John Watson had had some questions since his life got entangled with the Holmes brothers. John wondered why Mycroft Holmes always carried a black brolly, rain or shine. He also wanted to ask Sherlock why the detective almost obsessively uses the old microscope in this age of hi-tech analysis equipment. After some time, the army doctor managed to ask why when he felt extremely lucky because Mycroft and Sherlock did not argue or glare at each other for half an hour in the same room. Alas, John's question was ignored instantly while the two brothers stared at each other for a long time as if they suddenly realized their queer habits.
Holmes Manor
A pale and thin boy ran into the door, panting and throwing off his coat on the floor.
"Mycroft! You're home."
The boy flung himself into the arms of a tall, lanky man who had just walked down the stairs from upstairs. The young man gave a brief hug to the boy.
"How are you? Sherlock, you've grown by three inches at least since I saw you."
The older brother's eyes fleeted through the boy and stopped on a bruised wrist of the boy. His face hardened.
"Hush, brother. Mummy's gotten her migraine again. Keep quiet. Now, I need to see her in her room, and then we can talk."
Sherlock's face fell.
"It will take forever."
"There is a surprise waiting for you in your bedroom. Go and see, Sherlock."
The boy's eyes widened in expectation and curiosity, yet a question popped out instantly.
"You just came back from the station in father's car and went straight to his study. I just saw you leave the study. How could've you put something in my bedroom?"
Mycroft smiled a little in amazement, and the boy whispered.
"I've been practicing observing, not seeing like you said last summer."
"Think!"
The older brother pressed on. The boy intently stared at his brother and frowned.
"That is a man's cologne but not refined as Daddy's. Not yours either, you don't wear it. Butler! You asked him?"
"Good, Sherlock. Mr. Turner met me at the portico."
The young man grinned.
"Though, it was not the cologne but…your assumption that Mr. Turner, the butler, would meet me. For your information, that was my cologne."
Sherlock got reddened a little.
"Off you go, brother. I'll be in your room soon."
He headed to his mother's room while listening to his brother's excited footsteps.
After one hour, Mycroft walked into his bedroom, hung up his coat, and changed. He knocked his brother's room but there was no answer. Peeking, he saw Sherlock intently reading the instructions of a microscope. He smiled and walked in.
"Loving it?"
Sherlock put away the instruction and hugged his brother.
"Thank you, Mycroft."
"It'll help you until you go to Harrow."
"Until I leave this house and don't have to put up with…"
"Pst."
Sherlock stopped, and then, finished his sentence anyway.
"Father. He hates me."
"No, he doesn't"
Mycroft knew how hollow his words sounded but he had to lie for his brother.
"When do you leave?"
"After a week."
"Will you help me to learn how to use this?"
"Of course. Now, open the box and take the microscope out. Learn the names. There are two types of lens, eyepiece and objective; two focus, coarse and fine; turret…"
"What is this thin square glass?"
"Careful. Cover glass. You place it over an object that you want to observe. Cover glass is very thin, fragile. Here are two more boxes of cover glass. Always clean away glass shreds. You don't want to step on it. That long one is a microscope slide that you put your object. Ask your school teacher, Mr. Heckman about specimens… He might let you use some lab chemicals like stains and fixing agents… You can use books in the library, too."
There was a knock, and Tina, the maid, peeked in.
"Welcome back. Mr. Holmes. Dinner's ready."
"It's nice to see you, Tina. How are you?"
"As good as ever, sir. Mrs. Holmes said you two have lunch. She doesn't have an appetite, and Mr. Holmes is out to the club."
Tina disappeared and the brothers laughed at the rumbles they could hear. "Let's go."
On the night before Mycroft returned to his college, Sherlock was subdued at dinner table. He silently picked on the food, shot a nervous glance from time to time at his brother and listened to the dialogue of his parents and brother. Mycroft, being an adult, was allowed to speak at dinner table.
"Sherlock, finish your broccoli and steak."
Their father's voice was a low growl. Flinching in fear, Sherlock started to wolf down what-is-left-in-his-plate without chewing.
"Chew!" Mycroft hissed low to his brother. Sherlock gulped down water to swallow the lump in this throat.
"Sherlock. How many times did I tell you that you need to chew food down not too slow and not too fast?"
Sherlock defiantly stared at his father and said, "I'm finished, sir."
His father's angry glare soon turned into a smile, glancing at his son's empty dish.
"You must be starving, Sherlock, seeing the way you eat your dinner. I'll make Tina bring you another serving."
He rang the bell and instructed Tina to bring another plate of steak, broccoli and mashed potato.
"Father, I think Sherlock had his fill."
"Quiet. Now, boy, finish your second plate like a gentleman."
Mycroft knew any more words from him would make everything worse so he kept his mouth shut while he heard the clanking of a fork and knife. When the boy finished the second serving, his face turned green as if he might get sick any moment.
That night, Sherlock got sick, throwing up most of what he had eaten. Mycroft stayed at his brother's side, helping him in the toilet and getting some medicine. Around midnight, Sherlock's face turned normal after he sprang to the toilet for the third time. After rinsing his mouth with water, Sherlock staggered back to his bedroom.
"Mycroft…"
"You'll be fine."
"I hate eating. They force me down the things that I hate like broccoli… I always throw up when father makes me eat another serving."
"You need to eat to grow up and get smart. Sherlock."
"I can't think properly when I'm full. Food is a distracter. My brain works better on empty stomach."
"Get in the bed. You need to sleep."
"You'll be gone when I wake up. I won't sleep."
After a pause, Sherlock's voice was almost a whine.
"Don't leave me, Mycroft."
"Use the microscope well. Be an expert when I come home next summer."
The word, microscope distracted the younger brother quickly.
"The microscope does wonders, Mycroft. It helps me observe things in a way that my naked eyes fail to see."
Sherlock's eyes twinkled all of a sudden.
"Mycroft, I've got something for you, too."
Mycroft raised his eyes. Sherlock stumbled, and whispered.
"I've been saving money. When Mommy took me for Christmas shopping, I bought this for you."
"You gave me a biography of W. Churchill already."
Sherlock took a long box out under his bed.
"That was the proper gift for you according to the old man. I had a different idea. I didn't have time to wrap it up properly."
Curiously, the older brother opened the box and found a long black brolly.
Sherlock reddened a little, and stammered.
"I thought you'd need it not to make your suits wet when it rains."
"That is the very thing I need. I'll carry it all the time."
Brightened at the face of his older brother, Sherlock asked.
"Even when it's not raining? People might stare at you."
Mycroft smiled, tucking his brother in bed.
"Always."
Mycroft and Sherlock knew they'd be okay despite their bickering. They were the Holmes brothers. Smiling, Mycroft excused himself from the room to go back to his office.
"Fancy a tea?"
Sherlock asked John and walked into the kitchen. John stared at his detective friend in total puzzlement, while the detective made tea for two. Waiting for the kettle to boil, Sherlock tapped the microscope lightly. John shrugged and sat down to read morning papers.