Author's Note: I'm quite nervous about posting a kid!lock fanfic as the characterisation is harder to imagine. I tried to get Sherlock right – I imagine him being quite rambunctious. As far as Mycroft goes I tried not to change him too much. I don't know about you but 14 year old me was a lot like 22 year old me, just less mature and probably more emotional… though I am still quite angsty but people put that down to me being a "creative" type. Haha. Anyway I hope you read, review, and enjoy! Lauren, my best friend who made me watch Sherlock in the first place (and I proceeded to convert my other best friend to it), this is your fault.
Disclaimer: Clearly I don't own Sherlock. The show is the baby of Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, while Sherlock Holmes itself is the creation of Arthur Conan Doyle.
Of Treetops and Umbrellas – by Blood-Sucker-1428
Mycroft Holmes sat in the lounge room re-reading Dante's Inferno with a warm cup of cocoa on the coffee table. He briefly entertained the idea of putting his feet up on the table but could hear Mummy's voice in his head scolding the idea. His parents had gone away for the weekend to celebrate their anniversary and this had been the first time they'd trusted Mycroft to look after the house all by himself without a baby sitter for the two nights. Unfortunately that also included his little brother, Sherlock, and the family dog, Red beard. Sherlock had Mycroft's predisposition to need very little sleep so whenever Sherlock was up in his room playing with the dog it was Mycroft's only chance to read or to study. Mummy and Father would be back in the late afternoon, allowing a few hours for Mycroft to tidy the house up a bit after he finished a few more pages of his book. Mycroft was just starting to get lost in the book – revelling in the original Italian – when he suddenly felt the gaze of two large bright blue eyes on him. Mycroft lowered the book to see his brother standing at the edge of the couch. Mycroft sighed, closing in the book, he crossed his legs and gave his seven year old brother a poignant look. The child didn't even flinch.
"What is it, Sherlock?" Mycroft breathed out – sounding surprisingly like your average fourteen year old boy annoyed with his sibling.
"I'm bored." Sherlock whined. "I want to go play." Mycroft clicked his tongue as he leaned forward towards the little boy with the mop of curls.
"Weren't you playing detectives with Red beard in your room?" He asked. Sherlock nodded with a frown on his little face.
"Yeah, but he isn't as good at detectives as you are." Mycroft couldn't hide the half smile at this answer. "He's better at pirates." Mycroft rolled his eyes and looked at the clock on the wall. It was midday – the sun outside would be decent enough to read in if Mycroft could find an ideal amount of shade.
"Would you like to go to the backyard and play pirates with Red beard? I could join you outside with my reading." The mop of curls was being shaken in disagreement again.
"No." Sherlock whined. "I'm bored of the house, we haven't left all weekend." He stamped his foot and Mycroft sighed.
"Well, what am I supposed to do about that, Sherlock? I can't exactly take us into London on a day trip, now, can I?" Mycroft couldn't even imagine how Mummy managed Sherlock when he was too small to attend school – taking him everywhere she went. It would have been ghastly. Surely Mycroft was never like that, surely not. "And Mummy said we are not to leave the house or let anyone in."
"We can go to the park." Sherlock's voice filled with excitement. "It's walking distance." Mycroft groaned in response. Sherlock frowned and poked Mycroft in the knee. "Even you can walk that far, Myc." Mycroft sighed, taping his fingers on the top of his book, debating whether or not to take this infuriating child to the park in order to shut him up or to tell him to be quite and put up with a Sherlock sized temper tantrum for the rest of the day. He was in no mood for a temper tantrum today. Mummy and Daddy were coming home at four, if it was twelve now they could go to the park until two, come home, clean up, and be ready for their parents' home coming. Mycroft 'tsk'ed.
"Alright, Sherlock, go put your shoes and your coat on and we'll go to the park." The young boy got a bright smile on his face as he ran upstairs. Mycroft watched as the boy left. "No 'thank you, Mycroft. You're the best brother possible, Mycroft'? No, of course not." He sighed and shook his head.
Mycroft grabbed his, book, his wallet and the house keys, waiting as for Sherlock at the front door. He paused for a moment, looking back towards the house. Mummy would insist I take a water for us. He walked back into the kitchen, pulled a plastic bottle from the cabinets and filled it up at the sink. He heard the footsteps of very loud little feet run past the kitchen door. When he walked back to the front door he unlocked it but before opening it he turned to Sherlock.
