When they finally arrived at the mansion that is Mycroft Holmes' home, Lestrade reaches over to shake the two boys awake gently, smiling as he watches them. "We're here, guys." He says before he gets out, waiting beside their door for them to come out.
Sleepily, John yawns and stretches his smaller arms before he glances at the utterly blank face of his friend that offers no comfort or clue as to how this will go. Finally, he gets out of the car, careful on the steps so he doesn't accidentally misjudge the distance.
"We didn't need to come here, we could have stayed at Baker Street." Sherlock says to no one in particular as he enters the house, and the three are shown toward the sitting room.
John reaches out and takes Sherlock's hand in a silent show of comfort and unity, giving him a firm nod before he looks around the room, finding it hard to disguise his awe. Of course everything looks a bit bigger from his diminished height, but he still finds it impressive.
And sitting behind a large mahogany desk is Mycroft, who looks up with a flicker of surprise crossing his face. Finally, he sighs and puts down his pen, watching Sherlock in particular. "My dear brother. What have you done to yourself now? And Dr. Watson, I presume?" He asks with an arched eyebrow at John. "I thought that this might have been a very elaborate prank at first, Inspector, but it seems I have rightly judged you as an honest man." He admits before he gets up and walks over to the pair, crouching down in front of them.
Despite appearances? Mycroft does have more than a little experience dealing with Sherlock when he was this age, and while he recognizes that his brother has retained his mental faculties if his blatantly angry and defiant look is anything to go by, he also knows it cannot be easy on him either. "I suggest you stay here until we arrange for a doctor and to get you some proper clothes."
"I am a doctor, still, I can perform our examinations. While I am sure we appreciate your help, Mycroft, we can return to Baker Street just fine." John says firmly as he regards the (now) older man. His hand tightens around Sherlock's as he glances over at the decidedly unhappy detective.
"While I am sure you are still capable, and it may be endearing to see you drag a box around to reach the examination table, I worry about decreased dexterity. It would be wise to get a second opinion, since your expertise is not genetics." Mycroft says firmly as he looks at the two calmly. He knew he might have a fight on his hands from the two after his suggestion, but he fully expected to get more out of Sherlock than the silent treatment, which makes him a little suspicious. He's waiting for the explosion to happen which he is sure is forming in that head of his.
Before John can say anything else though, Sherlock turns to look at John, giving his hand a little squeeze. "As much as I am sure you know it pains me to admit it, Mycroft is right. You are a brilliant surgeon, John, very skilled in your particular field, but you are not a genetics expert. It would be wise to defer to someone with more expertise in this matter. As for staying here, I am sure you can gather how I feel about that, but there is little we can do, especially if we are supposed to be in America on a case, it would be best if we appeared to be absent from Baker Street, at least for a while. I am sure that I can be provided with a lab here in which to try and make an antidote." He says quietly, sighing a little, while he returns to glaring at his brother. "John and I will be sharing a room." he announces after a moment as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Of course, John is getting pretty angry. Because they had previously agreed that he should do their examinations, and he does not want to be poked or prodded by one of Mycroft's goons also known as doctors, nor does he want to stay in this mausoleum of a house for any length of time. He yanks his hand from Sherlock's and glares at him. "You need to make up your bloody mind, Sherlock. I don't want to be poked and prodded by any bloody genetics doctor. And I do not want to stay here. I want to go home. To Baker Street. Sleep in my own bloody bed, in my own bloody room!" He says in a slightly angry tone, stomping his foot unconsciously. And worst of all, he feels tears pricking at the backs of his eyes, then his vision going blurring as they become worse. When he was this age the first time, it always seemed to him that his tear ducts were hard wired to his temper, so whenever he got angry, he would start crying which confused more than one person. He thought he had outgrown it, but something about being this age has brought that response back, and before he knows it, he has his hands pressed over his eyes as he starts crying because he's so angry over this situation.
Staring in shock at the other man, Sherlock finds himself not knowing what to do. He's never seen John cry before. He doesn't know exactly what happened to make him cry, his hands lifting as he looks at the little soldier helplessly.
