A/N: Tiny AU brought about while BBC's Sherlock was on the screen in the room. I was working on "Sanctuary" (which is being a pain…but explains the theme, I guess) and this sorta just landed in my mind and wouldn't leave me alone. So I guess I accidentally a fic. / (Will most likely be a one-shot).

Summary: Sherlock wants to watch the sunrise. Modern AU. Kid!lock. One-shot.

Warnings: oh so fluffy. And a little blood. But mostly the fluff.

Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock, BBC or otherwise unfortunately. If I did, the following would have made it into the script somewhere.

x.X.x

Transylvanian Lullaby

Sherlock Holmes was not tired. Not one bit. Not even if he had been up since an hour after sunset. Not even if dawn was fast approaching.

After all, only children slept at dawn. Adult vampires could stay up through the daytime if they liked, and at nine years, Sherlock felt quite grown up.

Sherlock sat in the great old library, surrounded by books not only on the vast shelves but also on the tables and chairs and floor around him. He would study today. His soft wool blanket—it was quite chilly in the manor this morning, thank you very much—was wrapped securely around his shoulders, the excess bunching in his lap like a pale blue cloud. The window perch afforded him a lovely view of the grounds—the lake side—and he was determined to see his first sunrise today.

It would be just brilliant, he knew. The rosy glow would cast a fairy haze throughout the trees as golden rays took their time to peak over the horizon. The fog would scatter into the shadows of the forest and yellow light would cast a glow on all it touched. The lake would start to glitter. And finally, the gold would give way to colors-crisp green grass and rich brown bark and a sky as blue as cornflower. And Sherlock, who had read books about biology and the physics of color—very hard books, hardly any pictures—was going to watch it happen.

Just an hour to go. Sixty minutes. Best study his lessons until then...

"Sherlock, why are you still in here?"

Bother! Here was the judge, jury, and executioner. Didn't his brother have more important things to be doing?

At one-hundred-and-seventy-three years, Mycroft Holmes was quite the up-and-coming vampire. A proper upstanding gentleman he was to human eyes, high in the ranks of the British government, elegant, with handsome aquiline features, and quite likeable. His influence in the vampire world, while not as strong as their father's just yet, was notable as well. But none of these things mattered to Sherlock right then.

"You are supposed to be getting ready for bed," said Mycroft firmly. A raised brow invited his little brother's best argument.

Sherlock, scrunching his face between a scowl and a grimace, was determined to get his way tonight. "I'm not tired," he said with what he hoped was indifference. His dark curls bounced as he tossed his head back to hide the half-formed yawn from his sibling.

The elder brother had decided to humor him. "Oh? You're going to stay up through the day, Sherlock?"

"Yes, I am!" said the little vampire, with a little too much enthusiasm for detachment. "I think I may watch the dawn this morning," he continued with a haughty, carefree tone.

Mycroft felt the corners of his lips twitching to smirk. Their mother had sent him to make sure Sherlock was crawling into bed by now; a baby vampire who woke quite some time after the sun set each night was many years away from being able to stay awake through dawn. And besides, the light would hurt his young, developing eyes and cause discomfort to his fresh white skin. But the older vampire found his brother's determination endearing all the same.

"You know," he said, taking a hand to his chin, "I've not seen the sun rising for quite a few years now. I think I shall join you this morning."

Sherlock, who had barely spared a glance for his brother, (so engrossed he was in the horizon he was, while pretending to study history), was caught off guard. He whipped his head around so quickly, his ebony curls became disheveled. He fixed a suspicious silver glare on the elder vampire.

"You're staying?" he asked skeptically.

"Certainly," said Mycroft, drawing his words out. "I wouldn't want my little brother to be alone in watching his first sunrise." Sherlock blushed and bristled at that; of course his brother would know he hadn't seen the dawn before.

"But," continued Mycroft, his tone pensive suddenly, "perhaps...well, the view from my room is just spectacular, directly east." He gestured, palms up, towards the hall.

Sherlock eyed his brother carefully, weighing his options. Could he trust Mycroft? He did want the best view of the dawn...

"Well, alright. But you won't trick me into going to bed!"

"Of course not!" Mycroft replied grandly.

Sherlock delicately extracted himself from his books and blanket and slid to the floor with the silence of his natural grace. Together the brothers left the library and headed to Mycroft's rooms.

Mycroft's bedchamber was located towards the end of the manor's southern wing. The old tapestries on the walls accentuated tasteful mahogany furniture. It truly did have a marvelous view of the grounds to the east, seen perfectly from the large canopied bed, which was exactly where the elder brother chose to sit.