"Now, you'll have to hold my hand on the walk to the park." Sherlock squished up his features and annoyance.
"Yuck! Why?" He whined.
"Because Mummy always makes you hold her hand so you don't go running off like a buffoon." Sherlock muttered under his breath a response Mycroft was certain wasn't favourable, but sure enough, as soon as he and Mycroft crossed the front gate a little hand slipped into his own.
When they got to the park Mycroft settled under the shade of a tree. He told Sherlock to play in the playground or anywhere within Mycroft's sightline. If he wandered out of Mycroft's field of view from this tree and Mycroft had to get up and find him they would be going home straight away. Sherlock tried to argue but quickly accepted and ran off to play pirates or one game or another on the bridge. Mycroft leaned against the tree and continued his reading.
Mycroft had become so absorbed in his reading that he only now noticed the shade was now darkening over half his page. With a frown, he checked his watch for the time. Two twenty three pm. They should be getting home in order to tidy the house before Mummy and Daddy got home. It wasn't messy but Sherlock had a few items scattered and Mycroft had left papers on the kitchen table and some books in the family room – he was determined to leave it spotless to show he could handle this responsibility. Perhaps he could leave it cleaner than Mummy had it. That would show them. He scanned the playground with his grey-blue eyes, his eyebrows furrowing slightly at the lack of the hyper little brother. He then lifted his gaze slightly and clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes.
"Oh, Sherlock…" The little boy was climbing high up in a tree on the opposite side of the play equipment. What that boy's fascination with getting himself in dangerous situations was, Mycroft would never understand. Hopefully he'd grow out of it, otherwise his and Mycroft's lives were going to be more complicated than they needed to be.
Mycroft got up from his spot under this tree, book clutched tightly in his hand, and marched over to Sherlock's tree, looking up in frustration, his free hand on his hip.
"Sherlock, get down!" He yelled up to his little brother who was standing precariously on a suspiciously small looking branch.
"No!" He heard the child's voice being yelled in return. "I'm busy!" Mycroft held his hand up to his brow to block the sun and get a better look at the wild little child.
"What in God's name are you doing up there?" the boy insisted on climbing higher and as he did Mycroft could feel his heart sinking deeper into his heart.
"I'm getting a view of the park so I can commit the layout to memory." Mycroft groaned.
"Sherlock, we can do that on foot! Come down." No response. "Sherlock!?" Wait. Still no response. Mycroft huffed. Sherlock was going to make this hard on him and he'd have to find a way to repay the boy in kind later. He placed Dante's inferno down next to the base of the tree and scouted the tree for the easiest climbing route. Satisfied – though thoroughly annoyed – Mycroft jumped, caught a branch, and began climbing with an oomph. His leather shoes slipped slightly against the bark and he briefly considered stopping to take his shoes off, but felt he was past the point of no return. When Sherlock saw him climbing the little boy got a grand look of annoyance on his features and began shooing Mycroft away.
"What are you doing!?" He squealed. "Mycroft, you're too fat!" Mycroft stopped before his little brother, not daring to look at the ground.
"I'm getting you down before you hurt yourself." He huffed as he tried to catch his breath.
"But Mycroft, this is important. This way I'll have a perfect understanding of the surrounding area." Mycroft rolled his eyes.
"I'll organise a walking tour for you, just get down, this isn't safe." He reach out for his little brother but the little boy pulled out of the way. He felt his heart leap as he watched the little boy lose his footing slightly, wobbling in the wind. Mycroft lunged forward, one hand on the branch above him, the other going for Sherlock. Sherlock reached for the branch above and one hand to grasp onto Mycroft's tightly. Once Sherlock's footing was once again secure the boys both let out a deep breath. "Will you get down now?" Mycroft asked quietly. The little boy nodded with a pout.
"Yes, Mycroft." His voice was also quiet. Mycroft guided Sherlock past him back to the trunk where it was safest to climb. Once it was certain Sherlock was climbing down safely Mycroft turned to follow suit when.
Slip.
His leather shoe lost friction with the bark and slipped from under Mycroft. He heard an ungodly crack as he slipped onto the branch and fell to the ground, landing on his back. He lay where he landed – shocked by the agony and speed of it all – to see scared bright blue eyes peering down at him from the tree.
