The Babysitting Job
Chapter One: Introducing Brat #1
"Mycroft, I really don't get why you don't just look after your brother yourself!" John grumbled into his cell phone, struggling to pull on a sock. He glanced outside and sighed as the sun barely peaked through the forest. He hurriedly brought his attention back to the cause for his early wakefulness.
"I am not going to deal with his insubordination any longer John!" the 17 year old snapped back. John could already see Mycroft's stiff and set expression, his dark eyes were probably glittering with malice right now. John ran a hand through his hair, mussing it even more.
"He's only ten years old, Mycroft," John got up from his bed, no longer noticing the slight squeak that came from its bedsprings, to find his uniform trousers. He listened as Mycroft coldly started to list all of his little brother's faults (he never sleeps, always makes a mess in any room, never eats, can't seem to keep a civilized-) before he started to zone out. He searched in the closest, his socks making a slight shushing sound as he moved across the garnet floor, under his bed-so that's where he had left Sally's birthday present, oh well, no use giving it to her now, they had already broken up-, and on the desk chair.
"It's probably in the top bunk, John." Mycrofts's strange statement caused John to pause.
"Excuse me?"
"Right now you are probably looking for some article of clothing that is school regulated." Mycroft briskly began, John made his way to the bed and peered into the top bunk, "When I visited you last, you had your clean laundry in the top bunk so you could keep it out of sight whenever your girlfriend came over."
"Thanks," John muttered as he spotted his uniform trousers, and the school blazer. He stretched his hand through the railing and grabbed both.
"Back to my problem, now that you are situated," Mycroft sounded annoyed, "The last babysitter left in tears when Sherly started to tell her that her boyfriend was cheating on her with her mother,"
"Wait, what?" John stopped pulling out a collared shirt.
"The girl's boyfriend was fucking her mum." Mycroft sighed, wondering why it was that humans, or at least those of significantly lower I.Q.s then himself, found anything to do with sexual actions interesting.
"Right," John sighed, "That was a nasty lie he told her. I'm sure that there was something else he could have said, or done, to make her leave." He pulled out the shirt, unbuttoned it, and started to put it on.
"Oh, he wasn't lying." Mycroft dismissed John's words, "But he certainly could have been far more tactful."
John blinked a few times as he contemplated this, his fingers starting to button up his shirt, the white of his wife beater slowly being covered by the blue of his shirt.
"Mycroft?" John hesitated to ask his next question.
"He is almost as smart as me John," Mycroft grudgingly allowed, "almost equal, but he lacks common sense and tact."
"Oh, God!" John groaned as he started to pull on his trousers, "It's a miniature you!"
"I think not!" Mycroft snapped back, feeling affronted by the comparison, "When I was ten I was much more polite and tactful!"
"You do mean manipulative right?" John stifled a laugh at Mycroft's snort of derision. He snatched a belt out of his closet and started to buckle his pants.
"I need you John." Mycroft said, "You are the only other person who I know can deal with a Holmes. The other is Greg but you know, as well as I do, that the likelihood of a death occurring might grow more probable if he stays in the company of a Holmes for more than five minutes, without outside assistance."
John chuckled at this. Greg, the other friend in their trio, had a short temper that Mycroft loved to ignite. John guiltily admitted that watching how many shades of purple Greg's face could change when upset was amusing.
"John, please." Mycroft's tone was pleading now, "I really do need someone to look after him. Greg already returned to university and I'm busy with finals. You are the only one I can turn to!"
John groaned at this, sometimes he hated that he was only fifteen years old, two years younger than Mycroft and three years younger than Greg.
"Fine," John sighed, watching as the clock on his desk shown 6:24 am, "I got it."
"Excellent!" Mycroft cheered, "You can start after school!"
"Wait!" John cried out, "What-"
"I'll send a chauffeur out to get you! Thank you John!" Mycroft cheerfully said before the line went dead.
John pulled his cell from his ear, staring at it for a bit, before he sat on the mattress. He sighed, watching the sun lift over the tree tops, the bare branches waving in a morning breeze.
"I hope I don't regret this," he muttered, before gathering together the materials he would need for the day.