Brolly

This is in response to Raychaell Dionzeros's review about what happened when Mycroft watched Ellie.

"If Mycroft can look after Ellen without calling for your assistance then surely I can do just as well." ~ Sherlock Holmes (Tantrum)

Eleanor Watson stuck her head experimentally under Mycroft's desk.

"There is nothing of interest for you there, Miss Watson. I suggest you direct your attention to the bag of toys that your mother left for your use," Mycroft spoke calmly as he continued his never-ending paperwork. Mary had left her daughter in Mycroft's care at Holmes Manor an hour earlier while John and Sherlock were working a case outside of London. Originally Mrs. Hudson was to watch the child, but since Mrs. Hudson's hip was acting out again it was decided that Mycroft would be given care over Eleanor for the day. Though he was loath to admit it out loud, Mycroft was perfectly content with the arrangement, Eleanor surprisingly proving to be an acceptable companion for the late afternoon hours. Since arriving she had been perfectly happy entertaining herself quietly with only one attempted escape from Mycroft's office.

Eleanor pulled back and blinked up at Mycroft, chuckling as she did so. He disregarded her, even as she grabbed ahold of his precisely pressed pant leg and proceeded to climb up into his lap. Mycroft did not even look down as she settled back against him, pressing her cheek to the softness of his silk tie. He only shifted himself slightly so that one arm was wrapped around Eleanor, keeping her safely in place. He could always sign the negotiations with his left hand after all.

The two sat silently for a time, Eleanor content with looking around from her new vantage point while Mycroft arranged for the next strategic movement of troops.

"Brolla," Eleanor interrupted the quiet, pointing imperiously to the umbrella resting against Mycroft's desk.

"Umbrella." Mycroft corrected as he signed a referral for an alliance.

"Want," Eleanor looked up at her uncle with luminous blue eyes.

"No." Mycroft arranged for a terrorist attempt to be thwarted.

"Pwease?"

"No." Another transfer of funds to Torchwood.

"Pwetty pwease?"

"No Eleanor," Mycroft said firmly, glancing up from his paperwork to give her hard glare number 7. Specifically designed to deal with children and Sherlock when they refuse to take "no" as an answer. Ellie's bottom lip wobbled precariously, threatening a crying fit of perilous proportions, but Mycroft ignored the danger sign and paid the child no heed. Instead he finished putting his signature to another endorsement of a trade agreement.

The single drip of a tear on his hand and the truly pitiful whimper finally pulled Mycroft's attention away from his paperwork and towards the small child in his arms.

"Eleanor?"

"Unca Myc?"

"Why are you crying?" Mycroft demanded, confusion laced through his voice.

" 'Cause."

"Because is not an appropriate answer. Think it through and give me a valid reason for tears. Also understand that tears will not get you the umbrella. It is not for children," Mycroft spoke clearly and softly, a frown etched onto his face. Eleanor was silent for a few moments, considering this new information.

"Why won't you play with me?" the child finally asked.

"I have work to do Eleanor if the British nation is to continue its existence," Mycroft replied smoothly

"Oh. Otay," Eleanor sighed sadly. Without another word she wiggled down from her uncle's lap and toddled across the floor, not even glancing at Mycroft's precious umbrella.

Mycroft continued to scan the notes of his security network for two minutes and thirty-three seconds before breaking and looking up at his niece. She was sitting quietly, not touching her toys or observing her surroundings. Only sitting, occasionally reaching down to stroke the soft carpet.

All behaviors that he would normally encourage as it allowed him to do his work uninterrupted, yet the sight of the twenty-five month old child behaving so out of her norm was unsettling.

Gripping the mahogany edge of his desk, Mycroft felt himself go back in time, remembering a little boy with dark curls who had looked just as disappointed when he learned that Mycroft would no longer play pirates with him.

Setting down his gold-plated pen Mycroft stood up, walked around his desk, and lowered himself gingerly to the floor next to Eleanor.

"What do you wish to play?"