"Mycroft!" He heard the little boy yell and began rapidly descending from the tree. Mycroft rolled to his side with a groan. His lower back was bruised, he could feel that much. Mycroft tried to shift into sitting position when a sharp pain radiated up his leg. Oh no. He groaned and placed a soft hand on top of it, wincing, settling for propping himself up on an elbow. Loud footsteps stopped to his side and he felt a little hand on his shoulder. Sherlock was leaning over to look him in the face. "Mycie, are you ok?" Mycroft took a deep breath in order to make sure he spoke in a steady voice not to frighten Sherlock.
"I'm alive, if that's what you mean." He said flatly. "My leg is broken, however." Sherlock's bright orbs slowly fell from Mycroft's face onto the leg his hand was holding.
"How do you know it's broken? It could just be something else." Mycroft rolled his eyes.
"I heard the crack, I can feel the pain, Sherlock. It's most definitely broken." Sherlock gave Mycroft a flat look.
"Are you sure it wasn't the branch?"
"Now? Really?" Mycroft exhaled. Sherlock's face briefly flashed with something that might be sympathy before it was replaced with a serious expression usually saved for playing deductions. He slowly bent down over Mycroft's leg. "Sherlock, don't touch it." Too late. Mycroft groaned and winced in pain as Sherlock placed both hands and on his leg and prodded hardly.
"You're right." The little boy said, standing back up straight, wiping his hands together. "It's definitely broken."
"Oh, thank you, Doctor Holmes." A pause as Mycroft absent mindedly rubbed his leg and Sherlock watched him do so. "What are we going to do?" Sherlock hummed and looked around, scanning for options.
"I could run home and call an ambulance." The boy said calmly. Mycroft blinked.
"Sherlock! No!"
"Why not?" The boy whined. "I know the way and I would be straight back."
"Look, you are not going anywhere without me and that's final." Sherlock huffed and folded his arms in response. Mycroft was not going to let Sherlock out of his sight – one thing had gone wrong already, he did not need another thing to fail abysmally. Whatever would Mummy say? That still did not fix the current issue of how to get out of the park. "We just need to get home by ourselves and then we can call an ambulance." He said out loud though he was mostly speaking to himself. His mind was clouded with pain. If this was anyone else he could think of a solution instantly. Hell, if this was Sherlock he could carry the boy home. He shook his head. Don't think about it being Sherlock. Both boys looked around, as if searching for clues. Suddenly Sherlock's face light up.
"I'll be right back." The boy whispered and ran in the direction of an elderly couple strolling the park. Mycroft made to call after his brother but with a roll of his eyes gave up. It's not like he could chase after the child right now. When Sherlock returned he was running with an umbrella, taller than he was, held over his head triumphantly. "I've got it!" He called out excitedly. "You can use the umbrella for support." Mycroft eyed Sherlock suspiciously.
"An umbrella, really?" Sherlock frowned and nodded. Oh dear, he was serious.
"It's a big umbrella." Sherlock argued, holding it next to him as a guide. "And I know you might worry that it can't support all your weight but that's why I'll help you too." A pause. Why was Mycroft even considering this? Well, because it was the best option they had at the moment.
"Fine, help me up, would you? And don't forget my book."
And thus the Holmes brothers hobbled home with an umbrella as a makeshift crutch and Sherlock not really helping, but feeling like he was as he walked the entire way home with his hand on his brother's back.
As soon as they got home Mycroft collapsed against the wall with a deep sigh. Red beard came running up excitedly to Sherlock but the boy muttered a "Not now, Red beard." And ran straight for the phone to call an ambulance. The dog came towards Mycroft carefully, sniffing him from head to toe. Mycroft rolled his eyes but couldn't be bothered shooing the dog away for once. The dog made a whine and began licking Mycroft's hand. Stupid dog Mycroft thought as he smiled at his brother's best friend.
"Hi, my big brother fell out of the tree and broke his leg. We're home alone and have no way to get to the hospital." Mycroft shut his eyes, feeling the dog lick his hand, and listening to Sherlock's voice on the phone. "No, we're both quite certain it's broken. He's in the entrance way at the moment." A pause. "No, I don't think he can talk right now." God bless Sherlock, sometimes. Mycroft sighed. "Yes I know our address." Shortly the phone was hung up and Sherlock appeared next to Mycroft. They sat on the floor with Red beard in between them. "They'll be here in a minute." He spoke softly. Mycroft nodded in response. "What are we going to tell Mummy?" The little boy didn't so much sound like he was scared of getting in trouble – more like this was what the brothers were expected to do. Briefly Mycroft considered that this should be concerning however the thought was gone as soon as it came. Mycroft hummed in response.
