A/N: Thanks to my guest reviewer (who's my mom, but that's beside the point) who's brave enough to post the first review. I like hearing that people enjoy reading my fics, even if they are made primarily to get rid of plot bunnies.
It was soon decided Mycroft would go and get the boys clothes that actually fit them. Just as Sherlock was waking up Mycroft came back carrying multiple bags. "Mycwoft, whewe wewe you?" he asked, still too tired to care about how he sounded.
"I went to get you and John clothes that would actually fit you, of course."
"If you think I'm gonna weaw some stupid-" he stopped when he saw a small purple shirt and a pair of black dress pants, just like the ones he had that were much larger in his closet. He quickly grabbed the outfit (along with some underwear) and started to put them on. But Sherlock soon found out that 3-year-olds are useless when it comes to buttons. "Here, let me." Mycroft offered. To his credit, he managed to suppress all but the twitch of a smile, and when he was done, he actually received a scowl-free "Thank you," from Sherlock as he moved on to something of interest. Soon John was up and changed into jeans and a jumper, and the two boys were working on making Billy into a toy car as the two men tried to figure out what to do. "You're taking this awfully well," the Doctor remarked.
"Well, now that I know who I'm dealing with, I have to open my mind to what seemed impossible before but is now merely improbable because you're here. But Doctor, you said something about a cure?"
"Yes, but there are…problems. Taking two boys from the 21st century into the 23rd and claiming they were changed by technology 200 years ahead of their time…not preferable."
"Couldn't you just quickly go and take it without them?"
"I'd still have to explain what I was doing sooner or later. Again, not preferable."
"Sherrock, have we tried pens yet? Not with caps, just the pens."
"They won't wowk with Billy's shape."
"…How do you know…?"
"There has to be something we can do. Who knows how much they'll change?" Mycroft mused.
"Well, they can't regress any more than to three, but if they do fully regress, they might lose anything they had left of their previous life."
"And I might have to become a father figure to them." Mycroft was more scared of that than anything that could happen to Sherlock while he was like this.
"Ha! See? I tow'd you pens wouwd work!"
"Hmm…I need to look into that." Sherlock slipped into his Mind Palace and John soon got bored. Which meant that the Doctor felt obligated to teach him how to dance. By the time Mycroft thought he should be considering dinner the two were jumping around the room like monkeys. Sherlock retreated to Mycroft's lap. "Are you going to eat dinner tonight, Sherlock, or just sulk?" Mycroft asked, absently rubbing his hand through his brother's curls.
"…fowget…" Sherlock mumbled. He tilted his head back as far as it would go. "It seems so much easie-uh to fowget evewything, My. I wanna fowget and yet I don't."
Mycroft blinked at his now much littler brother. "And how much are you hating yourself for telling me this?"
"Not at all. Which is actually almost as scawy as my memowy."
Mycroft laughed at that. "And yet here you are, on my lap, talking about the darkest corners of your mind."
"Yeah…How about pizza?"
"Hm?"
"Fow dinn-uh. Pizza." Sherlock looked so hopeful it was impossible to not be cute.
"Ah. Sure, I suppose we can have pizza. Is that okay with you, Doctor?"
"What? Oh, pizza? If we can have fish fingers and custard too, I'd love to have pizza!"
Sherlock giggled. "Fish fing-uhs and custawd awe good."
