Although, the last condition is met in that chapter, I will probably make a something of an epilogue. There are scenes post Mycroft being brought back to normal that I want to include.
Anyway, comments will be appreciated.
The third condition
Another night, another nightmare. Mycroft felt exhausted, but happy to be awake. He could hear Sherlock's snorting in other room, and if he spared some time, he would deduce where Mrs. Hudson was. Nevertheless, the awareness of him being on Baker Street with this annoying woman and his brother was soothing. Just the fact that he was far away from Sherrinford… The horrors of this fateful day were still vivid in his mind, but there was something he could anchor himself in – Sherlock was in his room, safe and sound, and Mycroft himself was alive, if not a bit smaller than usual.
All you need is love – lying in his bed, Mycroft decided to occupy his mind with this song. Or rather: it came back in the silence of the night. This song was so sentimental, so stupid, and yet, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Why would his mind bring it up? Of course, he understood to some extend – doctor Watson wasn't very subtle about it.
You isolated yourself from others for far too long. People need other people and no matter how you look at it, if you want to be grown up again, you have to let others help you carry your burden.
But Mycroft was always alone. Dealing with his demons on his own – he was used to it. It was always others who needed him. His family, coworkers, superiors, even countless people he had never met. He was strong enough to carry burdens on his own. He managed to pull himself together in his darkest hours, without any help. He didn't need emotional support. He didn't need anybody to come to him, console him, hug him, tell him everything will be okay. Why should he expect it now, of all times?
Oh, poor, naïve doctor Watson and his simplistic way of thinking… He always thought that isolating oneself from people was a bad thing. He never realized that Mycroft might like being alone. Mycroft wasn't like Sherlock, hell-bent on self-destruction. He could be safely left with himself.
All you need is love…
Whenever Mycroft was thinking about love, he was seeing Lady Smallwood in his mind. Not because he considered Alicia his significant other, but because Love was her codename. A peculiar one to say at least. After all she was a woman of steel, a professional. Mycroft would never think of her as flirtatious or romantic, or even overly affectionate.
But even someone like you isn't invincible…
She did, however, care for her family… Her relationship with Lord Smallwood might not have been the best, but she wanted to protect him from Magnussen. And let's not forget about her daughter. For sure, Alicia was a doting mother, who would do anything for her child. Just like Mycroft would do anything for Sherlock…
"Isn't this the stupidest thing ever?" A familiar voice spoke in a hushed tone.
Mycroft only looked at the nightstand, where miniature Herbert was sitting.
"What exactly?" The boy whispered, unsurprised by cherub's sudden presence.
"That people reduce love to only one aspect? Like the only love that ever mattered in the world is the romantic one? Or worse – the sexual one? What about parental love? What about friendship? What about brotherly love? What about compassion? Not to mention, the greatest Love of all… Are they insignificant? Aren't they enough?"
"So you're here to lecture me about the meaning of love?" Mycroft raised his eyebrows.
"I merely share an opinion." Herbert went on. "It's always driving me crazy… this shallow notion about the greatest thing in universe. Humans spent generations talking about different kinds of love, and it's so frustrating that there are still people who reduce it to romance… Humanity is better than this. Don't you agree, mister Holmes?"
"I don't know." Mycroft replied, dropping his gaze. "I don't contemplate such things often."
"You know what I like the most about you, mister Holmes?" Herbert said. "In spite of your insistence that caring is not in advantage, you're still a caring man. That's the coolest thing about you. Not the sword in the umbrella, not your impeccable looks, not your remarkable intellect, but the fact that you care."
"Well, Moriarty called me 'the Iceman'…" Mycroft began. He really wanted to deny cherub's words, but Herbert cut him off:
"We both know that if you really were the Iceman, you wouldn't put your life on the line for doctor Watson. For goodness' sake, you wouldn't even bother saving your brother from his addiction. You would also probably either kill or lobotomize your sister. No, mister Holmes, you're not made of ice."
"Is there a reason, you're telling me all of this?" Mycroft asked, turning to the cherub.
"Just a little prompt." Herbert grinned. "I'm sure you already got the right idea."
