"Book. Book. Myc! Book."

Mycroft sighed as he scooped Sherlock off the floor and onto his lap, managing somehow at the same time to wrest the book from his little brother's fingers as he did so. "Yes, brother mine. Book. This is a book. We do not drool on books, nor do we touch them if our hands still have chocolate on them from dessert. Why Mummy let you eat by yourself I don't know. Give me the book, Sherlock."

"Book," Sherlock repeated happily, having ignored the speech. He reached for the book again. "Book. Myc."

"Mycroft," Mycroft groaned. "Mycroft, Sherlock. Say 'Mycroft'."

Sherlock, his quest to reach the book his older brother was holding firmly out of his reach paused momentarily, frowned. "Myc."

"You really do have selective hearing, don't you." Mycroft smiled in spite of himself. "Say 'Mycroft'."

"Myccie!" Mrs. Holmes came into the room. "Myccie, sweetheart, did you- oh, dear, Sherlock, didn't I wash your hands already?"

But Sherlock had already zeroed in on the one word that had made his brother cringe. "Myccie. Myccie."

"Mother!" Mycroft looked at her furiously. "I asked you not to call me that!"

"Oh, dear." Mrs. Holmes looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, Mycroft. I know you did ask me-"

"Myccie, Myccie, Myccie, Myyyy..." Sherlock recited.

Mycroft held his head. "Mother, please take Sherlock and wash his hands before he gets chocolate on anything else."

Mrs. Holmes guiltily lifted the toddler from her eldest son and carried him away. Sherlock waved two sticky hands cheerfully at Mycroft as he went. "Myccie, Myccie, 'bye, Myc Myc Myc..."

Mycroft closed his eyes and took a deep breath, noting with detached amusement that Sherlock had reverted to his original mispronunciation.

"Good night, Sherlock," Mycroft whispered through the bars on his brother's crib that night. "See you in the morning."

Sherlock opened droopy eyes to look at Mycroft, his soft dark curls flopping into his eyes. His small lips pursed. "Mmm... mmm..."

"'Mycroft," Mycroft whispered, unconsciously tucking the loose curls behind his brother's ear. "Come on, brother mine. Say 'Mycroft'."

"Mmm... Myc... Myc'oft'."

Mycroft's eyes widened. "Yes! Mycroft! Say it again, Sherlock. Again. 'Mycroft'."

"Book," Sherlock murmured. "Myc."

A moment later, he was fast asleep.