Anote: I know the boys are a bit out of character, but I wanted to do something different to make their early story interesting. We all know how they turn out eventually.
Chapter 10- only on Wednesdays
Mycroft crossed his arms over his pajama clad chest and looked around his bedroom in disgust.
The events of the last day were sadly beginning to catch up to him and books, clothes, blankets, half drunk cups of tea and some of Sherlock's toys were all scattered about in a truly haphazard fashion.
He would never find his history essay in this mess!
Of course he wouldn't get into trouble; he was the teacher's pet after all, but he didn't like all this disorder. It made his skin crawl.
The teenager strode over to the connecting door.
Sherlock would be able to find his homework.
His little brother had an uncanny knack for that sort of thing, and didn't mind rooting around on the floor and under the beds for missing objects. Sometimes, Mycroft even deliberately misplaced items, just so he could watch his brother dart around the place like an adorable puppy hot on an intriguing scent, with his big blue eyes shining with excitement and his hair, full of the inevitable cobwebs.
With a frown, Mycroft now peered into the cool dimness of his brother's room; recognizing the shadowy outline of a sleeping Mrs. Watson, next to a very empty bed.
Where were those two misfits?
It was agreed that Nurse Watson would watch over them while Mr. Holmes tied up some paper work at his office, and then they would switch off the baby sitting duties.
Gently, Mycroft closed the door and was just about to check their shared bathroom, when he noticed a familiar shaggy head of dark curls that were tall enough now to be visible at the bottom edge of his window.
The mass of hair moved off quickly, as if on some important business.
Anxiously, Mycroft hurried to the window and squashed the side of his face to the glass; straining to see what was going on outside along the path.
What he saw there made him squawk loudly with horror, and he scrambled to get his window open.
'William Sherlock Scott Holmes!' he yelled out, almost falling over in a most undignified way as he climbed over the window sill.
Said owner of the illustrious name turned around, quite unperturbed by the loud shout. However, John ducked behind a nearby clump of bushes, with a cowardly squeak.
'What are you doing?!' Mycroft roared, as he gingerly hopped up the stone path in his bare feet.
'John wants flowers for his mum.'
'Are you INSANE?!' the teenager shouted, as he snatched away the enormous hedge cutters from the little boy's hands.
John was so scared that he was quite ready to pee his underpants.
He knew this wasn't a good idea from the start! His mummy never let him touch the small scissors at home, far less for anything resembling the big cutty-thing that was almost as tall as Sherlock.
Oh why hadn't he spoken up?!
Sherlock had made it sound so easy as he offered John his outdoor boots.
With a wail of distress, the sandy haired boy ran forward and desperately threw his arms around Sherlock,'I don't want the flowers anymore. Don't be mad, My-fort!'
Sherlock was rather shocked to find that John was trembling, and patted his arm consolingly, 'It's okay.'
Seeing John's pale look of fear and anguish, Mycroft sunk to one knee and held out his arm. 'Sherlock, go over to that rock and sit there for a moment. Leave John to me.'
'But...' Sherlock was moved to protest, but stuttered into silence as his brother stared at him in a serious manner.
Reluctantly, the little boy walked away but parked his small pyjamaed bottom on the cold dirt in the middle of the path, so John wouldn't think he had abandoned him in the midst of his distress.
For the life of him, Sherlock could not understand why John was so upset and he strained to hear the conversation, as Mycroft bent his head to speak in a quiet whisper. Sherlock of course, did not know that the fact he was 100 percent sure his brother loved him, no matter the mood Mycroft was in, was a rare circumstance for many siblings.
...not angry...
...my brother...
John was hiccuping nervously every few sentences but was apparently calmer now, as Mycroft rubbed large, soothing circles on his back.
think carefully...
...can say no...
John jammed his tiny fist in one eye and gave it a good rub, before nodding his head in apparent agreement.
Sherlock then snorted in surprise when John and 'My-fort' exchanged high fives.
How quaint!
Finally, his brother hefted John on to his hip and held out his other hand to Sherlock. 'All right, let us get some flowers for our special ladies!'
An hour later, Mycroft was supervising a loud noisy bath, where predictably his two charges were excitedly pelting soap suds and water at each other. Leaning against the wall, he folded his arms and watched the boys enjoy themselves; too young and innocent to be self conscious about being naked in public just yet.
Eventually, the two of them settled down and began the more boring aspects of being in the bath. Mycroft could not help but smile in curious wonder, as Sherlock helped John wash his hair with soap and then each of his hands in turn, as if he was the older one. Here were hidden depths that he wasn't even aware that his little brother had.
When they were all squeaky clean (according to John), he lifted the two of them out and placed them on the mat to drip.
Mycroft chuckled under his breath, as they proceeded to share one of his large bath towels to dry off. Somehow, Sherlock had become completely tangled up in one of the corners. However, John very patiently instructed him to stand still, and in so doing he successfully unwound the young man from his fluffy cotton prison.
There was a peculiar gentleness and warmth in the way they interacted with each other, that was quite noticeable.
Not wanting to wake Mrs. Watson, the teenager pulled out two of his jerseys from the wardrobe and dropped it over each small head, after which he sat them down in a corner of his room on a blanket, with some construction paper and markers. John's suggestion that they make picture cards to go with their vases of flowers had found universal acceptance, and the two little heads bent to the task with more good will than actual skill.
As Mycroft moved off to find one young aspiring artist some glue, John took the opportunity to share secrets with his new playmate.
'Your brother is totally awesome!' their guest revealed with a huge smile on his face.
Sherlock nodded and looked over at John,'do you have any brothers?'
'Nope, just Harry my sister.'
'Well ...we could share Mycroft, if you want,' Sherlock volunteered a little hesitantly, torn between wanting to make John happy so he would stay at his house forever and ever, and uncomfortable with the idea of sharing his brother. 'But only on Wednesdays, okay?'
John, who hadn't yet mastered the days of the week as yet, smiled agreeably and went back to his picture.