But then his smile weakened. For couple of seconds he was silently observing Mycroft with a sad look, before he finally said:
"You know, you're a child now."
"Yes, I know." Mycroft replied, exasperate. "Everybody keeps telling me this."
"And what do children do after a nightmare?" The cherub added with a soft smile.
And he disappeared without any further explanation. But Mycroft didn't need it. He knew exactly what Herbert expected him to do now. The boy was contemplating it. It would be such a sentimental thing to do. A sign of weakness. If anyone would know about this, it would be embarrassing and Mycroft would never hear the end of it from Sherlock. Still, once the idea was planted in his mind, some part of him was tempted to just go on with it. After all, he should do childish things…
So Mycroft sat up, removed his cover, jumped off of the bed and quickly directed to Sherlock's room. He knocked gently at the door and waited couple of seconds for an answer. While waiting, he wondered if it was a good idea. Maybe he should go back to his bedroom and just try to go to sleep on his own. He knocked once again, just in case. If there will be no answer now, he was going to abandon this silly idea.
He heard a moan, then a cracking of the mattress, and then someone's footsteps. When the door has been finally opened and when Mycroft raised his head, he saw Sherlock in his pajamas and with ruffled hair. The detective's sleepy gaze landed on his brother.
"What do you want?" He asked, blinking slowly.
"I was thinking…" Mycroft began, but cut off, not knowing how to phrase what he wanted to ask for.
Thankfully, Sherlock seemed to deduce it, because he suddenly smiled and said:
"Someone doesn't want to sleep alone tonight, huh?"
Mycroft felt stupid. He just gave his little brother a good subject for teasing.
"Forget it, brother mine." Mycroft said and turned back. "This was a bad idea."
Suddenly the boy felt someone's grip on his arm, stopping him from leaving. Mycroft looked back at Sherlock with surprise. The detective smiled to him sympathetically.
"Come." He opened the door wider and pulled Mycroft inside.
All of a sudden Mycroft found himself in his brother's room. Sherlock himself went back to his bed, lied on his left side and raised the cover with invitation. And the boy once gain thought that this was a stupid idea. Still, some part of him wanted to go in.
"Well, now Mrs. Hudson will certainly think that you are a creepy uncle." Mycroft commented.
"Or she will find us adorable. You know how old ladies are…" Sherlock replied. "Come on, don't be difficult."
Mycroft remembered… Back when he was an only child, he was sometimes coming to his parents' bedroom, when he had a nightmare or when he was scared of thunders; and for the rest of the night he was sleeping with them. When Sherlock and Eurus came, it was happening less and less, since he didn't want to be considered someone who gets easily scared in the night. No, he was supposed to be an older brother, not scared of such trivial things as darkness or thunders. Moreover, he soon found himself being the one little Sherlock was coming to during stormy nights. It was weird and often troublesome, but what could he say? It was a role of a big brother. But he still remembered how nice it was lying in the same bed as his parents. For child as himself it felt like nothing in the world could harm him…
Mycroft gave a soft sigh and got into bed. Sherlock put the cover down and embraced his brother with right arm, pulling him closer. It was a strange feeling, obviously – being in this position, being the one comforted by Sherlock and not the other way around… It seemed wrong. After all Mycroft was supposed to be fearless.
"By the way, brother mine," He turned his head to look at Sherlock. "you won't tell anybody about this."
"Mycroft, how long do we know each other? You think I won't use this perfect opportunity to tease you for the rest of your days?" The detective said.
"Well then, I guess, I should tell your friends and acquaintances all the embarrassing stories from your childhood. I'm sure sergeant Donovan would be happy to hear all about your mushroom performance in elementary school days."
Mycroft expected some kind of witty comeback, but he was greeted with something else.
"I've told the teacher, I can't sing." Sherlock huffed.
"Yes, well," His brother started. "we both know that teachers don't listen to people who are clearly smarter than them."
He could hear Sherlock's chuckle.
"You know, in retrospect we were horrible students. Constantly proving teachers wrong, getting into fights, making mess in chemistry labs… No wonder nobody liked us."
"I could live with that." Mycroft replied. "They've had nothing interesting to say, anyway. Their ignorance was almost painful to listen."
