Disclaimer.
Spoilers for BBC Sherlock series 1+2.
(April/May 2016, John is 7.)
Prompted by 1butterfly_grl1 who suggested 'John may be a bit reluctant to take his bath one night'.
Sherlock scowled at John's beaming face with little ferocity. John knew Sherlock wasn't being very serious with his scowly face so John just smiled even more. Sherlock's lips twitched at that.
"John 'scowly' isn't a word." Sherlock admonished, correcting John's grammar. John's eyes widened comically.
"How did you know what I was thinking?" John asked staring at Sherlock with abject awe and no little consternation. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"It was obvious. You used that made up word just a few minutes ago." Sherlock said not mentioning that he was just admonishing John for his use of the word from earlier, although he had suspected John was calling his face 'scowly' in his own mind, John's cheeky smile was an indication. At times John could be such an open book.
Sherlock fiddled with his phone while John painstakingly tied up the shoelaces of his trainers.
Sherlock was glad John had (finally) learnt how to do them up. To be fair though Sherlock hadn't exactly been patient when teaching John to tie his shoes and he was sure John just hadn't listened when Sherlock showed him how to do it interjecting with various statements of 'it resembles the London underground near Piccadilly if you turn you head' and 'even idiots like Anderson can tie their shoelaces!'. Sherlock didn't really blame John for ignoring him and asking Mrs Hudson to show him how to do it later on, his conversation was above the comprehension of most adults and John was a child.
It seemed John in his first childhood hadn't worn laces until he was a teenager; he had had Velcro shoes so he couldn't even fall back on his memories for guidance.
The Velcro irritated Sherlock on principal, why make children more infantile?-so he refused to get John shoes other than lace ups.
Greg had joked about getting John Velcro trainers for Christmas...Sherlock had not been amused.
John had received quite a few vouchers for children's clothing for Christmas seeing as he outgrew his every month/two months.
John didn't care much for the slips of paper, Sherlock scowled on principal (they were from Mycroft) but kept them, why not drain his brothers finances? John much preferred the mittens and scarf from Mrs Hudson that she had knitted and the mittens were tied with string that went through his coat so he couldn't lose them.
Sherlock had been grateful for that seeing as adult John lost any gloves he brought about a week after purchase, every single time.
John clutched the beloved football Greg had given him for Christmas to his chest, almost bouncing with excitement.
John tended to draw people, as both an adult and a child, and as such when John went to the park he always found lots of children to play with, enough to have a football match with and several games.
Sherlock had found it odd that John could gather people to him without even trying even as a child. Sherlock himself drew people but they always backed away after he informed them of his observations. (Molly, Stamford, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and John being the exceptions.) Mycroft didn't count.
Sherlock hadn't minded his rather isolated childhood but it made him wonder when he watched John play with a crowd of children he didn't even know, it was curious...
Sherlock stood sulkily at the sidelines watching as John whooped with glee chasing the football and ignoring the most basic of rules. Sherlock had looked up the rules for football after John had expressed a wish to play it and John was not keeping to them, he was running round the entire pitch, occasionally filling in a goal keeper, he wasn't sticking a single role.
Sherlock didn't know whether to scold John for not specifying, John didn't want to play football he wanted to kick a ball around and run screaming after it surrounded by other screaming children with little to no intelligence, or if he wanted to be glad John didn't stick to the rules even when playing an infantile game.
"This is rather domestic of you, brother dearest." A slow drawling voice commented from behind. Sherlock closed his eyes and his nostrils flared at Mycroft's very presence and slightly condescending tone of voice.
Sherlock turned noting Mycroft's distaste of the dew wet grass that surrounded him and the shudder Mycroft gave when he noticed John had incredibly muddy knees and hems of his trousers as well as a streak of mud across his cheek.
Sherlock stifled a smirk, he had deliberately said the park as the place for Mycroft to meet them to pick John up as he knew Mycroft despised dirt of any kind and did not look favourably on what he termed 'legwork'.
Which was odd considering the fact that Mycroft engaged in plenty of 'legwork' just trying to keep tabs on Sherlock.
Meeting Mycroft in the Park was part of Sherlock's long and petty revenge for getting him to go to that atrocious party thing.
