It is a dreary August morning, thunder is rumbling and lightning is flashing outside of the flat's windows, as rain pounds against the roof. The two Holmes brothers sit across from each other in front of the unlit fireplace of 221B Baker Street. Both have a warm cup of tea in their hand, eyes locked in a silent battle of wits.
"Sherlock," Mycroft announces, crossing his legs, his slender fingers wrapping around his umbrella's polish-gleaming handle. "I am not here for a simple visit," He pauses, a sarcastic smile on his face. "You already know this, but I am, in fact, here to deal with your lack of responsibility."
Sherlock is the first to look away, turning his head to stare into the empty fireplace. His skin is pale in the light of the warmly lit room and his raven black curls are messy and unkempt, unlike his suit which manages to have no wrinkles even as he sits. Mycroft takes in his brother's state with a quiet click of his tongue, letting out a sigh as he adjusts himself in his seat.
"Go ahead," Sherlock grunts, not looking at his brother. "Tell me what my punishment is for being such a breach to your precious national security." He hisses out the word security.
"You took an important file from my office, spilled disgusting purple goo all over it, and drew a smiley face on the cover," Mycroft snaps. "To make matter worse, you then mailed it to me when you were done having your way with it. You have to learn to be responsible," He snorts and a frustrated amusement. "I know that with our childhood you never saw our parents show an ounce of it, but you could have at least paid some attention to the person who raised you."
Sherlock's eyes darken as he continue to keep from facing Mycroft. "You have a government to run, a diet to cheat on, and an umbrella to polish. Stop trying to waste time with your opinions and just tell. me. my. punishment."
"You will be meeting your punishment in a few moments," Mycroft balances his cup of tea on the arm of his chair before pulling out his phone, quickly sending a text to Anthea, then replacing it in his jacket pocket. "I will warn you now, Sherlock. This is not something to be taken lightly. You must be careful and not mess this up or there will be dire consequences. Do you understand me?"
No response is given, but apprehension is filling the atmosphere around Sherlock, which tells Mycroft all he needs to know. In silence, they listen to the front door of the flat open, close, then more than one set of footsteps climb the stairs. Together, they turn their heads as the door opens.
Anthea is the first to enter, carrying a large box in her arms, but dressed to the nine and somehow managing to text on her phone. Following her, are unfamiliar men also carrying boxes, but they walk by unnoticed by either of the Holmes brothers.
"Is he ready?" Mycroft asks as Anthea places the box on the desk chair, tucking her phone away for safekeeping, before opening the lid to carefully lift out a large dollhouse.
The dollhouse is beautiful, to say the least. With it not being fully open to expose the interior you are unable to see the extreme detail and handcraft put into it, but it is still evident on the outside. Tan siding, small boxes of flowers hanging outside the white framed, glass windows, and elegant swirling designs carved into the door frames. The coral colored roof adds a sense of warmth to the somewhat bland choices of tan and white and makes you feel as if you have seen the home in a dream from when you were a small child.
"He should be," She replies, carefully placing the house on a cleared space on the desk. Tapping her finger lightly on the front door she then calls. "John? Are you ready?"
A muffled sound comes from within the house, then the patting of extremely small feet sounding against miniature wooden floors. The front door of the house opens without a sound and out steps - a tiny man.
The man is only 8 centimeters tall, wearing (what he could only possibly fit into) doll clothes. With his sandy-blond hair perfectly parted, and clothes unwrinkled, he is a spitting image of an army man/doll.
"John, this is Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is Doctor John Watson. John will be your new roommate for the next year. If you two can even manage to be civil with each other for that long." Mycroft smiles sarcastically at Sherlock, who narrows his eyes in distaste.
Mycroft immediately can tell that Sherlock is fascinated by John Watson and his state, but is too stubborn to admit it. He watches as Sherlock's eyes linger, and with sudden realization, turn and glare at the fireplace.
"What makes you think that giving me a gerbil for a roommate will change my sense of responsibility?" Sherlock growls in sarcasm and annoyance, carefully hiding any other emotion from his brother's swift eyes.
"That is no way to speak to John, Sherlock," Mycroft snaps, managing a smile at the tiny man who stares between the two, looking unsure of himself. "Especially since he has served our country in not only protecting it, but in science. He is the first man to ever successfully be shrunk to a size where he can function just as normally as you do at your size."
"But not as normally, because he is not my size."
"Do shut up, Sherlock," Mycroft rolls his eyes as he looks at John once more. "Please don't mind my brother; he can be a bit of a child at times. He does mean to be offensive, mummy says it is a defence to keep people from getting too close."
"I am sitting right here Mycroft and I do not appreciate your cliche narratives."
"Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock's landlady, will be providing your meals for you, because Sherlock is not to be trusted when it comes to feeding anyone, not even himself,"
"You are making me sound like an idiot."
"Aside from that, my people will drop by to check on your state periodically. During that time, I am sure that you two will become well acquainted."
Standing from his seat, teacup still perched on the arm, Mycroft smooths out his suit and adjusts his umbrella under his arm. He glances between Sherlock and John. Sherlock is staring at the wall, John is calmly looking at Sherlock, most likely waiting for some sign of recognition, which Sherlock is most likely not to give.
"Must go, I have a government to run. Do keep in touch Sherlock, I don't need to add this to the list of the things you cannot and are not allowed to handle. It was very nice seeing you again John, I will also be in touch with you."
Followed by Anthea and the two men, Mycroft sweeps out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.