"Oh, the horror of listening to ordinary people…" Sherlock said, chuckling once again. "Truly, a fate worse than death."
"No." Mycroft turned his head to face his brother. "The fate worse than death is going with Mummy and Daddy on one of their ridiculous musicals. Try to sit through Grease and not wish for a terrorist attack to occur."
"Would you go out with them on, say, Evita?" Sherlock asked.
"And watch David Lloyd Webber butcher history of Argentina?" Mycroft scoffed and went back to observing the space in front of him. "Goodness, no!" He whispered.
"You know, you're a child now. You should like Disney and majority of Disney flicks are musicals."
Mycroft looked at his brother again and pointed finger at him warningly.
"If you subject me to Frozen, Little Mermaid, or Lion King, I swear, Sherlock, I will make your life a living hell."
"Yeah, you already do, brother dear, so this threat holds no weight. Besides, don't you know that Lion King is Hamlet with lions?"
For a moment Mycroft wasn't saying anything. He just looked at Sherlock with raised eyebrows. Then he rested his head on the pillow and said:
"That's the most stupid thing I've ever heard."
Sherlock chuckled again. A small laughter escaped Mycroft's mouth too. This felt right – them both just talking about things they found annoying or idiotic. Some teasing here, some complains on Mummy and Daddy there… Just a little moment between two brothers. Generally in moments like this one, there was always some urgent thing at the back of Mycroft's head, something he had to do right after he will leave Sherlock. Millions of big and small details he had to keep an eye on. His mind was never resting.
He also felt that way, when he was playing on the swing set. Even though there was some sensation of freedom, he still couldn't forget about the work that was waiting for him; or about the horrors he recently went through. Each time when he was feeling almost carefree, his mind was reminding him about things happening in the world that he should monitor right now; or about all the little inconveniences of his current predicament; or about Eurus tormenting him, Sherlock and doctor Watson. And the spell was broken.
But this time there was nothing. There was just him, Sherlock and this little moment of pure fun. Mycroft liked it there – it was warm and cozy, and relaxing. For the first time in ages, Mycroft felt nothing was calling for his immediate attention, nothing was reminding him about his huge responsibilities waiting for him outside Baker Street… nothing was bringing back unwanted memories from Sherrinford. There was only here and now. Hell, he didn't even remember what the nightmare he had was about!
They talked about random things – carefree memories from their childhood, latest embarrassing hobbies of their parents, movies they saw, books they've read, experiments Sherlock conducted… And somewhere around four am the warmth and coziness made Mycroft drift into peaceful sleep. When he closed eyes and let himself fall into slumber, he felt like all the burdens has been lifted off of him.
Herbert was sitting on the nightstand and staring at the sleeping pair with a smile. It was a really sweet picture – covers kicked out on the floor, revealing little Mycroft lying on Sherlock's stomach and Sherlock's left hand on his brother's head, like he was petting his hair in sleep. The cherub couldn't help but think about the past days, when he was observing his idol in smaller form. A lot happened since Mycroft Holmes was turned into a child. The results exceeded Herbert's expectations and now he only wished that the progress that was made will last. He really wanted this story to have a happy ending.
He stood up, flew to Holmes brothers and started to poke their shoulders.
"Hey, I don't want to be that guy, but you should probably get up." He said.
Once they opened their eyes and looked at the cherub, Herbert sat back on the nightstand, crossing his legs and snapped his fingers. A list appeared in his hands, alongside with reading glasses on his nose.
"So let's see…" He looked at the list and read out loud: "One: Sherlock will be a big brother for more than one day…" He gazed at the still sleepy brothers and said: "For the past week and a half Sherlock Holmes proved to be a doting big brother."
Sherlock and Mycroft sat up, as Herbert proceeded:
"He took care of his brother's physical, psychological and emotional wellbeing. He provided comfort, devoted himself to lift Mycroft Holmes' burden and defended him in front of their parents." The cherub then looked at Mycroft and asked: "Do you have any objections regarding your brother's performance, mister Holmes? Are there things he did wrong?"
Mycroft started to contemplate this question. Herbert, who possessed an ability to read human minds, looked into the boy's head. Mycroft was remembering various things Sherlock did throughout this whole time.