Having stayed off to the side listening to the conversation before now, Lestrade walks over and he sighs as he sees John crying, getting down on one knee, he turns the (now) younger man and pulls him into a hug. It's a little strange, but he can't help but want to comfort the apparent young boy, his paternal instincts kicking into full gear. He gently rubs John's back as he holds him, looking at Sherlock over his shoulder. "Come on. This has been hard on both of you, as much as you might want to think otherwise. Mycroft, why don't we get the boys settled in a room?" He asks as he looks at the elder Holmes, before he reaches out a hand toward Sherlock, taking him by the wrist and bringing him closer, using his other hand to pull John away from him a little and turn him to nudge him toward Sherlock before he puts the detective's arm around John to try and show him what to do.
Luckily Sherlock is a bit of a genius. Because he figures out what Lestrade intends before he finishes the motion, and Sherlock puts both arms around John, one around his shoulders and the other around his waist to hold him close. "I'm sorry, John.." He says in a soft tone as he listens to the small hiccups coming from the little doctor as he tries to stop his tears.
Content that the two are going to be ok by themselves for a few moments, Lestrade stands and looks at Mycroft. "I have two kids of my own, I kind of miss them being that small.. They're all grown up now." he admits with a little chuckle, running a hand through his hair for a moment before he looks at the elder Holmes.
Mycroft seems to feel a little awkward but he nods quietly as he looks at Lestrade. "I have some experience with Sherlock when he was younger, but not children in general." He says before he walks to the desk, writing something down on a piece of paper, folding it in half before he returns to Lestrade, holding it out to him, along with a credit card. "Since you are no doubt more familiar with shopping for your own children, perhaps you should be the one to get clothing for them. This card has more than enough money available, and their respective sizes are on that paper." he says simply as he watches the Detective Inspector, then returns to his desk to pick up a phone. "Yes, my dear, I think they are ready to be settled into their room now." he says into the phone before hanging it up.
Staring for a few moments, Lestrade looks at the paper and card before he nods quietly. "Yeah, I suppose I do." he says in agreement about having more experience shopping for kids. "Well.. I'll be off, then." He says before he turns to head out, reaching the door the same time as Anthea is coming in. She's in a suit, but with trousers instead of a skirt today, her phone being tucked away as she comes inside. When she sees the two boys, her expression softens and she smiles. "Well. Aren't you two adorable." She says as she walks over. "Come on. I'm to show you to your room." She says quietly as she touches each of their shoulders lightly.
Pulling away from Sherlock, who he had been clinging to a little, hands grasping the side of the other boy's shirt, John sniffles a little, rubbing his eyes with his hands and wiping his face before he nods quietly, glancing at Sherlock uncertainly. "Thank you." he mumbles softly before he glances up at Anthea for a moment, wiping his hands on his pants, reaching out to rub at a wet spot on Sherlock's shirt, very focused for a moment, a little distressed that he's marred the dress shirt.
Sherlock just nods a little as he looks at John, reaching out to brush some moisture from his chin for a few moments. He swats John's hand away from his shirt before he says, "It's fine, John." And he takes the other boy's hand before he looks up at Anthea expectantly. "Well?" He asks in a childishly demanding tone, his higher tone taking some of the bite out of his actions even if he still sounds bored.
Not bothered at all by Sherlock's waspishness, Anthea straightens and turns to walk out of the room, glancing back to make sure the boys are following her before she leads the way upstairs to a room at the back of the house. It's more than big enough for the both of them, with an attached bathroom, and a large window seat overlooking the garden in the back. She opens the door and steps inside, then motions. "There's some sleep clothes on the bed, Mrs. Hudson was kind enough to provide the sizes for us so we could have something here for you to sleep in. The bathroom is right over there, I trust you won't need help operating anything in there." She says with a little chuckle, then walks over to the large queen bed, pulling out a small step stool from under the bed. "Just in case." She says innocently. "I'll have some nibbles sent up, perhaps a bit of tea. Decaffeinated though, I think." She says as she looks back at them, walking over. "Probably best if you stay here for the rest of the evening." She says, before she adds, "Oh. I almost forgot." She says as she walks over and pushes a panel of the wall aside, revealing a good sized TV, at a perfect angle to watch from the bed, and she brings the remote back. "In case you get bored."S he says with a little smile.
