A/N : Want to know a secret ? :) I'm French, that's why I make so many mistakes. I don't know if it's that obvious and I'm curious to know if you had deduced it, so you could send me a review just to tell me that?
+ I'm not pleased with that chapter. I'm sorry, I will try to get it better later.
Baker Street, Baker Street… God, that was tedious. His little brother was glued to his hand with all his strength AND he didn't find the very street.
"-Mycroft, my foot hurt. I want to come home now."
"-Sherlock, if you didn't run off the car, I wouldn't have to say to the driver to join us at Baker street and we would actually be there in time and together, by car."
"-Could you pick me up at least?"
"-No, you are far too heavy now that you are a big boy." Mycroft said, smiling. Sherlock crossed his arms and pouted… Before giving it another try.
"-Please?"
"-No, Sherlock."
"-I could lend you Skull!?"
Mycroft huffed. What could he do with a plush when he was a grown man? A scarecrow? A target of darts?
Nevertheless, Skull or not, he knew he would actually end up by taking him in his arms. That was how it worked. Brotherly instinct and stuff like that.
[...]
Ten minutes later, a very exhausted Mycroft knocked on the door of 221b Baker Street, carrying a very asleep Sherlock. The woman who opened the door seemed to melt at this view.
"- Oh, poor boys! Come on, come on, don't stay outside like that. You are Mycroft Holmes, aren't you? I didn't understand that you was already a parent and that there would be two of you, but that's fine! There are two bedrooms! Looks like as if I was a Grandma! Tea?" she said, as she pushed him in 221B.
The flat seemed very old for a teenager but Mycroft didn't mind.
"-That would be lovely" answered Mycroft, sitting down on the couch. His brother yawned a bit and snuggled closer in the crook of Mycroft's neck. Quiet before the storm, thought the elder Holmes sadly. "Though, Sherlock is my brother, not my son, I would be very young for that sort of things, wouldn't I? I'm barely twenty… He just… wanted to see where I am going to live" He dared say.
"-You never know! I know someone who has a baby girl, and she is only nineteen! Plus you look older than that, sunshine. Now, come on, she said putting a cup in front of him, drink!"
Mycroft obeyed. There was an awkward silence. He didn't dare to say something else, other than flat stuff like rent, because he didn't want to stay here all the day, as the lady seemed very fond of babbling. Luckily, that was his little brother who seemed to hold her interest the most…
[...]
"-I don't want to return here Mycroft" said Sherlock, as they climbed in their car, a few hours later.
"- Oh? Why is that so?" asked Mycroft. (Although he knew very well the answer.)
"-She kept speaking all the time, and touching my hair and… calling me names, and made me eat all kind of biscuits! Mycroft you can't live there! You will become fat! And I can't have a fat brother." he replied, very dramatically for a young boy.
"-Stop being childish Sherlock. I have already signed the papers, and she kept doing this because you are a cute boy, aren't you?" the elder Holmes said on a teasing tone.
"- No! I am not! Pirates are not cute! Look Mycroft, look! Grr!"
Mycroft chuckled and played along, until his brother fell asleep.
[...]
He looked out through the window silently. He supposed that all went well. He would be moving in a few weeks. He didn't lose his brother more than once –he made a note to be more careful of what he said while he was tired from now. And London was great.
London, for Sherlock, was a fabulous memory. He explained to his parents how sure he was to find some treasures and villains there. He explained that he had met a walking dead man reading files in front of a beehive, and how he had eaten biscuits, as big as flying saucers, that he had never wanted in the first place.
But as the date of Mycroft's departure approached, London seemed more of a nightmare for Sherlock. He remembered that there were a lot of noises, of people and it was so huge… Mycroft would never return in the Holmes Estate. Maybe he would find a treasure and keep it for himself. Maybe that landlady would replace their mother for him.
For the second time, Sherlock shut down. He barely ate and talked. Nobody cared, assuming that he was just in one of his "mood".
[...]
One term had already passed, and London life suited Mycroft very well. He didn't go out often, worked very hard, but appreciated that London was full of life. Almost like a friend. It provided him so much fun, even alone. There was so much to discover, so much people to deduce.
He had just finished one of his homework when the phone rang. He was surprised, his family knew very well that he didn't like calls, and he has no friend. Nevertheless, he picked it up, a bit annoyed, seeing that it was his mother.
"- Good evening Mummy."
"- Mycroft, how good it is to hear you." Her voice was sad, tired and empty.
"- Pleasure is mine. [A pause] Do you really call just to hear my voice?" he asked, a bit suspicious as the silent grew more and more.
"-Obviously not. He heard her shifted uncomfortably. Listen Mycroft, did you recall how Sherlock was when you left?
How he was supposed to forget that? Strangely enough, that went rather well. If you could call "well" the fact that his brother didn't throw a fit, just because he didn't came at all to see him neither before he left nor while he was leaving.
"-Er… yes, I do. How is he?"
"-Actually… Not that good. I would like that you see him by yourself. "
That was a bit surprising. And cryptic.
"-Why? Did he say that he wanted to come over here? Does he want to see me?"
He tried to sound casual but he knew very well that it sounded as hopeful he was. She didn't reply at first.
"-He gets along with everything. He is very quiet and he no longer does his experiments."
Oi. That was not as good as it sounded.
Their mother had always been very open-minded with her genii children. Not as tough as it should have been. Overtaken with the events. Happy with everything, as their father. They felt so alone. He realized how hard it has to be for Sherlock to be there. He gulped; because he couldn't help guilt took over him.
"I thought that if he could stay with you during the holidays, he would maybe… I don't know… Mycroft, I don't know, and he is my child! I had already done everything I could do and everything I could think of, and he doesn't get better. Nothing I could do…" She sniffed and Mycroft knew she was about to cry. Wait, cry? Oh God. No. No. Not that again.
"-Alright, ALRIGHT, calm down! There… Breathe slowly… There. If you could persuade him to come here, I will see what I can do, okay?"
Mycroft was not pleased with that. Baby sit was not his fort. But what can he do? Let his brother down? His Mother would never forgive him for that, and he would never hear the end of it. Again, he accepted it, like everything else when it came to his brother. However, knowing that her mother would have hell coming for trying to get his brother in front of his door looked fair and he was looking forwards it.
[...]
The second week-end of December, a little boy with a funny hat and curly hair was sitting on a huge suitcase, in front of 221B Baker Street. His arms were crossed, and he stared obstinately at the front door, as if he could open it with superior mind strength. He had fought tooth and nails to stay at the Holmes Manor on Christmas Holidays, pouting, crying, pleading.
He. Didn't. Want. To. Be. There.
Mycroft opened the front door, and barely had the time to register that a little shadow pass quickly with a suitcase directly in the room upstairs, and slammed the bedroom door.
That will be fun, thought Mycroft.
A/N: Next time, I promise there will be the meeting with John!