[Excerpt is from chapter 33 of A Rose Blooms in Baker Street. The story is an epilogue to Raising a Wildflower chapter 17]
"So I bought her a pirate ship. A complete pirate ship in the backyard, christened the HMS Mycroft at her insistence. She got to keep it in the end, didn't work out so well for me. Something about 2500 pounds is a ridiculous amount of money for a 'glad you feel better now' gift." Sherlock waved his hand dismissively.
John promptly spit out his tea at the mention of 2500 pounds. "Yeah, I'd have murdered you too. How are you not dead and buried?"
Sherlock looked a bit uncomfortable and shifted in his chair by the fireplace. "There were moments I wished I was. About two week's worth of moments. Mycroft was… very, very angry. I had to sacrifice myself in order for Rose to keep the ship. Not much of a choice really."
It occurred to Sherlock in the first thirty minutes of his 'must escape Mycroft's clutches with all due speed' plan that he had exactly nowhere to go. Mycroft, in all his seeing and knowing of everything, undoubtedly knew each of his favorite haunts around London, or at least the vast majority of them. Damn Mycroft and all his… Mycroftness.
This didn't mean he couldn't wander London aimlessly for several hours. There were always interesting things to see in this great city that seemed to be part of his very being. From its vast amusements to varying places to cart his little sister, to the never ending supply of people to watch and practice deductions, London was the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock had. Sure, there were some people he tolerated at university, but for the most part, people were stupid; and if they weren't stupid, they were dull. But that had always been just fine for Sherlock. He had experiments, continued learning, detective work (or at least he would if NSY paid any attention to him at all, and given their crime solving rate they really, really should!), the whole of London and Rose.
Perhaps, in retrospect, he shouldn't have spent quite so much money on Rose. She hadn't asked for a pirate ship per se; rather she'd indicated how much she liked the pirate play sets they saw while shopping on Amazon for more 'authentically piratey' pirate gear. Yet that one little comment had made him instantly think about a real ship for Rose. She'd had a terrible fall, been very scared, and thankfully everything had turned out okay. Mycroft had purchased her gifts before when she'd been hurt or very sick, so why shouldn't he? Granted, Mycroft had never bought a boat for the backyard, or anything even remotely on the same scale, but didn't their Rose deserve it? Of course she did!
Rose deserved the very best of everything. The best he could give her, the best Mycroft could give her, the best childhood they could provide for her together in lieu of their deceased father and frequently ill and absent mother. They certainly weren't anyone's idea of good parents, or even parents as one generally understood the concept, but the brothers gave their all for Rose. Mother would understand, Sherlock was sure of it, though she'd certainly scold him about pick-pocketing Mycroft again. He'd gotten smacked for that before, several times in fact, but Sherlock knew she'd know that he really had the best intentions. Mycroft, however, clearly did not understand and was going to make Sherlock pay dearly for borrowing his bank card and making such an expensive purchase. He really hoped Mycroft wouldn't be mean enough or miserly enough to send the ship back! Mycroft had the biggest soft spot when it came to Rose and, despite his self appointed role as disciplinarian, Sherlock knew the eldest Holmes hated it more than anything when he was the cause of Rose's tears.
But, Mycroft was also a manipulative bastard; at least in Sherlock's opinion he was. He would probably offer Sherlock some horrid ultimatum, such as in exchange for letting Rose keep the ship, Sherlock would have to be his slave for a month or something equally repellent. No, that was a bit hopeful, even Sherlock knew that if he was honest. Mycroft was going to give him the spanking of his life, making all other spankings pale in comparison… and that was an awful lot of spankings to top.
After wandering London for the better part of five hours, Sherlock finally made his way home. The house was quiet, meaning Rose must already be in bed. He was quiet as he let himself into the house but had no illusions that Mycroft would be doing anything other than waiting for his return.
"Ah, how good of you to come home, brother mine," Mycroft greeted his brother from the sitting room. "Let's go to my study and attend to business, shall we?" He led the way, expecting Sherlock to follow him and Mycroft wasn't disappointed. He indicated that Sherlock should have a seat, then shut the door and went to sit behind his desk.
