1984
"Smith, what are you doing in here?"
"Ssh." Smith whispered, walking across the room. He sat down on the bed beside Mycroft putting an arm around his shoulders.
"What are you doing?" Mycroft asked again, flinching away from Smith.
"Ssh." Smith repeated.
"No! I don't like it. I want you to stop."
"Stop what? We're not doing anything wrong."
"I don't like it."
"I'm just teaching you how to be a big boy. You like learning."
"I don't want to be a big boy."
"But everyone has to grow up, Mycroft."
Mycroft frowned, wondering if this was really normal.
"We're not doing anything wrong. You want this as much as me."
"I'll tell Mummy!"
"Why would you do that? After everything I've done for you. Helping you move bedrooms, all the times I snuck cake in here. And now you're going to throw it back in my face? Just because I'm trying to help you. And anyway, why would you're parents believe a silly little boy like you over their trusted butler? They would hate you for telling such vile lies about me."
Mycroft thought about it. He couldn't stand the idea of Mummy and Daddy hating him. "Ok." He nodded miserably.
"That's a good boy. Now lie down and close your eyes."
Mycroft closed his eyes as tightly as possible, he was determined not to cry. Afterwards, after Smith had left the room, Mycroft curled up in a tiny ball and allowed the tears to slip from beneath his eyelids.
He lay still for hours, suddenly he couldn't stand the smell on his skin, his smell. He jumped from his bed and ran down the hallway, locking himself in the bathroom. He turned the shower on as hot as possible, stripping off his pyjamas and balling them up. He stood under the scalding hot water, scrubbing at his skin.
He froze under the water as he heard a tapping on the door.
"Mycroft, dear, is that you?" His mother called through the bathroom door. The door rattled as she tried the handle. "Mycroft?"
"I'm fine Mummy."
"What are you doing dear? It's two in the morning."
Silence.
"Open the door Mikey."
Silence.
"Mycroft, open the door or I'll get Smith to come and knock it down."
"No!"
"Then open the door. Now."
Mycroft stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel tightly around himself. He slowly slid the lock across and opened the door.
"Mikey, what are you doing in the shower at this hour."
Mycroft hesitated for a second or two. "I just felt a bit cold, I thought a shower would warm me up."
Mother frowned at the lie, taking in the reddened skin and the balled up pyjamas. "Ok, dear." She said, assuming he had wet the bed. "Do you need any help?"
"No." He followed her line of sight and saw his pyjamas, he realised her assumption.
"I'll go and get you some clean pyjamas, shall I?" He nodded. He pushed the door shut as soon as she left the room and quickly splashed some water onto his pyjama trousers before stuffing them into the laundry basket. Surely his mother thinking that he had wet himself would be better than the truth.
His mother took a clean pair of pyjamas from the drawer and checked his bed. "Here you go, pop them on and I'll tuck you into bed." She said returning to the bathroom.
"Can you wait outside, please?"
"Of course, dear." Mummy said surprised at the request.
Mother tucked him back into bed. "Good night Mikey." She said, stroking his damp hair back from his forehead.
Mycroft lay in bed until he heard Mummy's footsteps disappear down the hallway. He jumped from the bed, pulling the sheets and the pillowcases off, throwing the duvet away. He took an old blanket from his wardrobe and curled up in a chair until morning.
Sherlock
"Mycroft, dear, are you unwell?" Mycroft continued playing with his food, unaware that his mother was talking to him. Sherlock stopped chattering away as they all turned to Mycroft.
"Mycroft? Your mother is talking to you." Father said. "Mycroft?"
Mycroft looked up from his plate.
"Is something wrong, dear? You've barely touched your dinner." Mummy asked.
"Is something bothering you, Mycroft?" Daddy said at the same time.
Mycroft looked startled by the questions, not sure which to answer first. Or what to say. He could see Smith hovering in the corner of the room, out of his parents' line of sight. Smith stared at him, an odd expression on his face. "I…erm…" He looked over to Smith who frowned at him. "I don't feel very well. May I please leave the table."
"Yes, dear. You do look a little peaky. Smith, can you go up with Mycroft. I'll be up after dinner, dear."
Mycroft jumped up suddenly, knocking his chair back which tipped onto two legs before righting itself. "No. I'll be fine. I just want to lie down for a little while. No one needs to come up." He desperately wanted his mother to sit beside his bed, and stroke his hair back from his forehead but he couldn't risk Smith being sent up with him.
"Ok. I'll look in on you later, if you're sure."
Mycroft tried to stand up straight with his head held high but it was difficult when he was in pain. "I'll be fine, mother."
His mother frowned as he left the room, Mycroft calling her mother instead of mummy was not lost on her.
Sherlock
Mycroft tensed as he heard the quiet knock on his bedroom door, closing his eyes as the door opened. Maybe Smith would leave him alone if he though Mycroft was sleeping. He heard footsteps coming towards his bed, he almost sighed as he recognised them as the footsteps of his mother. She sat on the edge of his bed and stroked his forehead.
"I know you're awake, Mikey." He opened his eyes, relaxing under her gentle touch. "What's bothering you, darling?"
"Nothing Mummy. I just feel unwell."
"You would tell us, wouldn't you? If something was wrong you'd tell Daddy or I?"
"Of course Mother." He said with a sniff. Lying to his mother.
"You know you can talk to us about anything, don't you?"
Mycroft sniffed again.
"How about I sit here with you until you fall asleep."
Mycroft nodded, leaning into her touch.