The smile that little Eleanor gave to her uncle at that point put the light of the sun to shame.

"Incy wincy spidah!" Eleanor cheered. Mycroft frowned momentarily, trying to remember that rhyme.

When it became clear to Eleanor that her uncle was sadly lacking in the most basic education of nursery rhymes she proceeded to teach him all of her favorites from A Cat Came Dancing to Hickory Dickory Dock.

And this is how later that afternoon when Anthea walked into her boss's office to find Mycroft Holmes (holder of a minor position in the British Government) she had the surprise of seeing Mary Watson standing outside the office, the door barely cracked open.

"What are you –?"

"Shh," Mary quickly hushed the PA before she could disturb what was going on in the office.

Anthea stepped forward quietly at Mary's bidding and looked into the office.

There before her eyes, sprawled on the floor, the creases of his shirt and pants hopelessly ruined with his tie crooked and hair mussed looking as though he was having the time of his life was Mycroft Holmes. Eleanor Watson looked to be in a similar state to her uncle, running around and around and around her Uncle Myc in their own two-person version of London Bridge, a bright smile on Eleanor's face and a twinkle in Mycroft's eyes.

"London Bwidge is fawwing down, fawwing down!" Eleanor sang as she ran.

"London Bridge is falling down," Mycroft corrected as he continued the song.

"My fair lady!" they shouted together. With a playful growl Mycroft reached out and snatched Eleanor up in his arms, much to her pleasure. They laughed heartily, unaware of their audience.

Mary snapped a quick photo, prompting Anthea to put an end to the tomfoolery. She cleared her throat as she pushed past Mary, stepping into the room.

"Sir?" Anthea asked, her tone pointed.

Eleanor continued to giggle, unaware of the secretary or her mother's presence while Mycroft immediately snapped to attention, rising from the floor with a surprising amount of grace.

Jacket straightened, pants dusted off, tie tucked and smoothed in, the persona of the Ice Man returned in the matter of five measly seconds.

Eleanor Watson blinked in shock, wondering where her funny uncle had gone. She watched quietly as Mycroft and Anthea proceeded to talk about royals and guns and treaties and all sorts of other boring grown up things. Her shoulders slumped dejectedly, but the smile quickly returned to her face when she saw the woman behind Anthea.

"Mummy!" Ellie shouted joyously. Mary scooped her daughter up into her arms, cuddling her close.

"Thank you for watching her Mycroft. I hope she wasn't too much trouble," Mary smiled politely. Anthea passed Ellie's bag to the mother with an equally civil half-smile.

"No trouble at all," Mycroft replied smoothly as he attempted to surreptitiously smooth down his hair. The ladies in the room chose to ignore this action, Mary and Anthea out of good taste, Eleanor out of a lack of caring.

"Bye Unca Myc," Eleanor waved as Mary carried her out of the room.

"Goodbye Eleanor." Mycroft spared the briefest of glances for the two-year-old before returning his attention to his PA and affairs of the state and of the world.

"Mummy?" Eleanor spoke up as they walked down the hall to the front door.

"Yes dear?"

"Can I pway wit Unca Myc again?" Ellie asked hopefully.

"I'll see what I can do," Mary promised, her mind already working out a plan to blackmail Mycroft into spending a few hours playing with Ellie. It was good for Ellie to spend time with her uncle. And it was even better for the man to spend some time not worrying about the needs of the world. What better way to let go of the cares of the world than to spend a few blissful hours in the land of pretend?

A/N Yes, I realize that Ellie is acting in a completely different way than how she did for Sherlock, but this Ellie is fully rested and knew that she would be with Mycroft. In contrast, when Sherlock was babysitting Ellie, she was tired and caught unawares, thus the tantrum(s). I had a lot of fun exploring this side of Mycroft (even if it is a bit...OC) but I'm thinking of trying a Lestrade centered story next. The poor man has a tough time of it and he needs some love. Who better to provide it than his Little Elle?