~ Scene from a Rehearsal -or- Carrot vs. Stick ~
For the "Brown" prompt
-o-o-o-
They were Sherlock's second cousins, the ring bearer eight years of age, his sister, the flower girl, six and a half, both adorable, but their behavior toward each other frequently less so. John, diligent in his role of Best Man, had reached his limit the previous evening and had put the fear of God into them, or so he'd thought. Now he swore under his breath when, halfway down the aisle, Reginald trod on little Rose's toes, possibly by accident, and she, having no such faith, retaliated by smacking her brother in the head with the small brown wicker basket which would, on the morrow, be filled with rose petals for her to scatter.
John started forward, but Sherlock stopped him with a hand on his arm, uttering a single word,"No," the word, firm, non-negotiable, and loud enough to echo in the vast space of the ancient edifice. Everyone was startled, and the two young miscreants looked up, their eyes widening as their cousin left his place at the altar and advanced upon them where they stood, halfway up the aisle. Rose suddenly abandoned animosity and clutched at her brother, who took her hand and gripped it, visibly steeling himself.
Sherlock, reaching the pair, towered over them briefly before crouching down and addressing them, his low, serious tone audible but unintelligible except to the children. They listened, wary and attentive, but John could see their expressions gradually lightening, and then relieved smiles broke out. There was some soft, eager conversation, and then Sherlock, stood up again, awkwardly patted them on their heads, and walked back to John and the rest of the wedding party.
There was both bemusement and annoyance on his face.
"What did you tell the little beggars?" John asked.
Sherlock winced. "They drive a hard bargain, but I fancy they may behave, at least through the ceremony tomorrow."
"I suppose you bribed them."
"I did, tour of Bart's morgue for Reg, the children's tea at the Chesterfield for Rose."
John chuckled. "You are a bloody soft touch, mate."
Sherlock shrugged. "I doubt payment will be required, I can't see them lasting through the reception. But in dealing with children, and having been one myself in the distant past, I've found the carrot to be a great deal more effective than the stick,"
And John, watching the now-cherubic children scurry back toward the church doors (where the smiling bride still waited) to make a second, much more careful attempt at their roles, had to admit that Sherlock was once more proven to be a wise man.
~.~