"I'll think of something." He was barely speaking over a whisper as he tried to concentrate on the moisture on his hand left by the dog rather than the pain in his leg and the minor pain in his tail bone. The boys lapsed into silence.
It wasn't too long before the ambulance arrived. Sherlock locked Red beard into his bedroom to keep the dog safe and let the paramedics in. Straight away one began fussing with Mycroft's leg while another asked him questions.
"What's your name, kid?" The man was trying to talk in a ridiculous tone that people always tried to use with young teenagers and kids. Mycroft fought the frown threatening to hang over his face.
"Mycroft Holmes; M-Y-C-R-O-F-T. I'm fourteen years old, no known allergies, and no I haven't been to a hospital outside the country recently." He predicted the next few questions. The man smiled politely rather than frowning at him, which Mycroft appreciated, and wrote down on the forms. Mycroft could see Sherlock standing a few steps away, watching silently with concern in those bright eyes.
"So what happened?" Mycroft and Sherlock made eye contact.
"My brother and his dog were playing in the backyard. One of the dog's toys got stuck in the tree out there. I did not want him trying to get it so I climbed up and got the infernal thing down. Unfortunately on the way down I slipped, hit my leg, and fell landing on my tailbone." Sherlock's eyes fell to the ground and the boy shuffled his feet.
"Hang on, don't freak out yet, it might not be broken."
"It's definitely broken." Both Holmes brothers said flatly at the same time. The inane question and answer session, as well as the poking and prodding, continue for a few more moments before the paramedic looking at Mycroft's leg placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Right son, we're going to have to get you into the ambulance and see what we can do about contacting your parents."
"My little brother has to come." The man smiled warmly.
"Yeah, of course."
Mycroft was lying in a hospital bed – cast on his leg – with Sherlock curled up in the bed besides him when his mother and father burst into the room.
"Oh, my poor Mycie!" His mother wailed as she pulled Mycroft into a tight hug. His father stood at the foot of the bed, hands on the railings, and smiled warmly but sadly down at his eldest son. "What we're you thinking, trying to get a toy out of a tree! You should have left it there." Sherlock shifted in the bed and blinked a few times.
"It was my fault Mummy," he spoke sleepily. "I'm sorry." Mummy looked down at her youngest and pulled him into a group hug.
"No, my little boy, it's not your fault, it's no one's fault. You were just being normal boys for once." Mycroft tried to pull against the hug but gave up and rested his forehead on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Mummy. I tried to be responsible." She pulled from the hug and placed both hands on either side of Mycroft's face, looking into his grey eyes with her own sad eyes. She placed a kiss on his forehead.
"You did fine Mycie, these things happen." She patted him on the knee. He considered complaining about the nickname but found he just couldn't be bothered.
"Violet, why don't you get a cup of coffee and maybe something sweet for the boys? After that we'll see about taking Mycroft home." Father's voice came in his warm calming tone. The math genius' gaze went up to her husband and she nodded.
"Good idea, dear." She hummed. "I'll be right back boys." She gave both of them a kiss on the forehead – to which they both frowned at – and left the room. Their father waited until his wife left the room before sitting down next to Mycroft on the opposite side of the bed to his brother. Why did everyone insist on invading his personal space right now? He wasn't dying.
"So boys," He looked frown youngest to eldest and back. "Who's going to tell me what really happened?" Both sets of blue eyes blinked in confusion.
"What are you talking about?" Sherlock said as he rubbed his eyes sleepily.
"We told the medical staff precisely what happened." Their father smiled knowingly.
"I might not be a genius, but I am an elder brother myself, and your father." Sherlock looked at Mycroft, but Mycroft never wavered from the hurt feeling he gave his father. Mr. Holmes chuckled softly and patted his eldest on the head. "Well if you're not going to tell me you can keep your little secret between the two of you." Father got up and settled himself into one of the plastic hospital chairs. A moment of silence passed with only the sound of the hospital clock ticking before Mycroft turned to his father and spoke.
"Father…" He began, locking eyes with the senior Holmes. "There will be an umbrella in the entrance way. See to it that you destroy it before Mummy finds it." Mr. Holmes' eyes smiled as he smiled cheekily at his two sons in the hospital bed.
"Right away, Agent Holmes." He jested.
Author's Note: I hope this was satisfactory and worth your time :). Thanks!