Sherlock was going through his imagination stage.

He insisted John teach him how to build small sail boats, so he could be king of the tiny pirates that lived aboard. As a child, John had his imagination beaten out of him, but together he and the small boy learned how to make boats made of paper that sailed. John couldn't believe the joy that the tiny boats brought the boy so much joy. It was all he could do to get him out of the tub.

"Five more minutes!" Sherlock demanded as he sank a sail boat for being "bad". John pulled him out by the scruff his neck and shoved him towards his room. "Supper, teeth, bed." He said decisively.

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest. His eyes were stating to water dramatically.

"Now, Sherlock." John cut him off.

Sherlock dried his hair, grumbling the whole time. He pulled on old pants that were too big for him, an old shirt of John's, and left the shoes sitting in the corner. He hated shoes, no matter what size they were they always managed to pinch his feet. He pushed his chair up to the table and sat down with his face rested in his hands. He wanted to play with his sail boats.

John put a plate of meat and potatoes in front of him. Sherlock sighed loudly.

John ignored him.

He sighed again.

"Sherlock, eat your food." John said amused.

He picked at it with a disgusted expression. He shoved his potatoes into the beef gravy and brought it to his mouth. He clamped his jaw over it.

"If I eat it all, can I play with my sail boats more?"

John was beginning to learn that punishments weren't very effective on Sherlock. If he told the boy no to playing he would simply pout and eat nothing for the rest of the evening. No matter how long he sat in the corner. If John allowed him some time with his boats he may eat everything.

"Two minutes. No more, no less, and only if you eat all your food."

John was worried Sherlock would choke, he ate so fast. He had to tell him several times to slow down, but the boy was on a mission. He almost swallowed his fork as the last bits of food entered his mouth. He jumped down from his seat. "Done!"

"Sherlock, slow down!" Sherlock had his shirt off and over his head in a matter of seconds. The bathroom door slammed shut, John rolled his eyes.

He went to the sink and filled it with soapy water, he left a half empty glass of milk on the table. Slaves had been granted Sundays off, John decided Sherlock could stay up later since he didn't have to spend the next day at the forge. He laughed as heard Sherlock making cannon noises. There was a loud splashing noise, John didn't have the energy to see the mess Sherlock had probably just made. He began drying dishes.

There was four short knocks on the door, and Mycroft entered. John gave him a small nod over his shoulder. Mycroft greeted him in a similar fashion. He pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. Sherlock's splashing was growing louder.

"Where is the boy?" Mycroft asked curtly.

"He's in the tub, playing sail boats." John chuckled.

"What are you teaching the boy by letting him play? The child can't possibly learn respect for you if you don't install obedience in him."

"Master, he has tomorrow off. Let him play." John dried the last of the dishes. He dried his hands on the old rag and sat next to Mycroft. Mycroft's brow scrunched together menacingly.

"Show me." He growled.

"Show you what, Mycroft?" John was tired, Sherlock had been having nightmares, and it kept him up most nights. The child would wake up screaming for John to save him, Sherlock wouldn't let him go back to his own bed. John had to stay with him, or Sherlock would panic.

"Show me he obeys you. I don't believe for one second that you are raising him correctly."

John sighed heavily. "Sherlock, come out here please." He called through the wooden door. He expected Sherlock to ask for more time. He was surprised to see the door open with Sherlock standing there wrapped in a towel. His tiny sail boats were still floating the water. "Drain the tub, put your sail boats away, and go to bed, please."

Sherlock stood soaking wet in the middle of the doorway, his eyes darted from John to Mycroft. "Am I in trouble?" He asked shyly.

"No, child. It's just been well over two minutes." John said gently. Sherlock nodded slowly, he dashed back into the bathroom to get his sail boats. He brought the precious toys out into the kitchen and placed them into John's hands. He leaned forward so John could dry his hair for him. Sherlock didn't need him to, but he enjoyed the way John wrapped his in the towel and jokingly pulled the towel tighter around his face.

He quickly drained the tub, as John placed his toys on the counter. Sherlock ran back into the kitchen with his oversized pajamas on. He gave John a quick hug and darted a kiss at his cheek. He ran to his cot. His little hands pulled the shabby blanket over his shoulders. He rested his dark head on his pillows and closed his eyes.

"Unbelievable." Mycroft muttered. "You've had him for six months, and he is that obedient."

John chuckled. "No, no. I think he heard you. He's a clever lad, he knows when he has to behave and when he can push his luck. If you hadn't been here I doubt he would have come out of the tub that easily."

