"Father, why are we here?" Mycroft asked, looking up at his father.
Father smiled at Mycroft. "You remember how Mummy said she had your brother in her tummy?"
Mycroft nodded. His mother had been carrying a child for the past nine months. Mycroft understood that much of it- it made sense. How the child had gotten inside of his mother was beyond his seven year old mind.
"The baby came out yesterday. We're going to visit her and your brother." Father continued, stopping in front of a blue hospital door.
"Why can't we visit Mother at home?" Mycroft didn't understand. Wasn't this trip unnecessary? If the baby was out of Mother, couldn't Mother just come home?
Father smiled softly. "Well, Myc, Mummy is hurting a little bit. She can't walk right now and the doctors want to make sure she's okay."
Mycroft looked down at his shoes. "Okay.."
Father hummed and pushed open the heavy door, leading Mycroft into a small room. Mother smiled at them from the white hospital bed she was laying in. A bright yellow blanket covered her shoulders and beneath that... Mycroft couldn't see anything else of his mother, it was hidden beneath the blanket.
"Hello, Mummy!" Father exclaimed.
"Hi, Daddy, hello, Myc!" Mother responded, smiling. Mycroft disliked the amount of smiling everyone was doing.
"Hello, mother." Mycroft responded.
Mother hummed. "William's eating right now, Daddy."
"That's okay. We'll wait- little William needs his milk to grow up big and strong." Father said. Mycroft wanted to hurl. He didn't understand most of what was happening, but he hated it.
Father led Mycroft to a hard, plastic chair in the corner and sat him down. Mycroft pulled out one of his toys and fiddled with it, tuning out the conversation between his mother and father.
"Mycroft," Mycroft looked up at his name a few minutes later.
"Yes, Mother?" He asked.
"William's finished. Would you like to meet him?"
Mycroft cocked his head to the side. "Who's William?"
Father chuckled and Mother lovingly shook her head, handing a bundle of blue to father.
"This is William." Father said, setting the bundle of blue into Mycroft's arms, instructing him on how to hold it.
Once it was settled, Father pulled back a corner of the blanket and to Mycroft's surprise, a face peeked out at him. The face was long and chubby, with plump lips and high cheekbones, barely peeking out over the chubby baby face.
"His full name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes. He's your baby brother." Mother said.
The bundle shifted and Mycroft looked down. "William..." He repeated. He decided he didn't like it. Sherlock was a much more unique name. And it matched his own; Mycroft. "Mother, can I call him Sherlock?"
Mother hesitantly smiled. "Of course, Mycie."
Mycroft grimaced at the nickname, but decided not to comment. "Sherlock." He said again. "Sherlock."
Sherlock slowly opened his eyes. "Oh!" Mycroft exclaimed. "Hello, Sherlock. I'm Mycroft. I'm your big brother."
Sherlock's dark blue gaze left Mycroft and instead wandered around the room. Mycroft watched- he could see Sherlock was trying to take everything in, his day old mind already working to file everything away and remember.
Sherlock looked back up at Mycroft. "Hi." Mycroft said again.
Sherlock's plump lips turned up at the corners. Mycroft couldn't help but grin. Sherlock was smiling at him!
Sherlock's gaze wandered off again, but the fuzzy feeling inside of Mycroft remained. He didn't know what it was, but he felt happy. He felt a surge of something he only really felt when other kids were around his books: a need to keep them safe.
Sherlock began to fuss slightly, but he never cried. He moved his head and wriggled a bit in Mycroft's arms. It felt funny and the 7-year-old giggled, seeing Sherlock's full head of dark brown, almost black, curls.
The blanket loosened slightly and a pale hand emerged. Mycroft watched in fascination as the tiny hand laid on the blanket before Sherlock fussed again and the hand jerked slightly.
For a third time that day, Sherlock's dark blue eyes met Mycroft's. Mycroft tentatively smiled and Sherlock instantly relaxed, smiling his half formed baby smile back. The smile faded as quick as it had come, however, and morphed into a yawn.
The cutest yawn Mycroft had ever seen in his entire life.
Mycroft resisted the urge to coo as Sherlock's eyelids fluttered shut, long lashes barely brushing his high cheeks.
Soon, Sherlock's breathing evened out as he fell asleep.
Mycroft didn't move after, afraid of waking his brother. Instead, he watched, taking in every detail of his brother's appearance in quiet awe.
He had never enjoyed the company of those younger than him, but he could tell that Sherlock would be the one exception.
Father moved to take Sherlock out of Mycroft's arms, but Mycroft refused to let go. "He's sleeping." Mycroft had whispered.
Father smiled tiredly, but sat down again and watched his two sons.
Mycroft went back to his brother and smiled. He didn't know what the warm feeling in his chest was, but he did know that he would protect his baby brother at all costs. He promised to himself, and to Sherlock, that as long as he was alive, he wouldn't let any harm come to his baby brother.
Mycroft had never broken a promise before. No matter what. And he wasn't about to start now.