Growing Family
Mycroft Holmes never thought that he was a particularly needy child. The eight year old was content in his own company, pouring over books or peeking out of windows or through the bannister posts of stairs to watch the people below all around him. He had friends, but he never really felt like he needed friends. Friends were nice to while away a few hours, or were valued when they came in useful. The same largely applied for his family. However now, with his mother apparently in the throes of the last stages of her labour and his father distracted, pacing about as they remained in the waiting room...here Mycroft felt neglected. Needy.
He pouted and watched his father walking back and forth and fidgeting.
"Is it born yet?" he asked, mainly to break the silence, knowing that it wasn't. He couldn't help the slight resentment in his voice. He had never asked for a little sister or brother. He had never been consulted. That offended him. He had been quite happy how he was thankyouverymuch.
His father didn't answer and Mycroft gave a dramatic sigh, returning to lazing back in his chair and watching the nurses and the patients go to and fro, studying and memorising tehir little details and idiosyncrasies.
It seemed like hours but eventually the midwife called them in with an announcement that the baby had been born. Mycroft's father ran in and grinned, excitedly asking what the gender was, and Mycroft wandered behind unenthusiastically, casting an eye around the white walls and floors, the dated blinds and the sense of exhausted relief that pervaded this room. His mother was in bed, holding a bundle close to her chest.
"It's a boy." she said, voice tired but brimming with gentle pride and excitement. Mycroft's father hurried over and laughed softly, kissing her forehead.
"Mycroft, come on son. Come say hello to your new brother." he said, gesturing him over.
Mycroft scowled, the bitterness weighing up as he prepared hismelf to size up his new rival. he walked over and stood up on his tiptoes to get a proper look at it. Bundled up in a fluffy blue blanket was a tiny pink infant, it's eyes still screwed closed, little fists balled up and moving agaisnt it's restraints a little before settling down, the faintest whisp of dark curls on it's head.
Mycroft stared at him. he wanted so badly to hate him, to resent him, but those emotions dropped away immediately when he saw how fragile the baby looked. How tiny he was in this great big world, full of potential yet so full of vulnerability. Mycroft swallowed and leaned closer, lightly poking him in curiosity. The baby gurgled and briefly threatened to cry, but instead reached out and groped for it in curiosity and soon the tiny fingers clutched around Mycroft's.
Mycroft smiled and he knew at that moment that he would do anything on Earth to protect the tiny child.
"What's his name, mummy?" he asked her.
"I think we'll call him Sherlock." she replied, and smiled at her husband before using a free hand to give Mycroft's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "Sherlock Holmes."