Nodding slowly and just wanting Anthea to go away at this point, Sherlock watches her warily for a few moments. "Thank you, Anthea." He says before he takes the remote from her, watching her and waiting for her to leave before he turns toward John. "John. Are you alright?" he asks, tossing the remote onto the bed before he ducks down a little, putting his hands on either side of John's face, holding it still so he can look into his eyes.
Having sort of expected this examination, John sighs and then nods quietly, sniffling lightly as he lifts his hands to curl them around the thin wrists of the brunette. "Yes. I'm fine, Sherlock. When I was younger.. well.. when I was this age the first time.. every time I got angry, I would end up crying. Which only made me more angry and made me cry more. I thought I had outgrown it.. it seems some things never change." He explains, avoiding looking at the detective for a few moments, before he looks up into those blue-green eyes. "I just.. would rather be home, in my own bed." he says as he starts to move away, leaning down and stripping off his dirty and damp socks before he walks over to hop up into the window seat, scooting as close to the window as he can get so he can tilt his head against the glass and look out over the garden.
Considering what to do for a few moments, Sherlock finally follows suit in removing his socks, swiftly changing into his night clothes which are a more comfortable pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt, similar to what he wears around Baker Street sometimes, before he grabs the blanket off the foot of the bed and walks over to where John is, climbing up onto the window seat beside him. His thin frame and John's overall smallish size make it easy for them to fit side-by-side. He leans against John a little, before pulling the blanket over both of them. "I will find a way to fix this, John." He promises, putting his arm around the doctor and following his gaze out across the garden, glancing up at the darkening sky. "Before you know it, we'll be just as we were and back solving crimes at Baker Street." he says with a little smile.
"Well. I wouldn't mind it if I could be a few years younger when you turned us back." John says before he giggles a little, somewhat exhausted as he helps Sherlock pull the covers up around them both, taking a slow, deep breath. "I know you'll fix it, Sherlock. That's who you are. You're brilliant. Even if it takes a while, that's alright. I'll find something to do, I'm sure, and we'll fix this together. It's not so bad, really. At this age we can still be relatively autonomous." He says as he considers the ups and downs. "I would like to return home as soon as possible, though. I don't like being under Mycroft's thumb."
A small nod is given, Sherlock's curls bouncing a little, before he sighs. "I understand, John." he says before he considers him for a few moments. "We shouldn't stay here. If your shoulder is still scarred like before, the cold and this position will make it sore in the morning." he notes as he thinks about it. "You should change so we can get into bed and relax there instead, it will be much better for your shoulder." he says as he starts to move away from his position, hesitating before he gets up, walking to the bathroom and closing the door behind him.
A small smile curves John's lips as he watches the detective go. Sometimes he can get things exactly right, he can show a caring side of himself, while all other times he can be an unfeeling, arrogant sod, as DI Dimmock once so accurately pointed out. Shaking his head, he sighs as he gets up, because ultimately he knows the detective is right, he can already feel his shoulder stiffening up. Looking at the clothes laid out on the bed, he's glad to find them relatively plain, and he undresses and quickly re-dresses, his clothes from the day being neatly folded and placed in a chair not too far from the bed, before he picks up Sherlock's discarded clothes to fold them as well, Army training kicking in to make him neat. Or at least to control those things in his environment that he has any hope to have control over.
When Sherlock emerges from the bathroom, it's just in time for Anthea to knock and bring in a tray of nibbles and tea that she places on the chest that sits at the foot of the bed. "There you are. You two have a good evening." She says quietly before she walks out, closing the door securely behind her.
