Hello again, readers. For this 'Experiment' part I went back in time to show a snippet of the Holmes brothers as boys, their parents, and a younger Mrs. 'nanny' Hudson. John is not in this story. I hope you enjoy, lovelies :)

"Give it back, Mycroft!" Seven year old Sherlock reached as high as he could, trying to knock the item out of his brother's grasp. They were just off the kitchen in their parent's home, having just come home from school.

"You know you're not supposed to have it, little brother." Mycroft told him in a smug voice. Red beard stood beside Sherlock, wagging his tail and staring at Mycroft.

"Give it back!" He growled. "I need that‒I had it first!"

"And you shouldn't have it all." Mrs. Pollyanna Holmes strode past her boys and plucked the eight inch meat cleaver out of Mycroft's hand, completely unfazed as she placed it on the top shelf in a kitchen cabinet.

"Mum." Sherlock wandered after her. "I need it for an experim‒ "

"‒Sherlock, love, your father and I have spoken to you about the knives."

He scowled and she went on. "They're very big and dangerous and though you're an extremely bright boy, everyone has accidents. I don't want you to hurt yourself." She kissed his forehead and went to put the kettle on.

"He was going to use it to cut up earthworms." Mycroft announced.

"That's horrible." She said to her son. "Dead, of course?"

"Of course." Sherlock said in an innocent voice, wringing his fingers.

"Hm. Marginally better." She gave him what both boys simply called The Look. It was a sort of expression that managed to say 'I know when you're being naughty and lying so don't even try any funny business with me, young man.' The brothers were very familiar with it. Sherlock conceded this victory and grabbed an apple out of the bowl in the center of the table.

"When your father gets home tonight," she said, "we're going to sit down and have a family meeting after supper."

"Why?" Mycroft asked.

"Because I have some news."

"Are you having a baby?" Sherlock asked, eyes wide. She poured hot water into three mugs.

"No, you fool." Mycroft scoffed, pushing him. "She's too old."

"Excuse me?" She looked up, leveling a disbelieving stare at her oldest.

"I just," The twelve year old blinked and stammered, his face turning pink when faced with having to explain rudimentary female biology at his mother. "I mean, well…"

"No," she said to Sherlock, "I'm not pregnant."

"Mum?" Sherlock watched her make them all tea. "Can we get pizza for supper?"

"I don't see why not."

A few hours later, the four Holmes' were seated at the dining table, the leavings of dinner scattered on each of their plates. Sherlock was slipping bits of crust to the dog under the table.

"Now then," Mrs. Holmes said, "your father and I have already discussed this a bit, but…I've been offered a job teaching maths at the local college."

"Mum, that's great!" Mycroft said.

"Thank you, dear. It's part time, three days a week."

"Will you be here when we get home from school?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, not on Mondays, Tuesdays, or Fridays." She said.

"So does that mean I'll be in charge of Sherlock?" Mycroft asked. His grin was bright enough to light a small planet.

"No." Mr. Holmes said firmly. "We're bringing in a nanny."

"A nanny?!" Sherlock yelped. Oh no, this was all wrong. His mother was going to be away for days and days and she was leaving them with a total stranger? "What about dad? Is he leaving his job?"

"No, son." Mr. Holmes said. "My job stays the same."

"Mum," Mycroft said, "I'm too old for a nanny."

"You most certainly are not." She countered. "We want someone to be here in case anything goes wrong."

"Nothing will go wro‒ "

"‒You're getting a nanny." Mr. Holmes said.

"But we'll be sure to get someone you boys get along with."

"I don't want a stupid old nanny‒I want you to stay home." Sherlock declared. The Holmes' exchanged a glance and his mother spoke to him.

"Sherlock, love, we'll be getting more money."

"Sure, son, and your mother has been wanting to get back into maths. You're both old enough now to be more self sufficient, and your mother's very keen."

"You don't want to be here with us?" Sherlock asked, his voice trembling.

"That's not it at all." She said to him. "We love you both very much and I would love to spend every moment of every day with you, but a second job will be very useful."

"I hate it!" Sherlock snapped. He got off his chair and stormed from the room. "I hate the job and the dumb nanny!" He went up the steps, Redbeard on his heels, and slammed the door to his bedroom. A brief silence lingered over the table.

"I'll go talk to him." Mrs. Holmes stood and followed him and Mycroft looked at his father.

"What do you think about this?" Mr. Holmes asked.

"I think it's good." He said matter of factly. "Mum wants the job and the money. I," he paused, wanting to break his idea to his father in a way that wouldn't be shot down. "I wouldn't mind being on my own a bit more‒I know the nanny will be here, but I could make Sherlock and myself the after school tea and a snack or such."

