Hamish is lying draped across the sofa, his head hanging down onto the floor while Mycroft looks on from an armchair.
"Hamish, don't sit like that, it's bad for your posture."
"Father sits like this all the time."
"Well he's not here, I'm in charge of you right now. And your father is not someone you should strive to emulate."
Hamish scowls, raising his head off the floor and glaring at his uncle.
"Oi. Father solves all sorts of cases for other people, even ones you can't."
Mycroft purses his lips, breathing through his nose in an attempt to avoid snapping at Hamish.
"Your father may have settled down and turned his hobby into a relatively respectable job, but your dad had a lot to do with that. Before John came along, Sherlock was, shall we say, a bit of a holy terror."
At this, Hamish perks up and scrabbles onto the sofa, staring intently at Mycroft.
"Uncle Mycroft, will you tell me stories about when Father was little? So next time he yells at me for acting out, I can tell dad that he did something worse?"
Leave it to the little manipulator - he'd learnt from the best. He knows exactly what buttons to push to get Mycroft to talk.
"Hmmm, well, have I told you about the beets?"
Sorry for the lack of a drabble yesterday, work was too busy and I was so zonked when I got home. As for "the one about the beets", I will leave that up to your imagination.