"Sherlock! We are leaving for the play in an hour, and Mummy wants you dres-WHERE ARE YOUR TROUSERS?!"
Mycroft stood in the doorway of his four year old brother's room, gaping. He was jumping on his bed with no trousers, and grinning mischievously. Mycroft sighed and grabbed Sherlock's trousers. He walked over to the bed where Sherlock was jumping and tried to hand them to him.
"No! I'm not wearing them! You can't make me!"
"But brother, you mustn't make a fool of yourself at the play! Generally people wear trousers to the theatre…"
"I am not people! I am Sherlock! I can do whatever I want! I am not wearing trousers!"
Mycroft sighed and turned around. The nine-and-a-half year old had enough on his mind already, and his brother was not making anything easier.
"Alright Sherlock, I guess that I'm going to get Mummy in here to get your trousers on"
"No one can make me put my trousers on! Not even Mummy!"
Sherlock was feeling particularly defiant today.
"Well, if you don't have you trousers on in two minutes when I get back here with Mummy, she is not going to be happy at all," Mycroft snapped.
Sherlock stuck his tongue out at his brother and jumped higher. Mycroft made the disapproving face that only Mycroft could make and walked down the hallway to get his mother. Little did Mycroft know what his brother planned to do when they came back.
Mycroft and his mother entered Sherlock's room only to find his younger brother sitting on the tallest bookcase in the room. How he had managed to get up there was a mystery. Sherlock always had the ability to do the seemingly impossible.
"Honestly, Sherlock? I told you that you needed to be dressed before we left for the play! Why do you never listen to me?"
"You're boring and never let me have fun! You're the worst big brother in the world," Sherlock shouted.
"Sherlock! Don't talk to your brother like that!"
"I can do whatever I want! I am Sherlock! I am not putting trousers on ever again!"
Mycroft glared at Sherlock. His brother was really starting to put him off.
"Sherlock! Get down from there right now! I don't want you to fall!"
"I'm not going to fall, and it's not like you'd care anyways," Sherlock whined. He pouted and crossed his arms.
"Sherlock… Please, come down for Mummy? I'll get you a cookie!"
Sherlock pondered the thought for a moment. He climbed down the shelf and stood with his arms crossed.
"Thank you Sherlock. Now, for me again, would you put your trous-"
"NO! I AM NOT WEARING TROUSERS EVER AGAIN!"
Everyone was growing rather impatient with Sherlock.
"Sherlock, I need you to put your trousers on so you can come to the play," Mrs. Holmes said firmly.
"NO! NO! NO!"
"WILLIAM SHERLOCK SCOTT HOLMES! PUT YOUR TROUSERS ON NOW, OR YOU ARE NOT GOING TO THE PLAY! AND NO COOKIE, EITHER," Mrs. Holmes yelled.
"NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!"
Exasperated, Mrs. Holmes left the room. Mycroft glowered at his brother for a moment, and then followed his mother into the kitchen.
"Mycroft, dearest, could you maybe help me with your brother," his mother asked.
"Mother, he is impossible to reason with," Mycroft responded. He did have a point.
"But if there is anyone who could crack him, it's you!"
"I've dealt with him enough already today!"
Mycroft already dealt with spilled cereal, toy cars in the hallway, mud in the living room, and Redbeard's collar on the blade of the ceiling fan.
"Please? Just this once," His mother pleaded. She knew Mycroft could outsmart Sherlock in some way.
"Hmph. Alright… I guess I can try," Mycroft mumbled.
"Thank you, Mycroft, I truly appreciate it!"
Mycroft turned and walked back to his brother's room, trying to think of a plan to get him to put his trousers back on. He had an idea.
"Sherlock, you need to put your trousers back on!"
"NO! I REFUSE," Sherlock persisted.
"But Mummy is very upset that you won't put your trousers back on! Don't you want her to be happy?"
"I don't care! If Mummy is unhappy because I am not wearing trousers, than she's going to be unhappy forever!"
"But doesn't Mummy's happiness mean more to you?"
Sherlock thought for a minute, then frowned.
