A/N: This is just a something that NotxMyxDivision and myself came up with.
Disclaimer: Although the plot is ours I must sadly say that Sherlock belong purely to Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat and of course the great Arthur Conan Doyle.
Sherlock had been hiding underneath the bed for ten minutes already. As soon as he had noticed it was the crystal bottle on his father's desk that had made the breaking sound, he had fled out of his study and ran to his bedroom. He knew it was only a matter of time before his father would find him - and he would find him, like every time - but he hoped that if he curled up small enough and didn't breathe too loud, this would be the one time his father's footsteps would just pass his bedroom. However he realised that it would be a lot harder to find him if he fled to Mycroft's room. His bed was much bigger, and therefore it would be easier to hide beneath. With any luck his father wouldn't think of this, Mycroft hadn't really been the closest person to Sherlock and therefore Father would go to another area of the house to hunt him down.
He hadn't anticipated however, upon entering Mycroft's room that his brother would be sitting at his desk reading, and all too well he noticed when his little brother sneaked into his bedroom. "I thought we had clear rules concerning personal space." He said clearly, not looking up from his book. Sherlock shuffled on the balls of his feet and blushed as he quietly squeaked out, "It's Father's expensive crystal bottle. It was an accident… I swear Mycroft!" Mycroft turned his head and raised one elegant eyebrow at his younger brother.
"What did you do to the bottle?" He took in his brother's scared features, and his eyes softened. "You broke it. And now you're hiding, oh Sherlock." He shook his head disapprovingly, turning back to his book. "I'm not taking blame for you." Suddenly Sherlock could feel his face turning red with anger, not embarrassment. "I never asked you to Mycroft!" he growled, still trying to stay quiet so as not to attract the attention of his, soon to be, enraged father.
"Good." Mycroft said, cheerily, flipping the pages of his book. "I'm sure you can wait until father brings up my college applications and look him in the eye and say 'hello' without any problems."Sherlock glared with as much hate he could muster. "Shut up Mycroft!" he snapped, then casually strolled towards Mycroft's bed and leapt on top of the covers. He threw a smirk towards his brother as he noticed the signs of displeasure written clearly across his face."I'm serious." Mycroft continued, flipping another page, and frowned slightly as he realised Sherlock hadn't taken off his shoes. "Don't make a mess."
"Oh, but of course!" Sherlock proclaimed in the most pompous imitation of his older brother he could manage. Despite his words, Sherlock thought it best not to push Mycroft so he proceeded to remove his shoes before settling himself in a more comfortable position in the centre of Mycroft's bed."You do know that you'll still be in trouble later, right?" Mycroft mumbled, turning around on his chair and frowning deeply. "Father doesn't forget easily."
"Yes Mycroft." Sherlock mumbled right back. 'I wonder if Sebastian will be willing to take the blame for me just this once.' Sherlock pondered to himself.
"And as I said, he will be up here pretty soon." Mycroft continued, rolling his eyes. "Either hide, run, or be ready to take his punishment. I'd suggest you'd hide my belt too, unless you want to be in that big of trouble." He was partly teasing, partly serious. He wouldn't want to be responsible for that.
The worry once more graced Sherlock's face, wiping his mind of his previous thoughts. Sherlock slid to his feet once more. "Where would you say is the best place then? I mean I was thinking under your bed but, well...you're in here so...?" he asked anxiously, drifting off at the end of his question.
Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I don't know, Sherlock. I don't usually hide from father. I think it's rather cowardly."
"Well then what would you suggest, Mycroft? It's not like a lack of cowardice is going to rate very high in Father's books!" Sherlock snapped back, slowly pacing around the room. "You could also try to not get in trouble." Mycroft replied, annoyance obvious in his voice. "If you run around the house like a little chicken on crack, of course you're going to break things, and of course father has the right to be angry."
"It wasn't my fault," Sherlock shot right back, increasing his pace. "I lost my footing! I can hardly be to blame for that stupid bottle sitting on the mahogany table right behind where I slipped!" Sherlock pouted at his brother.
"You're not supposed to be in his study anyway." Mycroft shrugged, taking out a pen and starting to write down some notes. "I thought after last time, you'd have learned. But you're really hard-headed aren't you?"
"Well of course I'm hard-headed Mycroft, I'm a Holmes," he answered sarcastically, rolling his eyes "That's what we do, Brother!"
"Yeah!" Mycroft replied dryly, raising an eyebrow at the fast footsteps on the stairs. "Oops. Better decide what to do, Brother. Someone has figured out where you are." He leant back, grabbing his pants and throwing them underneath his desk. It was the least he could do.
Sherlock took one panicked glance around the room; he could feel his palms becoming sweaty and began to tremble slightly as the fear grew to a high level. 'What can you do? Come on just think, quickly Sherlock think, think' His mind was racing with all the different reactions his father would have when he found him. None of these scenarios would end well, Sherlock knew that for sure. He found his mind turning to a haze despite his genuine need for it, and suddenly found he was frozen to the spot. There was nothing he could do!
Mycroft sighed. "At least try not to look too guilty." He was feeling slightly anxious for his brother, but there was nothing he could do - if father was going to be angry, he would be angry. It could turn out in any possible way. He tried to focus on his book again, unable to prevent the feeling of his stomach clenching as he heard their father call out Sherlock's name. He did sound very angry. The footsteps stopped in front of the door, and it slowly opened. The door squeaked slightly as it opened and a second later, the angry face of Siger Holmes came into view. The moment his stormy grey eyes met those of fearful icy blue, his face hardened further. Without a moment to waste, he crossed towards his youngest son, drew back his hand and let it swing towards Sherlock's face, the power of it sending Sherlock flying to the floor.