"I believe you can." Mr. Holmes said with a grin.

"Or maybe…" Mycroft said, "go out after class?"

"To where?"

The boy shrugged, thinking of the chemist's up the road from the school that sold cigarettes. It was right next to the music shop where Sherlock took his violin lessons. Mycroft's classmate Ryan said the lady who worked at the chemist's would sell them to anyone. "Maybe the library?" He told his father.

"Hm. The library?" It was tempting to think he was lying, but knowing his intelligent son, he actually would go to the library. "We'll see." He said.

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Holmes knocked his bedroom door. No answer. She opened it up and found him laying on his bed, having thrown himself into his pillow dramatically. "Sweetie…" She came into the room and sat on the edge of his bed, patting his back. "Talk to me?"

"I don't like this."

"I know, darling, but it'll be good for us. Why don't you like it?"

He turned his face out of his pillow. "Because I'll never see you."

"That's not true! Come here." She pulled at his arm and he allowed himself to be piled onto her warm lap. He tucked into a ball and stared at the pink floral pattern on her shirt. "We'll see each other plenty. "I'll be home with dad, and I'll be here Wednesday and Thursday when you come home from school, and weekends too. You'll see me every day, love, alright?"

"Mmm…I guess." His voice was small and she kissed the top of his curly dark head.

"Good. And anytime you want to, you come talk to me or dad about anything that's bothering you, alright?"

He nodded. "kay."

"I love you, you know."

"I love you too, mummy…" He reached up to hug her.

Mr. Holmes was in bed that evening with a crossword, dark glasses perched on his nose. His wife got in beside him and threw the duvet over her legs, rubbing hand cream on her arms.

"How's Sherlock doing?" Mr. Holmes asked.

"Oh, he's feeling better about it, I think. I found someone we can interview this weekend. Ms. Clemens next door recommended her."

"The boys hate Nancy Clemens." Mr. Holmes said, writing an answer in the boxes.

"Well, yes, but maybe they won't hate the nanny."

"Just don't tell them it was Nancy who suggested it."

"Goodnight, dear." Mrs. Holmes lay down with a sigh and turned off her light.

That Saturday morning, Sherlock and Mycroft were hiding in the shadows at the top of the steps, watching as their parents escorted a young blonde Uni-age woman into the parlor.

"She has cats." Sherlock said. "Two."

"She's a size 6 shoe." Mycroft murmured at him.

"Go, Redbeard." Sherlock said, patting the dog. "Get intel and report back to us."

Redbeard woofed and trotted down the steps, tail wagging. He sniffed the woman's purse and licked her hand, then trotted back upstairs.

"Well?" Sherlock whispered. Redbeard sat down and panted happily, glad to be beside his master again. "He likes her." Sherlock groaned.

"He likes everyone."

"Boys!" Mrs. Holmes called. "Come down here please."

"I don't want a nanny, Myc." Sherlock moaned.

"Me neither. Just be civil for now. We'll figure something out."

"'kay."

They both went downstairs.

"Boys," mummy said, "this is Lindsey Miller."

"Hello Lindsey, my name is Mycroft and this is my little brother, Sherlock." He extended his hand to shake.

"Oh my goodness‒aren't you two the most adorable things I've ever seen?!" Lindsey squeaked and pinched Mycroft's cheek, ignoring the outstretched hand entirely.

Sherlock gave his father a pathetic look and rolled his eyes.

"Ah, Lindsey is a student." Mrs. Holmes continued. "She's getting her degree in…?"

"Pottery." She said proudly.

"Useful." Sherlock said. Mycroft stomped on his foot.

"Ow!" Sherlock yelped.

"Father," Mycroft said, putting a hand over Sherlock's mouth, "there's some homework we need to attend to, may we be excused?"

"Oh my God, they speak so well! How old are they? Five and ten?"

"I'm twelve." Mycroft bit out.

"Go." Mr. Holmes said. Both boys hurried up the steps.

"Oh God!" Sherlock wailed behind his brother's closed door. "Myc, they can't stick us with her!"

"I'm afraid they might."

"What if we say we hate her?"

"They'll tell us to give her a chance."

"What if we say she punches us in the face and locks us in the cellar?"

"Sherlock! Don't joke about that kind of thing!"

Redbeard licked Sherlock's hand.

"Redbeard, kill!" Sherlock pointed at the hallway and the dog wagged his tail happily, watching Sherlock with wide, dark eyes. "Oh it was worth a shot." He threw himself on Mycroft's bed and curled up to face the wall. "This is awful."

"Fear not, brother. We won't have to be stuck with someone we don't like. We'll gather more information tomorrow and come up with a plan."

tbc...