"I will turn you back to normal, I promise…"
"You will break their hearts."
"No. I will save yours…"
"Voila! Diogenes Attic!"
Mycroft looked at cherub with soft expression and said:
"Well, he made a decent job. Although, there is a room for improvement."
"Always a critic." Sherlock replied, but smirked at his brother.
Herbert looked at the list again:
"Two: Mycroft's parents will sincerely apologize to him…" He gazed at Holmes brothers. "After long conversation between them and their two sons, Siger Holmes went to Mycroft's room and apologized for his mistakes. After persuasion from Sherlock, Anthea and myself, Violet did the same the very next day. Mister Holmes," Herbert turned to Mycroft again. "you've suspected that your mother's apologies won't be sincere. Do you think that any of your parents wasn't genuine with their remorse?"
Mycroft contemplated cherub's question once again. He remembered tears in eyes of both of his parents. He remembered his father confessing to him that he was once scared for his eldest son's life. He remembered his mother admitting that she shouldn't call him an 'idiot boy'. He remembered how both of them showed him an actual affection – something that after the encounter in his office was greatly appreciated.
"I think Mummy and Daddy were sincere." Mycroft replied with a smile.
Herbert smiled back and turned to the list.
"And three: Mycroft will feel like all of his burdens has been lifted off his shoulders…" He snapped his fingers and the list disappeared. Then he leaned forward and rested his hand on the lap. "That was a tricky one, I admit. Both family and work acquaintances of mister Holmes did everything to give him time to rest and assure him about their support."
But even someone like you isn't invincible, and judging by the fact that recently you're spending your nights here instead of your own house, you're not copying very well…
I don't like your uncle Mycroft, but I do wish him well…
I did many stupid, stupid things and you got hurt. I should have listen to you more often. And if there is anything you ever need, tell me. I will try to be there for you…
Mycroft, honey, you're my child and it's my duty as a mother is to keep you straight. But sometimes I get carried away and forget that you're trying really hard to make everything right. Even if things are beyond your control…
You're not responsible for every possible tragedy in your and Sherlock's life…
"But ultimately," Herbert said, cutting Mycroft's train of thought. "it all came down to one moment of lightheartedness. One moment when you will forget about all your responsibilities and just feel free. It almost happened on the swing set, but I guess, it was too soon." He looked at Mycroft and gave him a friendly smile. "I've told earlier Mrs. Holmes that conditions first and second are necessary for the third one to be fulfilled. It wasn't as much of the matter of Sherlock being good brother and your parents apologizing to you, as just for you to be away from your responsibilities for a long time. You also needed a good company." Herbert smiled even wider. "Tell me, mister Holmes, have such a think occurred lately?"
Sherlock looked at Mycroft. For a moment the boy was silent, but soon his expression changed into realization. His brother noticed it too and the detective's eyebrows has been raised.
"Of course…" Mycroft said and stood up. "It happened last night."
Sherlock didn't say anything. Herbert didn't have to read his mind to know that he felt happy about it.
"Which brings up the question," The cherub started. "should I turn you back to normal now? Or maybe wait a little longer?"
Holmes brothers exchanged looks of understanding. They were staring at each other for about half a minute, like there was some kind of mental conversation going on. Then Mycroft turned to Herbert and explained:
"Well, considering that sudden appearance of adult me in place of 'Mike' would probably disturb Mrs. Hudson; and that I don't have clothes for change here, it would be much wiser if we wait, say, to three pm."
"Three pm?" Herbert raised his eyebrows and looked at younger Holmes. "Are you okay with this?"
At first Sherlock was surprised to be asked about his opinion, but then his expression changed to more emotionless. A moment of silence passed as he seemed to contemplate the question, before he straightened himself and finally replied:
"I don't have a say in that question. My brother will go back to being adult when he wishes to be."
Still Herbert could read some sadness in him. Sherlock would like for Mycroft to stay a child for a little longer. Moreover, Mycroft seemed to notice it too.
"Maybe let's go with midnight." He offered. "It would be like reverse-Cinderella."
"Excellent. Then, I will come back then." Herbert said and disappeared, leaving Holmes brothers on their own.