Mycroft squeezed his eyes closed at the sound, biting his lip. He immediately spun around on his chair, getting up. "Father, please, don't." He had said he wouldn't take any blame, but that didn't mean he couldn't try to calm their father down and help Sherlock, if only just a bit. "It was an accident."Siger turned to his eldest son and spat out coldly "What would you know boy? If you know what's good for you, you'll stay out of this! Or you'll be next. Do you hear me Mycroft Holmes?" Siger stopped from where he had been prowling closer to Mycroft. He turned the full brunt of his gaze back to Sherlock, who was still half sitting, half lying, sprawled on Mycroft's bedroom floor. If possible Sherlock began to quake more at his father's cutting gaze. Mycroft looked at the floor; feeling incredibly flustered all of once. "Yes, father." He glanced at Sherlock, instructing him with his eyes to get up and act normal. "Please let him explain though." He tried, taking a careful step back, not looking up at his father. The last thing he wanted after all, was to join his brother in getting in trouble off their father.
Sherlock could immediately spot the fear in his brother's eyes which must be mirroring his own, as well as the look of pure worry. He followed Mycroft's silent instruction, wincing slightly when pressing his palm to the floor, having sprained it when he fell. He tried to follow his brother's earlier advice about being brave and not cowardly, and he slowly raised his eyes back to his father's face, not quite meeting his eyes fully. Sherlock took a deep breath and waited to see if his father would allow him the chance at explaining.
Siger looked at his youngest son, fury obvious on his face. "Well?" He said shortly, keeping his calm for now. "How is it, that when I happen to leave my study for a couple of minutes, I come back to it to find my crystal bottle on the floor, in a thousand pieces, with the contents spilled all over my carpet?" He clenched and unclenched his fists, glancing at Mycroft for a second, but the older of the two brothers didn't say a thing. He was glad at least one of the two had a proper working brain.
Sherlock swallowed slightly, his throat feeling rather dry. After a quick glimpse towards his brother he found a small amount of courage. In a voice holding more strength and confidence than he thought he would have managed, he spoke "I went to your study to find you as I wanted to ask you something about Mother, about what I should get her for her birthday. When I found you were no longer in your study however, I turned to leave, but I stumbled, I fell backwards into the mahogany table and your crystal bottle fell from where it was resting. I apologise Father." Sherlock dropped his nervous gaze slightly. Mycroft nodded slightly. That was a good reason, wasn't it? He glanced up at their father, not seeing any change in his expression. Siger still stared as coldly at Sherlock as he had done before. Mycroft felt a shudder crawl over his skin. He knew that look. He'd seen it way too many times before. As inconspicuously as he could, he shuffled a bit to the side, trying to be a bit of cover for his little brother - not that it would do much good, but the idea was there.
Sherlock went rigid once more. He had seen his brother's movement and could see the way his father still held a cold, hard look upon his face. The clenching and unclenching of his father's fists worried Sherlock further. His words were not good enough it would seem. Mycroft took a deep breath. "Father..? It was an accident, right?" He tried to smile, licking his lips anxiously. "Look, he couldn't help it. We'll help clean the carpet and then I'll make sure Sherlock focuses on his school work, okay?" He tried to catch his father's eyes, hoping this would be enough to calm him down.
Siger's jaw tightened significantly before slackening, although his face was still rather hard and calculated, from the way his clenched fists had slackened the boys could tell it may have worked. "You better!" He snapped out before turning his gaze purely on Sherlock "This better not happen again Boy! Next time I won't go so easy on you! Do you understand?" Sherlock gave a jerk of his head to show his understanding. "And you," he turned to Mycroft, "Defy my orders again, and you'll be in big trouble, you hear?" Mycroft couldn't help the great sigh of relief escape him, and his stance relaxed slightly. "Yes, Father. Of course I won't. I'll make sure Sherlock stays calm and out of trouble." He grabbed his brother's shoulder and squeezed. "He's just a kid, after all. He's still a bit wild." He tried to smile, but he had a feeling it looked slightly forced. "Apologies again, Father."
Sherlock couldn't help, at that moment, feeling a huge surge of love for his brother at his actions in protecting him. Sherlock saw his father give a jerky shake of his head, telling them they were dismissed from his presence. He then allowed his older brother to carefully guide him through the large manor house all the way down to their father's study. Mycroft moved his hand to Sherlock's wrist, not letting go of him. As soon as they'd reached the study, however, he immediately pulled back his arm and went to look for cleaning utensils. "You better keep out of trouble." Mycroft said voice slightly shaky. "I didn't think it would work." He listened intently for their father to come back to the study, but the footsteps were still far away. "It won't work again."
Sherlock gave a shake of his head in acknowledgement. As Mycroft moved away from him, Sherlock grabbed his wrist to still him momentarily. "Thank you Mycroft." He spoke with tenderness, unable to stop the slight crack in his voice. Mycroft smiled softly. "No big deal. Just please be careful. I don't want father to..." He stopped when the footsteps came closer, and he stepped away from Sherlock. After a quick glance at Sherlock, Mycroft gave a slight smirk. "Clean."
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