"Why?" Mycroft asked.
"Could you be more specific?" Sherlock inquired. "There's many things you might be asking 'why' about. Why is the sky blue? Why a pirate ship? Why are baby ducks called ducklings? Why are you such an idiot? Why did Mother and Father think you were better than a puppy would be? Anything really." He shrugged and kept his eyes downcast, trying not to show how nervous he actually was.
Mycroft rolled his eyes. "It's really not in your best interest to antagonize me Sherlock. Why did you steal my bank card and make such an outrageous purchase? You can't possibly have thought I wouldn't ever find out. For one thing, that's a very large withdrawal of money. For another, there's a bloody pirate ship in the backyard; rather hard to miss, wouldn't you say?"
"Depends. How good is your eyesight these days Mycroft? Going the way of your hair, perhaps?"
"Just answer the questions Sherlock. I strongly suggest you do it now, or I'll ask you mid-punishment and it'll be much more difficult for you to provide them," Mycroft warned.
"The baby fell. She wanted pirate gear. All good pirates have a ship. Isn't all this self-explanatory?"
Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. "And isn't 2500 pounds a ridiculous sum of money to spend on a 'glad you feel better now' gift for the baby? She doesn't need your assistance in becoming thoroughly spoiled anymore than she needed an actual ship in the yard."
"Of course she needed it! You wouldn't have given your permission if we asked, so I decided not to bother. Initially I was just going to purchase some gear for her, including boots without laces, but then the idea of a ship came to mind and it just happened," Sherlock replied, giving a sigh of his own.
"Well, this is as pointless as ever. You're the most recalcitrant boy, Sherlock, and have ever only really come to understand the error of your ways by one method: a sore bottom," Mycroft said sternly. "Which I am more than happy to provide you with in order to ensure you learn your lesson. But, in the spirit of fairness-"
Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes.
"As I was saying," Mycroft continued on. "In the spirit of fairness I'll give you a choice. The ship can be returned, my money refunded and the whole matter done with. Or, you can take the punishment you so very much deserve and Rose can keep the ship."
"Yes, because that's a fair choice," Sherlock grumbled. "That's no choice at all! Of course I'll take the punishment so the baby can have her ship."
Mycroft nodded and stood up, crossing the room to the closet.
Sherlock's heart sank. He watched with wide eyes as Mycroft took his cane out of the closet and placed it on the desk.
"I think one stroke for every 150 pounds is fair," Mycroft commented. "You'll get sixteen."
"2500 is not evenly divided by 16 Mycroft," Sherlock responded without even thinking. "It's-"
"Rounding up the decimals it's seventeen, you're correct. So you'd like seventeen then?" Mycroft smirked when Sherlock fell silent. "Right. Sixteen will do then. Trousers and pants down and bend over the desk."
Sherlock rose from the chair with great reluctance. He'd been caned many times; mostly at school because he was a 'problem child' as in people had problems with the fact that he was smarter than they were. The cane was not fun and was in fact something he actually tried very hard to avoid, but had never been entirely successful with it at school.
Even Mycroft had caned him once and it had been absolutely awful. He'd been twelve and he'd set the house on fire. The excuse of "it was accidentally on purpose" (as in "I intended to make a fire, yes, but the fact that it got out of my control was completely accidental") hadn't gone over well with Mother. She'd insisted Mycroft cane him and Mycroft was, as usual, all too happy to do so. Mycroft had experience, Mother said; she'd never caned anyone before. Mycroft was a prefect and thereby very experienced. Oh yes, Mycroft was an expert at using a cane and he promised to make Sherlock the sorriest little boy in the world. Damn him if he didn't. Sherlock hadn't looked at fire quite the same way since.
There was no point in delaying the inevitable and Sherlock steeled his resolve by reminding himself that he was doing this for Rose. Undoing his trousers, he pushed them and his pants to his knees, face red with embarrassment, and bent over Mycroft's desk. He'd seen the top of the desk from this angle far too many times in his lifetime.
