Sherlock had to pee.

Hephaestus hadn't beaten him, but to make sure Sherlock knew who was in charge he forbid the boy to use the bathroom without permission. The child dragged heavy metals from the bottom of a deposit ditch back up to the forge. The already challenging task was becoming nearly impossible with his small bladder full.

He had put wheels on the bottom of the sled Hephaestus had given him to make the job easier. He sat at the top of the hill with his hands deep in his lap. His legs twitched restlessly. Hephaestus came out of the forge covered in filth and soot. He saw the child doubled over in pain.

"Did you alter your sled?" Hephaestus demanded.

"I couldn't carry the amount of metal you wanted without wheels. I figured I had a better chance of not being punished with all my work completed. May I use the bathroom?"

"No." He said roughly.

"I have to go." The boy growled.

"I need all the metal brought here with in the next hour. Then and only then may you pee."

"I can hardly walk." Sherlock whined.

Hephaestus struck the boy across the back of the head. Sherlock rolled down the hill head over heels, a small stream of urine leaked through the boys pants. He reached the bottom of the hill and landed heavily on a sheet of iron. The rest of his urine was knocked out of him. He felt the disgusting warmth between his thighs and tried not to cry.

From above him Hephaestus called down to him. "Still have to pee? No? Good, get your little ass up here with my metal, little shit."

Sherlock picked up a small piece of metal and flung it at the god. "There's your metal, you old goat!"

Hephaestus caught the metal without a problem. He threw it back at the boy with five times the strength. It caught Sherlock in the left shoulder. He screamed as it passed through skin and muscle. He dropped to his knees with blood coursing down his chest.

"Metal, up here. Then you're dismissed."

Sherlock fell forward onto his face, his fingers around his new wound. His icy blue eyes were glazed over. In his mind he called for his master repeatedly, physically he could do no more than lie completely still. After several deep breaths he rose to his hands and knees.

He had to climb back to the top of the hill to retrieve his sled, but he refused to let the god win. It took him two and a half hours to bring up the rest of the metal. By the time it was completed he had lost too much blood to make it home alone and his pants were completely soiled. He lay on the top of the hill wishing he'd die. He shut his eyes. He just wanted to see his mother again.

Soft hands were picking him up gently. By force of habit he wrapped his arms and legs around the soft body. He was bleeding profoundly onto a bright green shirt. "Mother?" Sherlock was sobbing. His small body was under too much stress for a seven year old to endure. Any normal child would have died. "Mother. Mother." He cried.

"Shush, my love. It is alright, let me see your wound."

Sherlock pointed to the large cut on his shoulder that was still spurting blood. The woman kissed it gently for him. The pain that had brought the small boy to tears vanished. Sherlock blinked his teary eyes.

"What did you…?"

"Mummy's kisses heal everything, right?" The woman's chocolaty eyes sparkled. Sherlock took her in carefully. She had beautiful brown hair that was tied up in a messy bun, she was dressed in an oversized green shirt that still looked perfect on her, and her lips were the darkest red Sherlock had ever seen.

"You're not my mummy, though." Sherlock said curiously.

"No, but I don't like to see poor little children in distress, so I used "mummy magic"."

Sherlock looked at her doubtfully. His eyes were still unfocused, and the poor thing reeked of piss and stool. The goddess only held him tighter, Sherlock noted she smelt like roses. He knew she wouldn't be so kind to him if she had known what he said to Hephaestus. He wiggled for down. The goddess gently set him on his feet only to watch him fall over seconds later.

"Sherlock, you've lost so much blood." She said tenderly as she picked him back up.

"I was bad boy…" He mumbled. "How know m-my name?"

"My husband is the god you serve, and I'm sure you weren't that bad, love."

"I said mean things. Didn't listen to M-master J-john. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry." At the last sorry he fainted against the goddess's thin shoulder. She cradled his head and brought him back into the forge. She laid him gently on the god's table.

"Husband!" She shouted. Even when angry she had unspeakable grace.

Hephaestus rose from the basement with burn marks all along his arms and face. He saw his wife standing over the fainted child. He froze at the top of the staircase.

"Have you chosen another one, my wife?" He said coldly. He glanced at the boy lying on the table. Stupid kid, he hadn't meant to thrown the metal that hard. He had secretly admired the boy for calling him an old goat, most slaves simply kept their mouths shut. Not this boy.

He hadn't even bothered to learn the child's name.

"I haven't decided yet, husband. I brought him in to examine him farther."

Hephaestus scowled at the scar on the boy's shoulder. He pointed at it accusingly, his wife smiled slyly. "Insurance." She said flirtatiously. "He is already strong as a baby, imagine the man he'll grow into. Plus you gave me the opportunity, husband."