"No! I don't want to wear trousers!"
"But why don't you want to wear trousers, Sherlock," Mycroft mused.
"Because trousers are boring! Everyone wears trousers! I am not everyone! I am Sherlock!"
Mycroft thought about this. Sherlock did have a point. This gave Mycroft another idea.
"What if you got to wear special trousers? Would that make it better?"
Sherlock's eyes widened.
"What do you mean 'special trousers'," he asked sceptically.
"Very special trousers. Let me go get them"
Sherlock looked incredibly intrigued by these special trousers. Mycroft smirked and left the room to go get these mysterious trousers.
When Mycroft returned, Sherlock jumped up to see the trousers.
"Those are the special trousers? Why are they so special," Sherlock said flatly, eyebrows raised.
"They have magical powers. Very… special magical powers," Mycroft stuttered.
"Well, that was a terrible lie. You know I don't believe in magic, Mycroft"
Mycroft knew this wouldn't work, but he persisted anyways.
"But they do!"
"Prove it!"
Mycroft looked around the room nervously. He couldn't think of anything to say. Eventually, Sherlock piped up.
"Hah! I knew it! They weren't magical trousers at all! I am not putting any trousers on ever!"
"Damn," Mycroft thought to himself. He'd have to do better if he wanted to truly convince his brother. He left Sherlock's room and went out into the hallway. If Sherlock didn't want magical trousers, maybe he wanted different trousers! Mycroft went back to his room and found the tackiest pair of trousers he owned. He looked at them disgustedly and brought them back to Sherlock.
"Sherlock, I know these may not fit you, but they are trousers that aren't boring"
Sherlock looked at the purple pinstripe trousers. He stared for a good few seconds before making up his mind.
"I'm not wearing them. They aren't boring, but they sure are ugly. And they are still trousers"
Mycroft, exasperated, took the pants back to his room and sat on his bed. How could he get his brother to put on a pair of trousers? Mummy wouldn't let him wear his pyjama bottoms, or his play clothes, so those were out of the question. Sherlock refused to wear any of his good trousers, so none of those would work. Mycroft was ready to give up until one more idea hit him. He got something out of his closet and ran to Sherlock's room.
"Sherlock! I think I know what you want!"
Mycroft had what appeared to be a plaid skirt in his hand. Sherlock looked confused, then spoke.
"I don't want to wear a skirt, Mycroft. I'm a boy! Only girls wear skirts"
"This isn't a skirt, Sherlock. This is a kilt. Scottish warriors wore these a long, long time ago. These are probably the least girly thing in the world"
Sherlock raised his eyebrows.
"Prove it"
Mycroft went into his room and pulled a history book off his shelf and brought it back to Sherlock's room. He sat down on the floor with Sherlock and opened the book to a chapter on the history of Scotland. He read a few passages to Sherlock, who sat wide-eyed, looking at the pictures of the warriors and the battles.
"Did that really happen, Mycroft?"
"All of it, Sherlock"
Sherlock stared at the kilt for a few seconds.
"Mycroft, I think I'm going to wear the kilt. Will it make me big and tough like the Scottish warriors?"
"Yes it will, Sherlock"
Sherlock put the kilt on, with Mycroft's help, and went to show his mother. The kilt was a bit big, but Sherlock didn't mind a bit.
"Oh, Sherlock, you look so handsome in that!"
Mrs. Holmes gushed over her younger son, who stood beaming with his newfound pride and joy. Mycroft smiled proudly and looked at the clock.
"Oh, Sherlock! Mother! We should get going!"
"Ah, I'll go get your father, he should be about done getting ready"
A few minutes later, the family was out the door and in their car, driving to the theatre. All the other spectators fussed over Sherlock and how adorable he was in his kilt, and you could completely tell he loved every second of it. After the play, the family left to go back home, and on the way out, Sherlock gave Mycroft the biggest hug he'd ever given anyone.
"Thank you Mycroft. I really like the kilt you gave me. Am I big and tough like the warriors in the book?"
Mycroft smiled and tousled Sherlock's dark curls.
"I think you're tougher"