A/N: What is with me + Sherlock muse and late nights? I decided I am going to turn this into a few one-shots since I really wanted to see young Mycroft + Sherlock Holmes together. Cutie pies, they are.

Tea Time with Sherry & Mycie

"Oh, your two boys are just adorable."

"Mine?" Violet Holmes asked, lowering her teacup and narrowing her eyes at Melynda curiously.

There was a brief silence before Cassandra - who sat beside her - chuckled stiffly,

"Actually, Violet dear. I believe she is talking about my two boys..." A small, agonizing smile formed on the brunette's face as she blushed heavily. Melynda glanced at Violet ruefully,

"Although Vi, I must say your two boys are - " Her attempt was silenced however by Violet's hand happily lifting to stop her,

"No need." Violet smiled softly, "I know what my boys are like... they're..." what would be the word -

Different.

"They are... quite quirky," a small breath escaped Cassandra as she forced a smile, "But they are very good at school... I hear. You and Sig must be proud..."

Violet smiled fondly, "Who told you that? Dear little Rupert?" Rupert of course who was in Sherlock's class.

"Yes. Well...Rupert tends to not speak very often now..."

"Oh, why is that?" Melynda asked curiously before an innocent silence ensued. She blinked a little awkwardly - clearly not catching the joke as the two other women stared at each other vacantly.

Glancing mutely at the untouched cakes, Violet smoothed out her skirt,

"There was a little accident..."

"Involving... little Sherlock..." Cassandra continued, grinning weakly.

"Let's just say... Rupert's jaw is still in recovery," Violet breathed, wiping sweat off her brow as she glanced at the clock that hung on the wall across. Melynda began to laugh humourlessly as Cassandra seemed to pale.

"Anyway... it was nice seeing you girls. Give my love to lovely little Rupert yes?" Mrs. Holmes stood up with a forced beam of the face, "I wish you a safe trip home."

The two women left - both bidding her a sweet farewell. Violet Holmes pressed her back against the door and breathed outwardly - goodness.

As if the day could not get any longer - her boys were going to be on their way home in fifteen minutes.

"Afternoon, love."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as his mother gave them the usual, returning home routine of kisses. Hugs. And small, useless questions that he really did not have the saliva to answer. "Hullo, Mummy." The eight year old sighed deeply, "Again. I saw you this morning have you forgotten?"

A chuckle resonated from a tall, dark haired Mycroft Holmes who was untangling his scarf. Sherlock glared up at him, feeling his chest compress inside. "What's so funny brother?" Sherlock hissed, "Saw your reflection in my eyes?"

The older boy's face fell. Mrs. Holmes took that as her cue to chuckle,

"Boys. No arguing... you've only just got home!" She gushed, "Now tell me - how was school?"

"Great." Mycroft nodded, giving his mother a small customary kiss on the cheek, "I did some cricket. I finished my English Literature project... great."

Always the optimistic one. Glancing down at the curly haired boy, the woman took an inhale deciding that the optimism was not going to rub off on her youngest,

"And yours?" She asked with a large smile.

The grey eyed boy stared up at her - eyes blank. "Dull."

Of course. Mycroft posed a deep, throaty laugh giving the small boy a shake of the hair. Sherlock scowled, hands flailing - as if his brother's very fingertips were diseased,

"Don't tease your brother." She sighed at Mycroft.

Mycroft shrugged, "I did not tease him. I was giving him an affectionate gesture."

His mother simply pressed her lips together, rolling her eyes at her son's smirk. "Don't Mycroft," She sighed, "He looks unhappy already." She looked back to check on her youngest but he was gone.

Sherlock was already in the kitchen. "Dear!" She crooned, "There is some food in the oven!"

"Not hungry!" came the reply.

"Make sure your brother eats." Mrs. Holmes glanced at her oldest son firmly, giving the boy a nod, "I have to go and visit your Aunt Miranda. I shall be home quite soon. Make sure he eats, okay?" She pressed knowing how important it was for her youngest to eat. How she worried about him for she had a funny feeling he did not each his lunch as he tells her every time he comes home!

"Fine, mother." Mycroft replied dryly. The woman noted the playfulness in his reply and decided to diminish it instantly,

"No force feeding."

The fifteen year old smirked, poking out his tongue ruefully,

"You are really no fun, sometimes Mummy."

"Mycie!"

"Fine!"

"Sherryyyy," The fifteen year old crowed, "Eat your damn pie."

"Mummy is going to get mad at you. She doesn't like it when you cuss." Sherlock warned, glancing at the dish in front of him with a vacant look. He looked up at his brother who had just finished eating his own dinner and was now engrossed in today's copy of The Financial Times,

"Well, Mummy's not here."

"So I don't need to eat then." Sherlock said coolly, glancing down at the objects he had been inspecting on the table. On the table were three round rocks. He mused at them.

It took only a few moments for him to notice that his older brother was observing his every move through the gap in the newspaper.

"Stop it." Sherlock snapped, "Mycroft... stop it."

"Stop what?" The boy grumbled; Sherlock could imagine the boy beaming behind the piece of paper. He was sickened by it.

"Watching me."

The watching did not stop. Infuriated, Sherlock leaned forward and snatched the paper. His brother recoiled instantly,

"What are you doing you loony?" The boy rasped, identical grey eyes flashing, "Give that back."

"No!" The curly haired boy stated with a large grin. It only occured to him of course that he had left his own, precious belongings unprotected.

Mycroft grabbed a rock.

"No!" Sherlock repeated, aghast, "Put it back Mycroft! Put it back! Don't touch it!"

"What do you - AH!" The fifteen year old dropped the rock, glancing at his throbbing fingers with wide, stunned eyes. Sherlock stumbled off his chair. For a normal brother's reaction, Sherlock should be there - inspecting his brother's afflictions. But he had warned him.

So, it was not his fault.

"What the heck did you do to that ROCK!" Mycroft screeched, "That burnt my fingers!"

"Good." Sherlock shrugged, nonchalant, "I told you not to touch it."

"God. You're insane!"

"Am not!" Sherlock gasped, fury rising through his tiny teeth, "Am not! It is you!"

"You are! Sherlock the Barmy!" Mycroft gritted his teeth, a nauseating smirk on his face as his small brother's grey eye twitched - a sign of him getting riled up... "BARMY. BARMY! BARMY!"

"STOP IT MYCROFT!" The eight year old shrieked, face beginning to turn a worrying shade of purple.

"-BARMY! BARMY!"

"MYCROFT!" Sherlock's voice reached a falsetto as his brother began to prance around the room, chanting.

With a loud yell, Sherlock lunged at the table.

There was silence as a dish hit the floor.

Miranda lived a corner away.

Violet came home and found herself inflated by the small, polite chat she had with her friend. Of course as she entered and there was silence - she knew something had happened.

"Boys!" She had screamed, "Boys? Are you -"

And then she entered the kitchen.

Her eyes examined her sons and softly and calmly - as her doctor said - she exhaled. A small, peaceful smile formed on her lips as she eyed her always responsible eldest. He stood there in the middle of the room - left eye writhing,

"Mycroft..." She said, leaning forwards, eyes gleaming,

"Yes, Mum."

"Please explain to me why you are covered in Sherlock's dinner."

The fifteen year old seemed to tremble. Violet reared her head towards her youngest who seemed to be staring at - rocks? Please don't ask... remember don't ask...

"Anything to say, dear?" She asked the young boy innocently who glanced up from his observations - looking as if nothing wrong had happened.

He shrugged simply, thin pale lips pressing in habit,

"I told him I wasn't hungry." Sherlock commented, placing his eyes back at the rocks with keen eyes.