Lindsey started on Monday and was there when both boys arrived home from school.
"Hi guys!" She waved, a huge smile on her face as they walked through the door.
"Hi Lindsey." Mycroft said, hanging his coat and taking off his shoes. Sherlock set his bag down and crouched to pet Redbeard.
"You guys look so cute in your little uniforms and your little ties and jackets!"
"Uh, thanks." Mycroft said.
"What did you put on my dog?" Sherlock blurted, staring down at the bright pink bandana around Redbeard's neck.
"It's a bandana! I made it."
"I never would have guessed." Sherlock said, staring down at the pink glittering fabric that was for some inexplicable reason adorned with kittens.
"I have the finger paints all set up, come on." She went back to the kitchen and both brothers looked at each other.
"I outgrew finger paints when I was one." Sherlock said.
"We'll figure something out." Mycroft patted his shoulder. He nodded and they both went into the kitchen. The table was covered in paper and all kinds of paints were set up.
"Dig in, guys!" She said.
"I have some homework to do…" Mycroft said, eying the paint with a raised brow.
"Oh you can do that later! Just a picture each."
Sherlock rolled his sleeves up and grabbed a piece of paper and the red paint. "There you go, Sherlock! Come on Mike."
Mycroft grit his teeth but let the annoying honorific slide. He took another sheet of paper and the blue and green paint and they set to work while Lindsey made them tea. "What are you doing there, Sherly?" She asked, setting two mugs down on the table.
"Painting a picture." He said, smearing the red rather harder than necessary.
"Is that…blood?"
Mycroft glanced up at his brother's picture.
"Yes, it is." Sherlock informed her. "It's a murder scene. There's the body," he pointed, "and there's the police, and the murder weapon is under that skip there but the police haven't seen it yet."
"Who's that?" She asked, pointing at a tall figure with a magnifying glass.
"That's a detective."
"Why is he dressed differently than the officers?"
"Because he's smarter than them!" Sherlock said, happily painting in Redbeard beside the detective.
Mycroft smirked and looked back at his painting: a detailed world map.
"Oh. Well." She cleared her throat. "What are you making, Mike?"
"It's the earth." He told her curtly.
"That's not where India is." She said, pointing.
"Yes it is." Mycroft said. "It's between Pakistan and Bangladesh."
"You labeled The Alps wrong." She said, pointing at the mountain range north of India.
"I did not." He said. "Those are the Himalayas. The Alps, are there." He gestured toward France and made a dot to represent Calcutta.
"No they're not."
"Yes they are." He said in an almost bored tone.
"I'm older than you, I'm right."
"Older doesn't mean smarter." Mycroft said, drawing out the Nepalese border.
She made an annoyed sound. "Oh yeah? Well, for that‒you're not getting a snack." She said in a snippy tone.
"Why on earth not?" Mycroft said, turning to her with his painty hands.
"Because you are being rude to me."
"We're really not." Sherlock piped.
"You called me dumb." She said.
"No I didn't." Mycroft said. "I never called you anything."
"You're still not getting a snack."
"Yes we are." Mycroft ground out. "We always have something after school." As if to prove the point, his stomach grumbled.
"No you're not. I'm punishing you and if you disobey me, I'll tell your dad."
"You're being unreasonable." Mycroft said. "I never called you a name. I was merely pointing out the fallacy in your logic."
Sherlock stopped painting and was watching her with narrow, angry eyes, his hands drenched in red.
"You said you were smarter than me."
"Well, in this case, it appears I am." Mycroft said with a little shrug.
"Go to your room." She snapped.
"Lindsey‒"
"Go, Mycroft‒and wait there until your parents get home."
Mycroft didn't move, stunned as he was, and Lindsey grabbed him by the bicep.
This was a mistake. Sherlock ran, using both hands to shove her off of him. "Don't you touch him!" He shrieked.
Lindsey gasped. "My shirt! You little shit!"
"Sherlock!" Mycroft snapped. "Don't!"
