Hi. So I wrote this when I was bored the other day, and I thought I'd upload it, so... here it is.

Sherlock awoke in what felt like the middle of the night to raised voices from downstairs in the large house. A quick glance at his pirate clock in the dim light, which was coming through in streaks from the cracks around the door, told him it was 12:34 a.m. Although the small boy was only six years old, he could already read, write and tell the time, which put him high above his classmates academically. His favourite subject, however, was science- he had a natural flair for it, even more, that is to say, than all his other subjects- and he loved reading books about forensics and the human anatomy at break times (as well as his pirate storybooks, of course) in his own quiet corner of the playground, while the other kids played 'tag' and 'hide and seek' and other boring games. They left Sherlock well alone, and he usually didn't mind, although sometimes (and he would never admit this to anyone) he did get a little lonely by himself. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes in attempt to get them to adjust quicker to the dim light from the landing. Grabbing his favourite pirate story on the way past his bedside table, he headed to Mycroft's room- his brother could always make him feel better when their parents argued. He walked down the hall in his flannel pyjamas, which were a size too big and had skulls and crossbones dotted all over them. When he came to the door, he pushed it open tentatively, still clutching his book in his slender, long-fingered hands.
'Mycroft?' he whispered, 'Are you awake?' Light flooded the room, and the elder Holmes brother blinked in the sudden brightness. He had been awake, of course- it seemed impossible to sleep with the shouting below. It was, however, quieter in his room than it was in Sherlock's, as he wasn't directly above their parents, and the the small boy had a habit of taking refuge in Mycroft's bed on nights like this.
'Yes, Sherlock, I'm awake.' he replied softly, and then smiled slightly at the small sigh of relief that escaped his brother.
'Will you read to me?' Sherlock asked.
'Of course. ' he had hardly finished speaking before he felt the warmth of the six-year-old as he snuggled into bed beside him, splaying dark curls all over the pillow. Mycroft read the tales of the infamous Captain Jack even further into the night, until he eventually realised that Sherlock had fallen asleep on his shoulder.

The next day, thankfully, was a Saturday, and Sherlock stayed in bed until late morning, long after Mycroft was up, dressed and studying on the kitchen table. The six-year-old eventually entered the room, yawning, almost tripping over his trailing trouser legs; his sleeves way longer than his arms and his dark hair sticking up at every angle possible. Their parents were at work (they nearly always were, those days) so the brothers were alone in the huge, empty house.
'Mycroft?' he asked sleepily.
'Hm?' Mycroft replied, without taking his eyes off his work.
'Will you play pirates with me?'
At this, the elder Holmes looked up. 'You know I can't, Sherlock, maybe later. You're not even dressed yet!' he sighed. 'Go and get washed and dressed and maybe I'll play pirates with you.' He hated letting his brother down; Sherlock got so lonely, even if he didn't know that he knew. Nevertheless, he needed to get this coursework done. He almost wished that he could be playing with the little boy now. Almost. Getting ready should put Sherlock off for half an hour or so, he thought. He soon found out how wrong he was, however, as just over five minutes later, what looked like a completely different boy ran down the stairs, complete with skull-and-crossbones T-shirt and new blue jeans, and although his mass of curls still stuck up every-which-way, he had definitely tried to flatten it. Holding out his pirate hat hopefully, he said, 'Look, Mycroft! I'm ready! Did you see how fast I was? Now we can play!' he grinned, showing the gaps in his teeth.
Mycroft gave in. 'Okay,' he sighed, taking the hat from his brother and putting it on his head lightly. 'Come on then, Captain Sherlock! Do your worst!'
'Oh I will, Dr Mycroft! You're evil, and I'm going to get you!' he giggled happily.

A few hours later, the brothers were lying, asleep, on the expensive sofa in the living room, hat leaning precariously on Mycroft's head; sword still clutched in Sherlock's small fist. Although he got up late, Sherlock was still exhausted from his late night, and Mycroft even more so.

Reviews are nice :)