From the cot Sherlock giggled. He loved how well his master knew him, it made him feel safe. John raised an eyebrow. "Sherlock."

Sherlock lifted his head off his pillows and threw his blankets on the floor. He ran to John and placed his hands on his knee. John lifted the boy into his lap and let Sherlock drink the rest of his milk. Sherlock swallowed it greedily. Mycroft snorted.

"You're making him weak." Mycroft pointed out.

Sherlock scowled at the older man, but John silenced him by flicking him on the back head. Sherlock giggled at John, but shut his mouth. Mycroft pushed away from the table.

"Believe it or not I did have a purpose for this visit. Sherlock, come here."

Sherlock turned his ice blue eyes towards John, he was nervous. John took him off his lap and gently prodded the boy. Sherlock took several steps towards Mycroft. John struggled to force himself push Sherlock towards his master. He didn't know why Mycroft had come by. Sherlock stood inches away from Mycroft. Mycroft drew a sword from his belt, John thrust Sherlock behind him so swiftly neither Mycroft or the child could react fast enough. John was nose to nose with Mycroft.

"Mycroft, if you try to hurt this boy I swear to you…"

Mycroft tilted the sword so the hilt pointed towards Sherlock. The boy peeked behind John's leg curiously. Mycroft nodded at the boy. "A gift. You will have to learn how to use it." Sherlock slowly accepted the hilt of the sword, but the weight was too great for his tiny arms, and he fell forward. John stared at Mycroft in surprise.

"Get out of my face, Jonathan." He sneered. "If you don't mind."

"Sherlock give me that." John said without taking his eyes of Mycroft.

Sherlock tried to lift the sword that was the same size as him. He managed to get it a few inches off the ground before passing it to John. Sherlock let go of it reluctantly.

John shifted the blade carefully around in his hand, it was well balanced and deadly. John rested the blade on his own shoulder. "I told you I didn't want the boy to have a sword."

"You said you didn't want him to become a weapon, you said nothing about him having a weapon." Mycroft said easily. He plucked the sword from John's hand and passed it back to Sherlock. He accepted it happily.

"Show me now that he obeys you and not the rewards you give him." Mycroft smiled coldly. "Sherlock, if you want to keep the sword put it next to your bed." He stared into John's eyes.

"Sherlock, give me the sword." Josh said gently.

Sherlock hesitated. His hands gripped the hilt tighter.

"Sherlock, if you give him that sword I promise you, you'll never use it."

"Sherlock, give it to me. Please."

Sherlock pouted at his master, but slowly he passed him the sword. His lower lip trembled as John gently took it from him. He was fighting tears, but he didn't want to upset the man who had spent hours making him tiny sail boats and who had stayed up with him late into the night when he couldn't sleep.

The small child turned slowly away from both adults and threw himself onto his bed with a huff of sadness. He pulled his blankets over his head, he squeezed his little eyes tightly shut. John handed Mycroft the sword back with a look of annoyance. He walked over to Sherlock and pulled the blanket away from his head. The child was crying.

"Sherlock…"

"I'm alright." He hiccupped.

John rubbed his back gently, slowly the boy began to stop crying. John pulled him into his lap and wiped his tears away. Sherlock mumbled something about how beautiful the sword was. Mycroft let a loud laugh.

"My gods, he does love you." He took several steps towards the boy and master, he placed the sword at the end of the bed. "John, my orders came from Hera herself, no amount of your hateful glares can stop the boy from learning how to wield a sword."

"I'm not going to use it if Master John doesn't want me to." Sherlock cried into John's chest. He really did want the sword though.

"Then don't, but you start your lessons tomorrow, and if you don't raise your sword in defense I think you'll find I'll have no problem attacking you. Good day, John."

Sherlock grabbed John's shirt and rubbed his face in it. John held the confused child until his breathing became deep and loud. Sherlock had fallen asleep in his arms, John kissed his head softly.

Sherlock's future was beginning to form whether John liked it or not. The little boy had grown in the six months John had raised him. He hated looking down at the boy who was beginning to grow pass his waist. He wanted the boy to stay young forever, Sherlock had come to him as a peanut in every sense of the word. He was small in size, in height, he was all elbows and limbs. John couldn't imagine the kind of man he would be because he was too distracted by the baby in his arms.

He sighed heavily as he placed Sherlock on his chest and leaned back against the wall. Sherlock loved it when he woke up in John's arms, but as John observed the growth of the boy he couldn't help but wonder how many times the boy had left.