Sherlock smirked at the mud that covered John, he had to go to visit a crime scene for an hour or two, it unfortunately didn't look to be a hard case, so Mycroft was looking after John for an hour or two, if the case took longer he was going to drop John off with Mrs Hudson.
Sherlock said swift goodbyes to John (he had learnt that children tended to get upset fast if you just upped and left without saying goodbye) and made his way to Lestrade.
Mycroft waited patiently (well he looked patient at least) at the side careful not to get mud on his pristine shoes or suit.
About twenty minutes after Sherlock had left John ran over looking flushed and carrying his jumper in his arms instead of wearing it. Mycroft looked John over, he looked healthy but shouldn't the boy at least be wearing more than just a t-shirt and jeans? It wasn't an overly warm day after all.
"Put your jumper on." Mycroft ordered, not unkindly-he hardly wanted the boy to freeze after all, but John seemed to take his words the wrong way and employed a childish defence. Mycroft sighed, was his brother a bad influence on the boy?
"Sticking your tongue out at people is considered rude, if you are going to be troublesome at the very least be clever about it, a little more finesse too would be appreciated." Mycroft admonished holding out John's coat so the boy could slip his arms into it. John still had his tongue out, floored by Mycroft's response.
He hastily pulled it back into his mouth when Mycroft raised an eyebrow imperiously and John silently put his arms through the coat Mycroft was holding.
"Do you require sustenance?" Mycroft asked leading John to the familiar dark tinted windowed car, he had already informed the driver as to the restaurant they were going to go to but people usually preferred it if he pretended to ask their opinion.
John frowned mouthing the word 'sustenance'.
"Is sustenance food?" John asked after a moment's thought.
Mycroft resisted the urge to roll his eyes reminding himself that he was dealing with a child and as far as the noisy messy things went John was far superior, he had worked out the correct meaning of Mycroft's sentence after all and even as an adult could be cannily perceptive when dealing with the irrational annoyance called emotions.
"Sustenance means nourishment, something that essentially supports life, commonly referred to as food, yes." Mycroft explained ushering John into the car.
John ignored the superfluous words and focused on the fact Mycroft had said he was correct. He nodded agreeably; he was hungry after all the running around and fun he had had.
"No living food though? No fishy eyes and crabs?" John asked suspiciously halting in his efforts to tie his seat belt. Mycroft really did roll his eyes that time.
"No, I do realise your abhorrence to actually seeing the food alive before you eat it. And they were lobsters, not crabs." Mycroft answered. To be fair to John it had been Mycroft's lack of foresight that had led to that debacle, he had assumed John would cope with more adult food. He hadn't made the same mistake again, John tended to like a much more simple palate; apparently most children did.
There would be no upset children today, thank-you-very-much. (Nor outraged waiting staff and cooks.)
Mycroft eyed the mud on John with extreme distaste, he wasn't going to clean the boy up-that was Sherlock's job-but he made a mental note to get the car cleaned after John was back with Sherlock.
Thankfully the restaurant Mycroft had chosen had private booths, otherwise Mycroft was sure they would be shown to the door so other diners wouldn't see a muddy boy at the same restaurant as them.
It was also far better for Mycroft's sake of mind to have a private booth, children could be so wearisome.
John had looked around the restaurant suspiciously when they had first entered through the back, much to their waiters amusement.
"So is the restaurant free from spies or monsters?" The waiter asked John jokingly as he handed them the menus. John looked at Mycroft with a cheeky grin.
"No, but I was looking for crab-lobsters." John said with all seriousness. The waiter grinned.
"Crab-lobsters?"
"No, I thought they was crabs but they was lobsters. And cooks was going to kill the cra-lobsters and cooks them." John said eyes wide with disgust at the notion.
"They were in a tank John and in a restaurant I highly doubt they were going to kill the lobster in front of you." Mycroft sighed. "And it is 'were' not 'was'. Correct grammar is essential."
"Well don't worry; we don't have any live lobsters here today." The waiter said flashing a grin at John. John nodded happily. "So who's the spy or monster you spotted then?" The waiter asked conspiratorially. John shot a cheeky grin at Mycroft.
"Mycoff's the spymasters spymaster." John informed the waiter in a hushed voice that held visible awe.
"Hardly." Mycroft scoffed.
"But you are! You tells the spies what to do and you lead Mi5 and Shlock says you tell the Secret service what to do, he says you run the government and that's why the queen knows you." John insisted adamantly. Mycroft shook his head.