"He would be upset to hear you call him that." Hephaestus grumbled. He threw himself into his cozy arm chair. A humanoid machine brought him whine. "I lost Mycroft because of you, Aphrodite. If this boy is to be stronger than him I'd prefer to keep him."

She tut-tuted him. "Then don't eject him from your service, my lord."

Hephaestus scowled. "Show him to me then. This man he'll grow into."

She sat in his lap and crossed her legs. She tickled his chin before snapping her fingers, the boy's body shimmered and from it sprang an adult version of himself. Aphrodite gasped, even Hephaestus looked startled. The boy grew into a man of power, it was clear to see.

The man stood in the smaller version of himself's prisoner of war stance. His jet black hair was still curly at the ends, but was greased back to prevent it from falling in his face. He was still thin, but muscles graced his form. His naked chest was held proudly out before him, even if his head was bowed. She marveled at his legs and arms that were tone from working the forge. He had burn marks, scars, and fresh cuts over his stomach legs, arms, and back. She slid off her husband's lap and did a small dance around him.

"He's glorious." She breathed.

"He's strong." Hephaestus said shortly. "Look at his aura, he is as strong as a god."

"Stronger. Ask him a question, lord. Ask him anything." She touched the older Sherlock's chest, but her fingers went through the vision.

"How old are you, boy?" Hephaestus asked the vision.

"The version of this Sherlock is thirty-two." It said. Aphrodite made a small mew at his deep voice.

"Are you still loyal to the gods?"

"Yes."

"Which ones are you most loyal to?" Aphrodite asked softly.

"Hera because I must, Hephaestus because he was my childhood friend."

Hephaestus rose from his chair and examined the man more closely. He observed the long white scar over his shoulder. He looked at the man's hands, which were rough and course from working the forge. "Raise your head boy."

The vision obeyed him. Both gods nearly fell over themselves at the sight of his eyes. They were the same icy blue as his child form, but gold was mixed in them. A long scar came from his left temple to the side of his chin. Aphrodite looked at the sleeping child greedily. "Have you known a woman at this age?"

"Yes." The older version of Sherlock spoke as if in a trance. She giggled.

"Wife." Hephaestus said angrily. "Who is your godly parent?"

"The version of this Sherlock does not know." The vision said.

"Why not?"

"My master did not think it was necessary for me to know."

"Mycroft?" Aphrodite asked surprised.

"John Watson."

"Tell me true, boy, are you more loyal to me or John Watson?"

"John Watson." He said in monotone.

"Hera or your master?"

"John Watson."

The child on the table began to whimper, Hephaestus turned to a water bottle on his desk and brought it to the child's lips. He nodded at Aphrodite to dismiss the vision. She looked at him one long, last time before waving him away. The child was accepting the water bottle in his sleep. Hephaestus cradled his head.

"Childhood friend, eh?"

The child's eyes fluttered opened. He looked frightened to see the large god before him. Immediately he apologized. He pushed the water bottle away from himself claiming he was too bad to drink. Hephaestus didn't know what to make of the boy.

"I'm sorry I was mean." He said looking into the god's eyes. "I was angry. Sometimes I get so angry I can't control what I say." He wrapped his head in his own arms.

"Boy." Hephaestus handed him the water bottle. "We both lost our tempers. Take this and go home."

Sherlock looked down at the water bottle and saw to eyes staring back at him. "Iggy!" He shrieked as his dragon looked back at him from the bottle. Hephaestus smiled as the boy bowed very low to him. "Thank you, lord."

Hephaestus smiled at the happy boy. "Old goat is fine." He ruffled to boy's hair. Sherlock looked at him suspiciously, Hephaestus didn't like the way Sherlock's eyes rushed to look him over. He put a large hand on the child's head which earned him an annoyed "oof".

Sherlock climbed off the table sipping from his new water bottle. His blood lose had made him even more pale, and Aphrodite bit her lip at the thought of waiting twenty-five years for her new pet to grow. She stroked the side of his cheek tenderly.

She could see her husband's plan almost immediately after the older vision of the boy appeared. Make Sherlock love him. A boy, a man that strong would be a valued ally and a terrible enemy. Aphrodite kissed the child's soft curls, remembering one day they would be greased back. Sherlock looked at her with childish blue eyes, she smiled. There was no gold in those eyes yet.

"You are dismissed, little shit. Go home to your master." Hephaestus said gruffly, watching his wife and servant bond. Sherlock glanced towards the door.

"Mycroft was supposed to take me home." He said softly. As much as he hated Mycroft he didn't know the way back yet. Sherlock seemed slightly frantic, he had lost too much blood and was probably dehydrated.

