1983
"Smith, where is Father?"
"He's away on business, Master Mycroft."
Mycroft's shoulders slumped in disappointment. His father had promised him. "What about Mummy?"
"She is out for luncheon."
"And Sherlock?" The house was too quiet.
"Nanny has taken him for a walk in the grounds, she's hoping that he will take a nap. Is something wrong, Master Mycroft?"
"Father was supposed to help me make my model aeroplane."
"Perhaps I could help you."
Mycroft face brightened immediately. "Would you?"
Smith followed Mycroft back to his bedroom and helped him unpack the parts of the model aeroplane onto his desk. They quietly worked together for an hour. Mycroft enjoyed himself, it was the most attention he'd received since Sherlock had been born.
"I think the glue has dried now, Smith. You can let go of the wing." Smith released the wing and they both waited expectantly to see if it would hold. Mycroft looked at the aeroplane with a grin on his face.
"Well done, Master Mycroft." Smith said, his free hand slowly crept down to rub lightly against Mycroft's crotch.
"Smith, what are you doing?" Mycroft said, startled, the grin disappearing from his face in an instant.
Smith smiled calmly at Mycroft. "What do you mean, Master Mycroft?" He asked, placing his hand back onto his own thigh.