"I hold a minor position in the government." Mycroft protested disinterestedly.
The waiter, obviously assuming John was just over exaggerating like children were wont to do, shrugged it off and went off to get their drinks.
While John's words hadn't shocked Mycroft, Sherlock was always one for the dramatics and Mycroft did indeed have more than a few dealings with all government divisions (even in other countries), John's tone of voice did.
John as an adult seemed to treat Mycroft like the inevitable, as though you just had to weather the storm until he left, he couldn't point fault in John's manners though (most of the time), he always typically offered Mycroft tea and was far more polite to him than his brothers infuriating ways.
John as a child, however, seemed to be slightly in awe of him, which in all honesty was a slightly alarming concept. It was flattering to have a young being look up to you though.
John was thrilled to find there was an actual children's menu too, he was still suspicious that live food would be brought out for you to choose before they cooked it.
Mycroft eyed John's slightly wary look with mild amusement. The only thing Mycroft had managed to get right that day was the desert board in the restaurant and he had paid for that later as well because somehow John had managed to get chocolate stains on his jacket not to mention the levels of boundless hyperactivity John had indulged in afterwards.
No, it was safe to say Mycroft had been more careful of his selection of restaurants after that.
John spent his time chattering away to Mycroft who semi listened, it was oddly interesting to see what leaps John would make with the conversation, he could be thoroughly unpredictable in that regard and Mycroft was so rarely shocked or startled by anything.
Somehow, and even Mycroft was a little at loss to how it had happened, Mycroft had ended up explaining (in severely simplified statements) how the government worked, well how it worked to the public not how it worked for him personally.
All in all, it wasn't a complete waste of time keeping an eye on John for two hours, Mycroft thought to himself as he dropped off John to his scowling brother.
xxx
Sherlock scowled irritably at Mycroft's retreating back. It was obvious that John (and Mycroft) had had a good time, why did John have to like his irritating brother?
Not only that but John had been visibly impressed when Sherlock had deigned to explain what Mycroft actually did (amidst many insults), impressed by Mycroft!
Sherlock grimaced, not only that but the case Lestrade had called him on was even more disappointingly obvious than he had expected; of course the grandmother killed the boy!
Sherlock eyed John's muddy form with distaste.
"Bath. Now." Sherlock ordered John much to John's horror; he did not like bath time, at all.
"But I'm not due a bath till tomorrow!" John yelped backing away, he wasn't that dirty really...
Sherlock snorted and looked at John. John sighed shooting Sherlock a wounded expression before moodily stomping off to the bathroom and running the taps.
Sherlock had to check John was actually taking a bath because John had once tried to trick him by running the water but not actually taking the bath, John had even dunked his head in the sink to make his hair wet as though he had bathed.
It hadn't worked and John hadn't been able to get away without a bath...ever, because Sherlock had learnt that until children reached a slightly older age, someone else had to wash their hair for them. Fun.
Sherlock was glad John was now old enough to be trusted not to put up a tantrum over going in the bath, the first few times had been memorable...
...Sherlock glared at the young boy glaring defiantly back at him from the corner of the bathroom.
Surely six year olds knew the necessity of cleanliness?
John it seemed had an odd obsession with remaining dirty. John hated baths. He was alright once he got in the water but until then it was a battle to get John in the bath. Even bribing John with sweets and cake didn't work.
"Get in." Sherlock ordered pointing at the warm water, he had checked-it wasn't too warm or too cold.
"No." John said firmly, shaking his head.
They had stayed at that impasse for a while, the water had cooled significantly.
It was only when Sherlock frustrated, yelled that if John didn't get in the tub now he was going to confiscate all his toys and stick him in the naughty corner forever, that something changed. John had not liked the last threat and so with an indignant glare had dive bombed into the water.
John was in the tub but Sherlock was soaking, standing to the side and eyeing the water covered floor with a glare usually reserved for Anderson, well before he had been less...Anderson.
John giggled at the sight Sherlock made and Sherlock shook his head smiling involuntarily.
"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock yelled.
"Not your house keeper!" Came the reply. John just giggled harder...
...It was less of a chore now to get John in the bath but still a struggle.
John had hidden the skull the last time Sherlock had made him have a bath when he really didn't want to and Sherlock still hadn't found it.