"You're going to burn, Sherlock!"

"We both know that won't happen! I'll catch you, Moriarty!"

"No you won't!"

"Ouch! Mycroft, you can't hit me with your umbrella! That hurt!"

"Shut up, Greg, and play along!"

"Boys, calm down," John said as he stepped between his younger brothers.

"But Mycroft wasn't playing fair," said Greg, pouting his lips.

"Moriarty doesn't play fair," Mycroft countered. "That's why he's a villain, right, John?"

"Well, yes," John said. Mycroft stuck his tongue out at his five-year-old brother. "But," John continued, "I don't believe that Moriarty carries around an umbrella to hit people. He doesn't like to get his hands dirty. And really, Mycroft, you're ten years old, you can't go around whacking your little brother."

"I bet Moriarty would if he had an annoying brother," mumbled Mycroft.

"I'll tell Mummy!" said Greg.

"Tattle-tale!"

"Now there's no need for that," John said. "Look what you're doing to Mrs. Hudson. Doesn't she look upset that you're fighting?"

"Sorry, Mrs. Hudson," Greg said. He walked to the St. Bernard and started scratching her behind her ears. "We didn't mean to make you sad."

"Yes, my apologies, Mrs. Hudson," said Mycroft.

"What's this about apologizing to Mrs. Hudson?" John turned around and saw his mother in the doorway.

"Greg and Mycroft had a small spat," John explained. "It's all sorted out now."

"Mycroft was Moriarty and he wasn't playing fair," Greg added.

"Ah, so you were playing Sherlock Holmes?" their mother asked. "What happened?"

"I was going to blow up the Bank of England!" Mycroft replied, "But Sherlock and John got in my way and stopped me from going through with it."

"The world is a safe place thanks to Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson," their mother smiled. "Your father and I are going out tonight, so I'm just here to say goodnight to you boys."

A pained shout and loud thud turned their heads to the door.

"Dad, are you okay?" Mycroft called.

"BOYS!" their father answered. John felt his stomach become uneasy as he heard loud footsteps go up the staircase. His father walked into the room, his bow-tie undone. "You left your toys on the stairs, and I fell!"

"Sorry, Dad," they answered in unison.

He turned to John. "John, what are you doing? Shouldn't you be studying?"

"I was just playing with Mycroft and Greg," John said. "I finished my schoolwork."

"You have a test this week."

"Yeah, but-"

"You need to stop this nonsense. It's rather silly, playing Sherlock Holmes. He doesn't exist."

"Look, if you want to teach your brothers something useful, that's alright, but you've got to stop playing make-believe. You need to grow up."

"Dad-"

"Tonight is your last night as a child. Tomorrow, you're going to start acting like a man." He turned to his wife. "Sally, are you ready?"

She nodded. "Yes, Andy. I'm just going to put the boys to bed and put Mrs. Hudson downstairs."

"Alright, well, good night, boys."

"G'night, Dad," Mycroft said, watching his father leave before hitting Greg again.

"Mycroft," their mother warned.

"Sorry, Mum."

"Greg, sweetie, you go to your room; I'll tuck you in shortly. Mycroft, if you could take Mrs. Hudson downstairs, that'd be great."

The young brothers left John's room with Mrs. Hudson, and John crawled into bed.

"It's not fair," he said quietly.

"I know, but your father has a point," his mother said, taking a seat next to him.

"I like being young!"

"But you can't act like a child forever. Nobody can. John, dear, you're going to have to grow up."

"I want to have adventures, Mum."

"I know you do, but you'll have grown up adventures. Now go to sleep. Your father and I will see you in the morning."

John lay down against his pillow and stared at the ceiling. He just wanted one more adventure, one more escape before facing the real world. He knew it was pointless, because nothing ever happened to him. As he shut his eyes, he wished for one more miracle to take place.