AN: This prompt was given to me by jokergirl4ever and I may come back and add more to this!
John looks at the small figure lying in the bed and wonders not only how this could have happened but what will happen in the future. His shoulders are sagging as he slowly reaches out and picks up the little hand closest to him. The skin is still pale, and the fingers are long and thin but they are so much smaller. A scientific miracle, the first doctor they had said with glee so many days ago, looking down at the suddenly seven-year-old and conked out Sherlock. God had John hated that man, thankfully Mycroft had replaced the man when it became apparent the doctor was more concerned with the hows instead of finding out if Sherlock was okay. The buggering prat even barred John from Sherlock's room!
"How is he doing Doctor Watson"
John doesn't look away from Sherlock. There are dark bags under his eyes; he hasn't moved more than necessary from the other's side for the past four days.
"Good. He should be waking up anytime now. Of course, his brain waves leveled out three days ago and he should have woken up then."
There is the sound of a brolly hitting the floor three times and John smiles tiredly.
"He's being stubborn."
"He's being Sherlock," John corrects. It shocks a laugh out of Mycroft.
"Too true, Doctor Watson, too true."
It takes two more days for Sherlock to wake up. John is out of the room when it happens, leaving the nurses to face a mini Sherlock alone.
"William Sherlock Scott Holmes!"
Sherlock steps mid-deduction on the blond nurse who was having not one, but three affairs and hoping her period was merely late- it isn't- and looks at the door expecting Mycroft to be standing there.
"Geoff?"
Greg rolls his eyes already used to Sherlock butchering his name and straightens up.
"John asked me to make sure the nurses hadn't murdered you yet. You do remember John right? I'm almost unsure if I should glad you remember me," he jokes softly walking into the room. He gives the nurse a remorseful smile.
"Of course I remember you and him, it was my body that shrank not my mind."
Lestrade looks heavenward for a bit before looking at Sherlock with a raised eyebrow.
"Well, that's a shame, as the doctors are already clamouring for someone to take you off their hands. And I was willing to take an overly genius to ice cream," he says.
"Bribery?"
"A little. Plus think of the resulting sugar rush you will have and the fact that it will torture your brother," Greg concedes. Sherlock grins an evil little grin that has the nurses inching out of the room.
"I suppose one cone won't hurt."
While Greg deals with the discharge papers, Sherlock changes into the clothes left for him. They aren't new, instead carefully cared for old clothing. Obviously once belonged to one of Greg's children.
"You should be glad, John tried to buy you matching jumpers before he passed out. From what I got from Anthea, your brother had a nasty shock during that shopping trip," Greg says startling him.
"Is he alright?"
"John or your brother?"
Sherlock levels the older man with an unimpressed look.
"Just tired, which is why we are getting ice cream before you go to your brother. John is on Anthea enforced bed rest."
Sherlock nods his head relieved that his experiment hadn't affected John as well. It also explains why it isn't his brother's ever present assistant taking care of him, not that he can see her taking care of him. She is not what he sees as a mothering type. The ride to the shop is a quiet one, mostly because Sherlock is sulking in the backseat. They pull up to the shop and Greg turns around in his seat.
"I know you said one cone, but if you want more…"
It's with great restraint that Sherlock doesn't mention that he isn't one of the Detective Inspector's children and therefore doesn't need a bribe for Sherlock to behave. He isn't sure if it's sad or pathetic that Greg is borderline using him as a replacement child. He settles with raising an eyebrow at the older man. Greg chuckles.
"Okay, okay. Just one cone."
Together they head into the shop deduction flow through Sherlock's mind as he takes them all in. The man behind the counter is still in the closet because his lover is scared of his mother's reaction to her son- most likely an only child- is gay. The couple in the corner catty-corner to the counter, the man is allergic to her cats but won't say for fear of them breaking up. He doesn't say any of them, while children are allowed to get away with a lot he doesn't want to draw attention to himself. He doesn't plan on staying like this forever. He will figure out why the chemicals he mixed together, quite on accident mind, caused this and will get back to his right size. He just hopes the new pill he has started taken isn't involved, John will not be happy with him.
Greg looks up at the menu and hums softly.
"Do you have a flavour you want? Or can I pick it?" he asks Sherlock.
"You can pick it."
The man behind the counter smiles at them both until Greg places his order.
"We will take one of you special extra large bowls, the one with strawberry, vanilla mint, treacle tart, chocolate, rum and raisins, and malteaser ripple if you please. And one three scoop vanilla mint with coca leaves as well."
The man's eyes go wide, both of those orders are large for a small child. He looks down at Sherlock and winks.
"Your grandpa is a brave man, kid."
Greg flinches slightly but hands over the money needed with a smile and hands over the large bowl to Sherlock.
"It's okay if you can't eat it all," he assures Sherlock as he leads the younger boy over to a table that is away from the door and lets them see most of the shop. With careful deliberation Sherlock takes the plastic spoon handed to him and begins to eat his cold treat, he begins with the strawberry scoop with extra strawberry pieces added in. He can't recall the last time he had ice cream. It wasn't anytime recently, though John may have tried to get him to eat some.
"Tell me about them?"
"About who?" Sherlock asks nibbling on a piece of crumbled waffle cone that came with the chocolate scoop.
"It's unnatural for you not to be announcing your deductions and even more odd for a child to be quiet, and yes I know you aren't really one," Greg explains waving his scoop about. He waits a few minutes and when Sherlock doesn't talk, he throws out a ludicrous deduction that the little old lady sitting alone is an ex-spy. And thus begins a game of Greg saying increasing impossible things and Sherlock correcting him… It shouldn't entertain Sherlock as much as it does, it's beneath his intellect to stoop to such games and yet it is very much fun. He polishes off half of his bowl before his stomach begins to roll. Already he feels his heart rate increasing and the childish urge to run and play drums in his body. Greg, having finished his monster cone earlier, picks up his bowl.
"Come on, let's get you home," Lestrade says sympathetically. Sherlock follows the Detective Inspector as he goes back up to the counter to grab a lid for his bowl.
"We can give the leftovers to Mycroft; if we get there quick enough."
That's not the reason why and they both know it. It's both proof and a warning. It's Greg gleefully stating without speaking that he is what equates to the cooler parent. Which puts a weird image of Mycroft being his dad and Lestrade being his mum. Once more he is placed in the backseat of the car and he kicks his feet boredly. The drive to Mycroft's home is inordinately long to Sherlock's sugar fed mind, he ends up finishing off the last of his ice cream in his boredom before they pull into the long driveway. Mycroft is standing on his porch waiting for them cementing the uncomfortable image of the two being parents in an embattled divorce.
"You are late."
"We stopped for a snack," Greg says with a wave of his hand. He walks up the steps and clasps Mycroft's shoulder with a grin, "Tag. You're it."
Mycroft looks confused for a moment but then Sherlock rushes by straight into the house, yelling 'Experiments!' If Sherlock had looked back he would have seen the look of fear on his brother's face as Greg explained that the snack was a large bowl of ice cream. If he would have looked back he would have seen Greg blush as Mycroft grabbed his hand and asked him to stay. But he didn't, he was too focused on the experiment formulating in his mind that required the breaking of an ugly vase just out of his reach.
Mycroft jumps, startled by a loud crashing noise, and turns away from the retreating form of Greg's car. He hurries into his house and his face pales before colouring in anger when he comes across the shattered remains of his very expensive antique vase but no Sherlock. This is going to be a long forty-eight hours waiting for John to recuperate from his vigil at Sherlock's side.