Redbeard was barking, leaping around and howling. Mycroft rolled his eyes and ran to the sink to wash his hands. Sherlock, realizing he had ammo, held his hands out at the nanny like he was a bogeyman and chased her screaming into the parlor. "Don't touch me!" She yelled. "Get away!" Redbeard darted after and Mycroft swore under his breath, drying his clean hands.
"Sherlock Holmes!" He yelled it in his best approximation of their mother's tone but Sherlock didn't budge. Lindsey was up on the back of the sofa and Sherlock was waving his hands at her and Mycroft felt a little bit bad for the girl. He grabbed him by the back of the shirt and marched him into the kitchen. "Wash your hands." He commanded. "Now."
"But‒"
"No, just listen to me." Mycroft went back into the parlor to try and placate her.
"Lindsey, I'm sorry about your shirt, let's wash it before the stain sets."
"You just want to see me topless you little pervert!" She snapped, getting off the sofa.
"What? No I don't. I'm trying to salvage your blouse."
"Ulgh‒I'm done!" She snapped. She went to the foyer and grabbed her purse. "I'm never coming back here again!" She left through the front door and slammed it shut.
"Solves that problem." Mycroft shrugged and went back into the kitchen, where Sherlock was stuffing leftover fish and chips into his mouth, his hands clean of red.
"Did she leave?" He asked, gulping the food.
"Yes. Slow down, don't choke‒and warm it up first! It's disgusting cold."
"No it's not." Sherlock bit a chip and Mycroft grabbed another one, taking a bite and sighing.
"Mum and dad are going to be upset." Sherlock said solemnly.
"Yes, they are."
"Do you think we'll get spanked, My?"
"I hope not, brother." Mycroft hugged him sideways. "We can sometimes get mother to listen to reason."
Mycroft called his father at work a few minutes later, explaining what had happened.
"You're home alone?" He asked.
"Yes." Both boys were on separate lines to each speak with him.
Mr. Holmes sighed. "It's already after five. I'll probably be home before your mother. She might have to stay late on her first day. Will you be alright on your own or should I ask a neighbor to check in?"
"No, father, we're fine here alone for a couple hours. We'll do homework."
"Sherlock? Does that sound good to you?"
"Yes, dad."
"You boys be good. I'm trusting you. We're going to talk about this more tonight, understand?"
"Yes, father."
They hung up and Mycroft sighed.
"Let's do experiments!" Sherlock crowed.
"No‒go on upstairs." Mycroft said. "Work on your homework with Redbeard, I'll clean up in here."
Sherlock made a face but relented, snapping his fingers at the dog to follow him up.
That evening found both boys standing in front of their parents in the parlor, who were seated on the sofa. Their father looked serious and their mother, stern and stormy. Mycroft explained the whole story once again.
"He really didn't call her names, mum." Sherlock said. Both boys knew it was their mother they had to convince. She handed down the discipline in the home most of the time.
"And why did you get her shirt all covered in paint, Sherlock?" She asked, "that was very naughty."
"She was grabbing Mycroft!" He said. "She grabbed his arm like this‒" he grabbed his brother's bicep hard and yanked him. "She was trying to send him to his room and deny us snacks." Sherlock yanked him again just because he could and Mycroft tugged out of his grasp.
"We weren't all that rude to her, mum. I was just correcting her geography. She denied us food because she wanted the upper hand."
"She called me a little shit." Sherlock said.
"She what?!"
"She did, mum." Mycroft said, "when he got paint on her. She called me a pervert too, when I suggested we wash her shirt."
Mr. Holmes and his wife made eye contact and her severe expression melted a little. The boys were prone to mischief, but they‒Mycroft rather‒rarely lied, and this story, silly as it was, sounded entirely plausible. "Alright, you two." She said, "we'll need to find another nanny. You won't be punished for this, but if you chase off the next one, you'll both regret it. Understand?"
"Yes, mum." They both murmured.
"Good boys." She stood and hugged them both, "now, what's for supper?"
tbc...