaze before being covered up in bravado.
"Come on, mummy will worry soon if we don't get home for lunch. I promise…Blackbeard to build you a new ship after if you promise not to tell mummy I took some biscuits from her study."
Sherlock eyed the other boy up and down quickly, reading him, attempting to judge what he said. Finding what he needed, a small smile curled at the corners of his mouth, a flicker of hope showing.
"Does that mean my second in command will help me find treasure?" he asked, clutching at the hem of his dirty tee shirt, eyes shimmering up at Mycroft.
The older Holmes shivered in dread at the thought of getting dirty in the outdoors with Sherlock, but then the light in Sherlock's eyes broke his resolve. He sighed sagging his head.
"Fine, but this will be the absolute last time," he warned his voice sharp.
Sherlock vibrated with joy and launched himself at Mycroft, wrapping his arms around him in a tight embrace. Mycroft let out a soft breath of air, stumbling back a little from the force of the hug. He blinked once before patting his hand against Sherlock's back, allowing a small smile to appear on his face for a split second before he peeled Sherlock off.
"Alright, alright, let's go," he muttered, turning away and heading back towards the house.
Sherlock started to follow. He was securing his sword to a spot in a small bush when he heard a faint whining sound. He narrowed his gaze, thoughtful when he heard a few twigs snap. He blinked, turning in the direction of the noise to see a small bunch of shrubs obscuring his view. He glanced over, and watched as Mycroft's foot disappeared on the other side of the bushes he'd come through to get Sherlock. The younger boy cocked his head, stepping closer to the cluster of shrubs, his ears straining now for the noise. He stood still, holding his breath, hoping for the noise. He was just about to turn and follow Mycroft when he heard it again. He let out his breath, moving slowly towards the shrubs. Once he was closer the pitiful noise sounded louder. Sherlock knelt down. He leaned forward to part the branches and see what it was that could be hid there.
"Sherlock!"
Came a loud shout as Mycroft had come back to retrieve his brother.
Sherlock jumped, biting out a curse as he shot Mycroft a deadly glare.
"Mycroft! Stop that!"
The older boy frowned, the wisp of red hair shifted across his forehead after being caught in an errant breeze.
"What are you doing? I thought you were coming back with me."
Sherlock shot him another glare before letting his face soften, shifting his weight.
"I found something, want to…will you come see what it is with me?"
He asked, feeling almost shy, asking his older, much more mature brother to come and be at his side while he found the source of the noises.
Mycroft let out a put-upon sigh, rolling his eyes.
"If it will get you to come inside for lunch, then fine," he muttered, stepping forward and crouching down to join Sherlock.
The younger boy smiled toothily, excited to have Mycroft with him as he made his discovery.
"'kay, be quiet, we don't want to scare it away," the boy whispered, crouching down again.
Sherlock reached forward, taking a deep breath before grabbing a low branch. He sucked in the air around him, and pulled the branch to the side. He blinked; a small patch of crimson fur met his eyes. He blinked, glancing over at Mycroft before looking at the animal again.
"It's…it's a puppy Mycroft," he breathed.
Sherlock leaned forward, gently stretching out his hand to touch the small, quivering mass, now looking up at him with pitiful black eyes.
Mycroft hissed, grabbing Sherlock's hand to hold him back,
"Don't touch it you prat! It could be sick and have rabies or something."
Sherlock huffed, pulling his small wrist out of Mycroft's hold.
"He's not sick, Mycroft. He's hurt," Sherlock's voice faded off at the end as he laid his fingers gingerly against the matted fur.
Mycroft rocked back and got to his feet.
"Leave it Sherlock; he's no concern of ours."
Sherlock blinked, looking horrified as his fingers moved over the fur.
"But Mycroft! He needs our help!"
"No he does not Sherlock, now leave him. I'll tell mummy and dad about him then they'll take care of him themselves."
Sherlock grinned when the pup stuck out a pink tongue to lap at his hand.
"But look Mycroft, he likes me!"
His voice was so full of glee that it actually sent a painful jolt down the older boy's spine.
"Sherlock, be rational. He's injured, leave him here and we can see if anyone is missing him."
Sherlock giggled again, not listening to Mycroft.
"Oh don't mind him Redbeard, he's just a giant prat and has no idea what he's talking about. Of course you can come home with me!"
Mycroft sputtered inelegantly, "He most certainly is not Sherlock! Mummy would have an aneurism!"
Sherlock scoffed, pulling off his tee shirt, leaving himself clad in only a thin undershirt.
"She would not, she loves animals," he muttered as he gently wrapped his shirt around the poor puppy, who whined in protest to being poked and bundled up.
"Sherlock, really, you're making a big mistake. You can't get attached to him, I'm sure he's come from someone's yard."
Sherlock scooped up the puppy and, as carefully as his little arms could, cradled the puppy against his chest, his back curved as he accommodated the puppy's slight weight.
"Well, they don't deserve you then if they'd let you just wonder away," Sherlock muttered into the fur on the puppy's head.
The dog gave a small yip, raising his head to lick at Sherlock's neck. Sherlock giggled, walking back towards home.
"Redbeard, stop that now, you're hurt! We have to get you better so you can help me protect my crew on our adventures," he stated, completely ignoring the presence of his older brother.
Mycroft frowned the whole way home, knowing that the puppy would be taken away just as quickly as Sherlock had found it. Mycroft was worried what could happen to Sherlock, who seemed to cleave himself to anyone and anything that would give him the time of day. Already at such a young age Sherlock was being shunned by his peers. The boy was much too smart and outspoken for his own good, something that would be tempered with time and abuse from those who should be friends with Sherlock. Finding this puppy would just be another kink in Sherlock's life. Mycroft did want his brother to be happy, but he knew it would be a struggle for the rest of Sherlock's life. If, by some random happenstance, that Sherlock could keep this puppy, well then, Mycroft would worry a little less about the wellbeing of Sherlock as he grew up. Because, even if he didn't find another human to fill the void, then he could carry with him the companionship that this animal would give him, to help him make it through all the dark times that were sure to come for Sherlock. And at that, Mycroft could approve of his brother taking home the lonely, broken puppy so that they could both nurture and care for the other, because Mycroft knew he wouldn't always be there for Sherlock, but maybe Redbeard could be there for him instead.