By the time John comes out from the bathroom Sherlock has a cup of tea made for him and he holds it out toward the doctor, making up his own cup before he looks down at the selection of small sandwiches and cookies that were brought up. "Jammie dodgers.. they were my favorite growing up." He says as he picks one of them up, nibbling at it for a few moments. He also had more of a sweet tooth when he was younger, until he realized that is how you gained weight and ended up like Mycroft. One of the reasons he curbed his diet, though the other is that the 'food coma' so many go into right after they eat a full meal, frustrated him to no end so he strove to control that just like he controlled everything else in his life.
"I wonder how much our minds will be affected by our bodies. We've already found some instances, such as you eating more, and me crying when I get angry." John says thoughtfully as he picks up a sandwich and eats it slowly, licking his lips as he sips his tea. "Caffeine doesn't seem to affect us very much yet. Though it could be because our bodies are still adjusting.. after effects of whatever the hell happened." he says before he sighs a little, sipping his tea and looking at it. "Oh, that is lovely.." he says before he takes another sip and he picks up a cookie, smiling. "Like you said, though. Worst case scenario is that we have to grow up all over again, right? It's not as if we're going to keep getting younger, or die or something.." He muses as he considers it, closing his eyes. "This has been.. a very long day." He says with a shake of his head, opening his eyes to look at Sherlock before he finishes his tea. "I am bloody glad that you're here with me, though. I would be a little put out if you had changed only me into a kid... That would be bloody annoying." he says with a little shake of his head.
Sherlock can't help but chuckle a little, though it's more of a giggle, looking at John. "Yes. Much better this way. You and me, John. The best of friends, together always." he says as he lifts his cup in a silent salute before he finishes the tea, then he climbs up onto the bed. "Now. I need to visit my mind Palace and see if there has been any damage there." He says as he kicks the covers until his legs are sitting underneath it, steepling his fingers as he lays back, closing his eyes slowly.
"Of course you do. I'll see what's on tellie, then, shall I?" He asks as he grabs the remote and stretches out on the bed on his stomach, looking at the TV before he turns it on and starts flipping channels until he finds Doctor Who. He's not sure when it happens, but apparently at some point he falls asleep, because he feels Sherlock shaking his shoulder, and he jerks awake, lifting his head from where it was rested on his folded arms. "Hm? what happened?" He mumbles softly, sitting up to rub his eyes.
Rolling his eyes a little, Sherlock watches John. "You fell asleep. It looked uncomfortable." he says before he lays back again. "We should both get some rest. As much as I dislike it, a younger body does need more rest, I do not have the control over it as I would otherwise." He says in an annoyed tone.
Giggling a little again, John slides up the bed and slips under the covers next to Sherlock, not finding it at all awkward to share a bed with him, whereas he might have been a few days ago. He turns on his side toward Sherlock, pulling his knees up a little as he watches the other man. "Still don't understand how I became younger." he says sleepily.
Turning the lights and TV off, Sherlock finally returns to bed and lays on his side facing John, shaking his head. "It's a mystery. Perhaps the greatest mystery of my career." he says with a small smile, pulling his knees up a little so their legs barely brush, scooting closer and tilting his head down until their foreheads touch, and he reaches out to take one of John's hands in his, finding the closeness reassuring, the childish innocence of two best friends sharing a bed, sharing their lives. In a way that only children can, before you start thinking about everything in a sexual context and how things might be misconstrued to mean more than they actually do. Before things become complicated.
Nodding slightly, John smiles as he looks at Sherlock, getting comfortable and relaxing, enjoying the closeness and having his best friend sharing this with him. Even if said best friend is the cause of it. "Perhaps. Go to sleep, Sherlock." He says with a small chuckle, before he relaxes a little, taking a deep breath and letting it out as he starts to drift back off to sleep.
Sherlock chuckles a little, but he finally closes his eyes and relaxes, enjoying listening to the even cadence of John's breathing as he starts to drift off as well.
"Goodnight, John."
Woot, chapter two! These two are so incredibly cute to write as kids! Next.. doctor's visit! Doctor's make the worst patient's.. And Lestrade has been elected as the father figure, who decided that? :D He just fits it too well.
Hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it!
Reviews/comments welcome!