It had been a surprise, shock really, when his parents told him he was going to be a big brother. He knew his parents were very much in love. He knew his mother had given up her career because she wanted to spend all her time with her children, and they'd tried a long time before he'd come along. Both his parents were overjoyed about the new baby. Mycroft thought they were making fools of themselves. Mrs. Holmes was past childbearing years. For some reason she didn't appreciate being told the statistics of having children at her age.
"You shouldn't even be thinking along those lines. You're only seven, Myc."
"Mycroft," he corrected automatically, and went back to reading the article about babies in the medical journal.
The baby seemed determined to be trouble right from the start. Mycroft knew babies could hardly plan anything, but did the baby have to be born on January sixth, the day of the worst blizzard of the year? It was a month before the supposed due date. That didn't mean the baby wouldn't take their time once they were at the hospital. Mycroft was bored with waiting after the first five minuets.
"I could have been home enjoying myself," he complained.
"Don't you want to be here when your brother or sister is born?" His father tried to give him a positive attitude.
"Babies are born every day. Besides, it's not as if I won't be seeing them every day for the rest of my life. With seven years difference between us it's doubtful we'll be close anyway."
His father, Siger, didn't know how to answer that. He loved Mycroft very much, but had no idea how to relate to him. At times he was almost frightened for him, imagining him as an isolated adult. Perhaps the new baby would be a friend for him. Both he and his wife were sure this child would be special. He or she was the extra blessing they'd never expected to have.
Hours passed before a nurse came in to tell them the news. The baby was another boy. Both the baby and his mother were doing well, even though the child was a bit small since he'd arrived early. Siger and Mycroft could come see. The second time father lept out of his chair, and the new brother followed with less enthusiasm. As they came into the room they saw Violet Holmes holding a baby with a surprising amount of black hair. The baby looked in their directing, his eyes a shade of bluish gray that was unusual for a new baby. Mycroft wondered if they would stay that color. They seemed to have more depth than most eyes.
"He looks like you," the proud mother told her husband lovingly.
"He has your eyes though," Siger leaned in to kiss her. "He's absolutely perfect."
Mycroft didn't comment as his parents gushed over his new brother. He supposed he was good enough, as far as babies went. There wasn't a real point to him though. He wasn't jealous. His parents never gave him reason to doubt they loved him. He just couldn't see what all the fuss was about.
"Would you like to hold him, Myc?"
For once, he didn't correct his mother for calling him that Instead he shrugged.
"I suppose so."
His mother looked disappointed at his lack of feeling, but instructed him in how to hold a baby. Mycroft was careful to support his head, and held him securely. The baby looked at his brother as if trying to understand the connection.
"Hello, brother," Mycroft greeted him. He felt himself soften a bit towards the newcomer. He looked at his- now their- parents. "What did you decide to name him?'
He knew they'd been having trouble deciding between three names. Mycroft had to roll his eyes when his father answered. It was a long, formal sounding name. Leave it to his parents to string them together. William Sherlock Scott Holmes had entered the world.
The family stayed together as long as they could. Siger kissed his wife and new son goodbye, and told Mycroft it was time for everyone to get some sleep. Mycroft found it harder than he'd expected to let go of William. He'd drooled on Mycroft's shirt, but somehow the baby grabbing on to his finger made him forget that. He was a reasonably cute baby, he supposed.
On the way home, the world looked a little different. The blizzard had stopped, and the moon was bright. Mycroft was tired, but somehow he felt good.
"He'll look up to you, you know," his father told him. "You're his big brother. You'll be his teacher, probably even his protector."
"What?" Mycroft looked horrified. "I never even wanted a little brother."
"You'll be surprised how much you'll grow to love him," Siger answered. "Your uncle Rudy- I remember when he was born, I didn't want to be a big brother either. It didn't take long for me to realize how much he means to me."
"But Uncle Rudy-"
"Is my brother," he said firmly. "And no choice in clothes is ever going to change how much I love him."
So in the following months, Mycroft made an effort to like little William. It wasn't easy when he could hear him waking up the whole house in the middle of the night, wanting milk or a diaper change, or just attention. He didn't care if his parents claimed all babies cried. He was certain he'd been perfectly quiet at that age.
Eventually, William did become more quiet. He was crawling, and then walking much sooner than most babies. That was not a good thing. If there was a way for him to get into trouble, he'd find it. He even figured out how to unscrew the bars of his cot and escape. Yet as active as he was he couldn't, or wouldn't, speak. When he wasn't getting into trouble he was setting quietly, almost as if his attention was focused on something no one else could see. Mycroft couldn't believe his parents didn't see there was something wrong with William.
"He should have said his first word months ago. Obviously his brain isn't working."
"Not all babies do the same thing at the same time," his mother explained yet again. Mycroft wasn't convinced. His father, on the other hand, chuckled.
"Once he starts talking, I have an idea no one will ever get him to stop. Now, why don't you put him in his cot? He should be asleep by now."
William was reaching up for something on the end table, no doubt about to send it crashing down. Mycroft picked him up.
"Come on, you little moron. To bed with you."
"Be nice to him, Myc," his mother pleaded. Mycroft rolled his eyes. He focused on his task, and laid William down.
"There you go. I suppose if you ever do learn to talk, you won't be able to say my name right either." He turned to leave, but heard something that made him stop.
"Coft."
Mycroft turned back to him and walked closer, a bit open mouthed.
"Say that again." William looked like he was concentrating.
"Cwoft." Apparently he realized he'd missed a sound, but was having trouble with it.
"My- cr- oft." Mycroft encouraged.
"Mycwoft!" William cheered and giggled.
"Mother! Father! You have to hear this! William said my name!"
His parents raced in, and Mycroft prompted. 'Now, one more time. My- croft."
William looked at him like he was being silly and giggled.
"Now, sweetheart, we know how much you want him to talk. Just give him time."
"You can stay with him awhile, but don't keep him awake. Goodnight now."
"But I'm telling you he really did talk!"
Mycroft was rewarded with sympathetic looks as they left to go to bed. He heard their bedroom door close. They wouldn't listen anymore that night. He looked back at the grinning baby.
"You planned that, didn't you?"
"Mycwoft."
AN: So happy to be publishing this on January sixth, Sherlock's thirty fourth birthday according to the BBC timeline.
