Marta reached over and grabbed Mycroft's wrist. The 21 year old turned about, the tip of his umbrella hovering inches of the floor. His eyes were trained on his colleague, his elder by four years. Mycroft's eyebrow rose slightly, questioning her motive when she said, "Did you see the sign I posted?" without waiting for an answer she continued, "Tomorrow id bring child to work day!" If he had not been trying so hard to school his features he would have rolled is his eyes at her statement. "Marta, I do have nor do I plan to have any children." She grinned and said, "I know. How about you bring your brother?" Mycroft turned to leave and she pleaded, "Oh, please Myc. You know how I adore Sherlock." His back still to Marta, he nodded curtly and went to visit his dear younger brother.
Mycroft quickly cajoled the front door open with his rather rusty old key. He hardly ever came to visit his family after he started working at Buckingham Palace causing the key to fall into disrepair. The doorknob turned and swung open without a sound. the special oak umbrella receptacle given to him for his 15th birthday was stilled beside the grand staircase. Mycroft returned the umbrella to its rightful place for the time being.
"William?" Mycroft called out, his voice echoing in the open space of the front corridor. His parents were not home, he quickly deduced, but his younger brother most assuredly was. He followed the scent of burnt chemicals he would soon come to recognize as Sherlock. The scent lead the elder Holmes into kitchen where he once again asked tersely, "William?" "Actually I go by Sherlock now, Myc," came the only reply. "How many times must I tell you not to call me that? My given name is Mycroft and unlike you, William, I intend to use it."
Sherlock removed the container of burnt chemicals from the microwave and began prodding at it with a fork. "William?" Mycroft insisted. "William, pay attention to me when I speak to you." The younger boy paid no heed, already an expert at tuning out his elder brother. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes, I demand you acknowledge me when I address you. Mycroft finally caved and tried a new tactic. He began, "Sherlock," the 7-year-old's head snapped to attention, "Tomorrow is take your child to work day and my colleague suggested that I bring you."
The glass container the boy held crashed to floor in shock. "You are going to take me to Buckingham Palace?" Sherlock's eyes widened and in a moment of "weakness" he rushed forward to hug his brother. He stopped quickly and looked down at his feet. It took Mycroft a second longer than he would like to admit for him to realize why Sherlock had stopped. Then it hit him, the glass shards. Sherlock had stepped in the glass shards. The boy never wore his shoes unless he had to, so the shards were most definitely going to hurt.
Mycroft, in his thick-soled shoes, walked toward his barefoot brother and lifted the child up and away from the brought Sherlock into the bathroom and set him down on the counter. Tears were beginning to form in Sherlock's eyes. Mycroft sanitized his brother's foot and a pair of tweezers and began to remove the glass splinters one by one. He felt a twinge of guilt each time he heard Sherlock's muffled hiss of pain as each splinter came out. "One more," Mycroft consoled. The older man pulled out some clean gauze and wrapped Sherlock's feet before slipping new socks over the bandaging.
Sherlock was picked back up and he clung helplessly to his big brother. "Will you stay until Mum and Dad come home, Myc?" the boy asked, his eyes pleading. "Would You haven't got a chance," Sherlock giggled. "I believe that I am about to prove you wrong. Would you like to play a game of chess?" Mycroft asked in return. "You haven't got a chance," Sherlock giggled. "I believe that I am about to prove you wrong."
Two hours later Mrs. Holmes was smiling at her two boys sleeping on the couch with a chess game scattered before them. She sighed contentedly and returned to the kitchen to prepare dinner with her husband. "Mycroft finally came over. He and Sherlock are asleep on the couch." The two set to work preparing to have dinner with both of their sons, a privilege they had been denied of far too long.
In the morning Mycroft, who had spent the night in his old room, woke Sherlock early and got ready for work. Mycroft pulled on his favorite flowing trenchcoat and a scarf was pulled around his neck. I want a coat and scarf like that thought, determining that one day he would dress just like his big brother did. The Holmes brothers loaded into Mycroft's car and made their way to Buckingham Palace where Mycroft quickly marched Sherlock into his and Marta's joint office. Mycroft swept in without a curt, "Good morning," aimed at his coworker. Sherlock trailed behind his elder brother's flapping coat, a grin plastered on his face. "I have paperwork to do. Marta, will you show Sherlock around?" Mycroft pushed his brother off on poor, unsuspecting Marta.
Moments later Marta burst back into the room shouting, "Myc, I've lost him!" She frantically cried, "I was just giving him a tour and then I looked down and he was gone." Mycroft rushed down to the kitchen, hoping to find Sherlock before something bad happened. He followed the stench of burning chemicals toward his little brother. Before Mycroft even realized what he was doing he had yanked Sherlock away from his experiment. With his arms still wrapped tightly around the child's torso Mycroft dragged him back to his office.
"Let me go Mycroft!" the boy wailed. Mycroft dropped the boy into a spare seat and locked the door. "Sit there and do not move until I say so," Mycroft glowered. Sherlock huffed and threw himself deeper into the chair. His feet splayed before him and his back slid lower and lower in his seat until he landed on the floor. Mycroft glanced up and chose to ignore his pouting brother.
Sherlock's line of sight drifted to a window cracked slightly open along the bottom edge. He made quick work of shimmying over to it without attracting the attention of his brother. He scanned the area and began to work the window open further. His lithe hands fumbled blindly with the latch, his gaze still on Mycroft whose pen danced across page after page scratching out signature after signature on his enormous pile of paperwork. The cool breeze tickled Sherlock's fingers as the gap slowly widened between window and sill. He risked a glance out the window, calculating his best option. Then, his mind made up, the mop of curly brown hair fell through the window leaving in his wake a rather oblivious politician.
