AN: Just something I scribbled down in a maths lesson...
The clock struck 1:30 and a clap of thunder sounded throughout the house, making a six year old Sherlock Holmes nearly jump out of his skin. He was already curled up under the covers shaking but nothing was helping. The storm had been raging the entire night and he hadn't been able to get an ounce of sleep. Quietly, he slipped out of his room, trying to rid himself of tears with a wipe of his hand as he crossed the hallway, going into his brother's room. Sherlock inched up to the side of the bed; tears still streaming down his face. Shaking the older boy gently he whispered, "Myc?"
Mycroft had been lying in bed half asleep and rolled over at his light touch. Opening his eyes sleeping, he regarded Sherlock with concern, "What's wrong Sherlock?" he asked quietly.
"C-can…" Another bout of thunder sounded and he flinched, bringing his hands to his eyes once more, "Can I sleep with you tonight?"
Moving slightly to make space for Sherlock, Mycroft smiled,"Come on then."
The shaking boy clambered into the bed, shuffling under the covers and curling up, only his eyes and dark curls visible. The rain was still pattering against the roof, they could hear it. There was a single flash of lightening that illuminated the entire room. Sherlock slid further down the bed, drawing the covers up and over his head. He was not looking forward to the thunder that was to come.
Mycroft ducked his own head beneath the duvet, wrapping an arm around his brother as he huddled closer.
After a moment, the thunder roared around the house, exceptionally loud. Sherlock jumped and his hands immediately shot upwards and clung to the front of Mycroft' pyjama top. Burying his face into his older brother's chest, Sherlock hiccupped, "I-I don't like it, Myc." He sniffed, shuddering in his whispers, "Make it stop…"
"I can't make it stop, Sherlock." Mycroft said, holding Sherlock in a warm, protective manner, "But you're safe with me. I'll look after you."
"O-okay."
"Good boy." Mycroft sighed, still cradling his brother close to him and feeling every tremble from the small boy.
Minutes passed but eventually Sherlock relaxed. When Mycroft heard his breathing slow and felt his hands unclench, he allowed his own eyes to fall shut. Soon, he too had drifted off to sleep.
Mycroft had meant what he said; he would always look after his younger brother, whether he liked it or not.