"Drink your water, my love. I will summon Mycroft." Aphrodite picked the boy up and set him back on the table. He obediently drank the rest of the water. She flashed him a perfect smile, perhaps she'd become his favorite goddess. She snapped her fingers for Mycroft.

He appeared at her feet in a shimmer of gold, his head bent low between his knees. "Lady." He said softly.

Mycroft had been no different than Sherlock, both had come to her husband's forge at a young age and both had been protected by her "mommy magic". It hadn't taken Mycroft long into his adult years to fall under her spell, she doubted it would take Sherlock long before he was on her leash.

"Sherlock has been dismissed, Mycroft. It is time for him to go home, I'd like you to carry him, please. He has suffered blood lose and dehydration. Make sure his master takes immediate care of him."

Sherlock looked shocked at the sight of Mycroft groveling, he hopped off his table carefully and prodded Mycroft's leg with his foot. "He doesn't have to carry me. I can walk, we don't like each other very much, so it wouldn't be fair to make him…" Sherlock fell backwards on his butt. The room had suddenly began spinning. Mycroft scoped the boy up and tilted the water bottle into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock gasped as he realized it would magically refill itself. Obediently he drank until Mycroft took it away. He would have normally fought against Mycroft, but he didn't want to upset the lady. He even wrapped his arms around Mycroft's neck.

Mycroft bowed to both gods with the child in his arms. He walked backwards into the streets of Olympus where the sun was setting. Sherlock yawned.

"Tired?" Mycroft asked grudgingly.

"No." Sherlock said as his body betrayed him with another yawn. Mycroft slowly touched the scar on Sherlock's shoulder. He frowned heavily.

"Mummy magic?" He asked.

"Yup."

Mycroft squeezed the child softly. In twenty or so years, he'd come to regret that magic. Sherlock did not welcome Mycroft's touch as he did John's, but he was sore and tired. The last thing he wanted was to earn another beating. He tried to hold himself perfectly still in the big man's arms.

"You must really love her." Sherlock said as the long walk continued.

"No, I…"

"You're heart's racing, you haven't said hardly anything since we left, and you were nice to me. Gotta be love." Sherlock laid his head on Mycroft's shoulder. "Love, love, love."

"You're delusional."

Mycroft made Sherlock drink more water as they approached John's hut. Sherlock obediently drank as much as Mycroft told him to. It was then Mycroft realized how sick the boy was. He didn't bother to knock on the wooden door.

Quickly as he could he shouldered his way into the house. John was laying on his back trying to read a medical book for Apollo, who had conveniently forgotten John couldn't read. Mycroft passed the babbling child to his master. The minute John's hands touched the sick child green light began engulfing Sherlock. Slowly Sherlock's eyes began to focus.

"Master?" Sherlock had no clue where he was. "When did I get back?"

"Mycroft brought you home, Sherlock." John put the child onto his bed. Sherlock clung to his water bottle like a teddy bear.

"Will you tell him thank you?" Sherlock asked as John pulled a blanket over him.

"I'll tell him, Sherlock. You rest now."

"Okay."

John examined the white scar on Sherlock's shoulder. He turned Mycroft. "That wasn't there before." He said between clenched teeth.

"Hephaestus hurt him, Aphrodite healed him."

John sat next to the boy and stroked the hair from his face. He looked so peaceful, John wanted to pull him into his arms, but he didn't dare in front of Mycroft. Sherlock sensed him in his sleep and reached out for his arm. He curled his little body around his master's forearm. John smiled.

"He will get nowhere in life if you continue to baby him."

John sighed. "Master, he is a baby. He doesn't think so himself, but look at him." Sherlock chose that moment to snuggle into John arm. Mycroft heart softened.

"He is a grown child." Mycroft said without conviction.

"He's just a baby." John detached himself from the small child and put him carefully in Mycroft's arms. Sherlock responded as he did when John pulled him into his lap. He took fist-fulls of Mycroft's shirt and cuddled his head in his chest. Mycroft's face completely softened. "Are they all this small, John?"

"I was smaller." John said quietly.

"Why didn't I ever notice?" He marveled at the small boy in his lap.

"You've never held a child, have you?"

"I was never allowed."

Sherlock yawned loudly. His tiny fist clung tighter to Mycroft.

"Mycroft, you could always hold a child if you wanted to. I'd let you hold Sher…"

"No. No, Hera would never allow it. She didn't want any developing relationships. You were the closest slave I ever raised, and I used to beat you senseless."

"I never blamed you, Master." He watched Sherlock closely as if scared the child would blow away. Mycroft scowled at the boy, but gently took him out of his lap and passed him back to John. Sherlock recognized his master's scent and curled up into his lap happily.

"He's going to be a strong man." Mycroft said crossly, as he went to the door.

"I don't care what he will be. I just want him to be a happy baby for now."