His legs straightened and his arms extended to grab the next window sill down. He swung his legs to kick at the window under the sill he was now desperately clinging to with rapidly paling fingers. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, momentarily regretting his decision before he gathered his wits and began rapidly beating on the window with his wriggling feet. A high-pitched gasp alerted him to someone, probably a female in her mid-40's he deduced, noticing his dangling legs. He kicked out once more pleading to be let in. The window flew open and the image of a woman in her mid-40's met Sherlock's eyes. "Alfred! Come help me," she turned back inside to call out before gaping up at the boy hanging from her boss' window. "You better come look for yourself," she huffed with pursed lips turning around to glare at Alfred who had apparently objected to helping with the as of yet unknown task. "Please get me down," Sherlock begged. He risked a glance at his fingers which were now beading with sweat. I can't hang on much longer the boy thought, flexing his achy fingers gingerly. "Alfred!" the woman screeched. "What?" grouched a man who looked about 50. She just pointed out the window. "Wanda, I don't have time for this," he turned. "Please help me inside," came a cry from outside the window. "Blimey!" Alfred stood shocked, "There's a lad hanging from the window. Wanda rolled her eyes, "Give him inside, Alfred." Sherlock felt his legs being grasped and he was carefully lowered into another office. "Thank you!" the child called after being set back on his feet.
"How did you get out there, boy?" Alfred questioned. "Oh nothing much, doesn't really matter," Sherlock sauntered out of the office, his mind already spinning with ideas. Perhaps he could get the whole floor to go out to the parking lot and race for an experiment. He dashed to an empty supply closet and pulled out paper and a pen. He scrawled out notes asking for the employees to come out to the parking lot in 15 minutes. Sherlock dashed through the hall slipping notes under each door. He grabbed a stopwatch and masking tape from the supply closet and made his way outside to set up a relay race. The first of the employees began trickling out soon with confused looks on their faces. Sherlock's face lit up and he began explaining his scheme...err… experiment.
Ten minutes later Sherlock had worked his magic and had the Buckingham Palace employees lined up for a race in the parking lot. He pressed start on his watch and they set off.
Back in Mycroft and Marta's office the latter of the two noticed that something seemed off as she returned from her coffee break. "Mycroft, why is the window wide open? You know I'm allergic to pollen. Besides, Sherlock could fall out and get himself hurt." Mycroft's head snapped up and he repressed a snarl when he saw that his brother was no longer in the oom. He stood and looked out the window only to see his giggling brother sitting at what appeared to be a finish line surrounded by his coworkers.
The elder Holmes stormed out of the office, fuming all the way to the elevator. He marched right up behind Sherlock and grabbed his wrist. "Come with me, brother dear," Mycroft commanded through clenched teeth struggling all the while to contain his seething anger. He dragged Sherlock into his office before snapping, "You will sit in the chair and you will NOT move an inch." The sound of the window being bolted shut echoed around the small room.
Sherlock was able to sit still for a grand total of 10 seconds before he began fidgeting only to be stopped by a silent glare promising death sent across the room by his brother. Though his hands ceased moving his mind whirled even faster, gaining momentum as one thought gave lead to 10 new ones. The panic button, he thought. He could press the panic button. Oh, that would be fun!
He rose from his seat and walked to Mycroft's desk. Mycroft glared up and the boy seemed to wither. He appeared to attempt to appease his brother with physical contact. He walked around the desk and laid his head on Mycroft's shoulder. "Pretty please, can I do something? I bored," he whined. His hand slipped under the desk when Mycroft raised his head to look at his imploring little brother who stared back doing his best impression of puppy eyes. The lithe pale fingers fluttered under the desk in search of a small red button. As Mycroft demanded that he return to his seat, the boy's fingers brushed against the silent alarm.
Both Holmes' felt a slight shift in the atmosphere as though something vital to the safety of Buckingham Palace had been set into motion. "Sit down," Mycroft ordered. The boy did as told knowing he could soon make his escape.
Several guards burst into the office, guns at the ready. Mycroft looked bewildered, but quickly turned on his brother. "You pressed the panic button," he snarled breaking the dead silence. He turned to the now confused guards and apologized profusely. Sherlock used the distraction to sneak out the door.
The child was waiting for the elevator, but when the door opened MAta saw him and grabbed him by the hand, "What are you doing out here alone? A silent alarm was sounded. You should be hiding," she reprimanded. "I pressed it though," he admitted with a toothy grin. Marta gaped, her eyes widening at the boy who had just put the entirety of Buckingham Palace into lockdown and the queen in a bunker just because he was bored!?
She dragged the young Holmes back to her office. Mycroft glanced at the door as it opened and his colleague pulled his little brother in. One of the guard's phone started ringing. He flipped it open and another voice asked, "Is it true? Is it safe to bring the queen out of the bunker?" The guard nodded, "Yeah. Some kid pushed the button." A female voice was heard, "Well why on Earth would he do that?" Mycroft shifted to adjust his tie when he recognized the voice of the queen. "I would like to apologize on behalf of my brother, your majesty," Mycroft stepped forward with his arm outstretched to take the phone. "I will be certain that he never returns here again," the politician worriedly explained. She laughed causing Mycroft's eyes to grow in confusion. "Actually, I would like to meet the boy one day for tea. He is welcome over any time. I could certainly use a good laugh sometimes." Sherlock grinned at his elder brother and Mycroft knew just what the glint in his eye meant. Sherlock would become a common sight (and nuisance) around Buckingham Palace until the day he died.
~The End~
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