"Come, Sherlock." He patted the spot next to him.

Sherlock padded softly into the room. He had wandered into his brother's rooms many times; his parents' rooms and most of the other rooms in the manor were all too grand, too big for his liking, with beds or tables and chairs that were much too high, much too hard. Mycroft's rooms, however, were smaller, warm and inviting, a bit like his own but with the added benefit of the elder brother's scent, a comfort to the small vampire.

The plush sheepskin rug tickled his feet as he crossed the room and clambered up next to Mycroft. Together the brothers stared out the window.

After five minutes, Sherlock started to slouch. And to drift. He popped up as soon as he realized and widened his eyes twice over. He couldn't let it happen again. Maybe if he didn't have to sit so straight... He looked towards his brother from beneath his feathery lashes and inched over in his direction, just until their legs touched.

Inwardly, Mycroft grinned. Slowly but surely, Sherlock was succumbing to sleep.

The little vampire was leaning into Mycroft more heavily by the minute. His breaths grew longer and fainter, and his eyelids drooped with fatigue. The older brother wrapped an arm around him. And then Sherlock did him one better, crawling into his lap and tucking his curly head beneath Mycroft's chin.

"…almost dawn, My…" the small boy muttered.

Mycroft loved these little moments. So often Sherlock was a precocious brat, a veritable hurricane that stormed through the manor and over the grounds causing trouble for the staff. But when he wanted to, he could act the perfect loving child everyone knew was in him. And right now, Mycroft was the lucky recipient of such a Sherlock.

There was just one more thing he knew would send the baby vampire into slumber.

"You feel quite cool, Sherlock," the elder vampire commented ever so softly, ghosting quiet fingers over the younger's snowy skin. "Are you sure you don't want a little snack?"

"Well..." He muttered dreamily, "maybe just a little..."

Mycroft smiled and lifted a wrist to his mouth. A baby vampire's fangs could pierce a human's flesh but were much to small for the fully formed skin of an adult vampire. The elder brother sank his fangs into his vein for just a moment before reaching around and offering the blood to Sherlock.

The young vampire was shy at first—he felt the intimacy of the act keenly—but after tasting with his tongue, he latched on to the nourishment blithely, sighing with contentment.

Really, the elder brother fed Sherlock often. Their parents hadn't planned for Sherlock. That wasn't to say they didn't love him—on the contrary, Sherlock was quite the welcome surprise, dotted on by every member of the household, from his Father and Mummy and Mycroft to the valets and maids and Cook. But with their responsibilities to vampire society and in the human world, it was often left to Mycroft to care for the little vampire. That included seeing to his feeding and Sherlock could be quite picky as to whom he would drink from.

Mycroft felt little fangs tuck into the wound as Sherlock suckled the proffered wrist. He himself had fed several hours ago so the blood was mostly Mycroft's own, but it had retained a little warmth that made it especially pleasant for the little vampire.

The oldest Holmes brother closed his eyes, blissfully satisfied to simply feel Sherlock's rhythmic draws on his blood.

Soon the pulls became weaker and weaker and then stopped altogether until the wound was healing, trickling a few remaining drops that escaped the little one's mouth and slid down his chin instead. But Sherlock wasn't bothered for he had fallen asleep.

Mycroft felt it as his young brother's active mind settled into calm nothingness for the day. Very gently, he removed the little vampire's play clothes—cuffed navy wool shorts and a white piqué polo—and replaced them with an old linen shirt of his own, worn out to the perfect softness. The garment swamped the child and Mycroft had to fiercely resist the urge to ruffle his angelic ringlets. He settled for drawing his bedcovers and tucking him in.

True to his word, Mycroft hadn't tricked Sherlock into bed and fulfilled their mother's bidding. There were no pressing matters to attend to in the household and work wouldn't call until after the summer holiday; no reason really for Mycroft to stay awake today. He made a decision and, with quick efficiency, changed into his own pajamas. Then he climbed into bed himself. Sherlock cuddled quietly into his still-warm body. Mycroft kissed his lily-white forehead and drew the bed curtains.

One day, Sherlock would be old enough to watch the sunrise, and Mycroft would be there with him, watching the riot of color as it danced across the little vampire's skin, as it reflected in his wide silver eyes. And one day, he would want not just the dawn, but the sun and the horizon, too.

But that day would not be today.

Today, Mycroft would hold Sherlock in his arms as the smaller brother snuggled into him, his child fingers curling absently into Mycroft's auburn hair.

x.X.x

A/N(2): Awww… just couldn't help myself ^/^