Sherlock Strikes Again

by

thedragonaunt

'Chockth away! Cabbage cwates over de bwiney! Mayday! Mayday! Bandit'th at thixth o'clock!'

'Sherlock, you little pest! What are you jabbering on about? Can't you see I'm trying to read?'

'Thowwee, Mycwoft, but it'th Talk Like a Pilot Day, tho I am talking like a pilot!'

'What? Oh, good lord! It's not Talk Like Pilot Day, you imbecile, it's Talk Like a Pirate Day!'

'Oh! Oh…' Sherlock was very thoughtful for a moment or two, and Mycroft turned back to his book, with a long-suffering sigh, but then his little brother said,

'What ith a Piwate, Mycwoft?'

'Oh, for God's sake, Sherlock, do I have to tell you everything?' the older Holmes snorted.

'Of courth you do, Mycwoft, becauthe you are the thmart one and I am the morwon. You are alwayth telling me that, wemember?'

'How could I forget,' Mycroft groaned, putting down his book and fixing his annoying little brother with a beady eye. 'A pirate is a very naughty kind of sailor, who attacks other ships and robs them.'

'Oh, weally?' Sherlock remarked, looking impressed by his brother's superior intellect. 'And how do piwateth talk?'

Holmes Major rolled his eyes but capitulated and declared, in a very commendable pirate accent,

'Have 'at, me hearties! Splice the main brace! Land ho! Pieces of eight! Oo-arr!'

Sherlock clapped his hands in delight and jumped up and down, squealing with pleasure at his brother's excellent pirate rendition.

'Oh, Mycwoft, you are the betht big bwother in de world!' he chortled.

'Of course I am! Now, go away and annoy someone else for a change,' Mycroft snapped, picking up his book and turning his back on his pesky younger sibling.

Sherlock shrugged his little shoulders and toddled off into the kitchen, where he found Redbeard, his Irish Setter puppy, curled up in the dog basket, next to the Aga. He knelt down beside the dog basket and said to the puppy,

'There, you thee, I told you I could get Mycwoft to talk like a piwate! You owe me twenty penth!'

The puppy jumped up and licked his young master's face, with excitement. Sherlock giggled and pretended to push the little dog away, which only made Redbeard more determined to lick every square inch of that face.

'You know, Master Sherlock,' said Mrs Orgreave, the cook, 'dogs don't carry money 'cos they don't have any pockets.'

'That'th awight, Mithus O,' the little boy assured her. 'Wedbeard'th lickth are worth a penny each tho he hath aweady paid me back!'

ooOoo