"You will not put your hands back Sherlock, they must stay in front of you at all times," Mycroft said firmly. "However, you may kick, stomp, shout, and cry, whatever else you need to do. I know canings aren't easy, but the amount of money you stole from me warrants it. Are you ready?"
Biting his lip hard, Sherlock nodded and squeezed his eyes shut, merely because it made him feel better. The first stroke landed across the crest of his cheeks, immediately creating a sore pink stripe in its wake. He winced and curled his toes but didn't move or cry out. By the time they were halfway through, however, the cumulative effect of the strokes had him quietly crying and stomping his feet after every stroke.
Mycroft was actually quite proud of how well Sherlock was taking the caning and he reached out briefly to pat his brother's back in quiet encouragement. "Halfway there." He raised the cane once more and brought it down neatly below the other eight evenly spaced strokes, cringing when Sherlock actually cried out this time. The cane continued its trek, as stroke after stroke landed, causing Sherlock to sob.
The twelfth stroke landed low across his bottom and Sherlock lost his tenuous hold on his self-control, jumping up from the desk and cupping his cheeks with his hands as he cried and stomped.
Mycroft wasn't immune to his brother's distress, even if it was a well deserved punishment. "Promise me that if I stop right now you will never steal my card or spend such a ridiculous amount of money again and I will trade the last four strokes for twenty minutes in the corner."
"I promise, I promise!" Sherlock hurried to assure him, his words a bit garbled by his tears.
"Then go put your nose in the corner. If you ever do this again, I promise that you'll get a dozen with the cane and then go over my knee for a hand spanking on top of it so think very, very, very hard the next time you are tempted to do something like this," Mycroft warned. He watched as Sherlock shuffled across the room to stand in the corner, looking much younger than his seventeen years. "And Sherlock? You took that very well," he said sincerely. "Very well indeed."
Sherlock would never admit it to a living soul, but Mycroft's praise was just what he needed and wanted at that moment.
Twenty minutes later, Sherlock carefully redressed and made his way slowly up the stairs to his bedroom. The short walk in his too-tight clothing made it hurt even worse and he was crying silently once more as he divested his day clothes in favor of a t-shirt and very soft, baggy sleep pants. Ever so carefully he then got into bed and closed his eyes, trying to will himself to stop crying and sleep. Just as his tears subsided, Sherlock's door opened and closed and he could hear the footfalls of tiny feet crossing the room.
"You're supposed to be in bed," Sherlock murmured without even the hint of a scolding tone.
"I was," Rose whispered. "But now I'm not."
Sherlock chuckled softly. "Clearly. And how many times have you been out of bed this evening?"
"Twice."
"Which means if Mycroft catches you out of bed again, you're going to get it," Sherlock warned. Mycroft had little tolerance for bedtime foolishness no matter how cute Rose was or how not tired she claimed to be. "You'd best get in; a bed is a bed." He pulled back the blankets so Rose could crawl under them.
"Sherlock?" she asked as he tucked the covers around her.
"Hm?"
"You were sniffling when I came in," Rose said very softly. "Did you get a very big spanking?"
Her big brother sighed, not really wanting to talk about it but seeing no real reason to hide it from her either. "Yes."
"That's too bad. Mycroft spanks very hard," Rose said sympathetically. "Did you get cuddles?"
Sherlock shook his head and then proceeded to smile at his sister's outraged look.
"But that's the rule! You get a spanking and then you get cuddles until you feel better!" Rose exclaimed. "That's what Mummy says and Mycroft does it every time with me and I always feel better after. Well, not my bum," she admitted. "But other than that I feel all better after cuddles. Didn't you want any?"
Sherlock shook his head. "Cuddles from Mycroft? Um, no. I'm good," he replied. "He and I don't cuddle. Never have."
"Then I'll give you cuddles, so you can feel better!" Her little hand reached out and began to gently rub circles on his back. "There, there," Rose said gently, mimicking Mycroft's post-spanking cuddle talk. "I know it hurts, but it'll be alright. You'll be just fine, I promise. You were very brave and you're such a good boy. Cry it all out—this is the part where you cry," Rose explained. "If you want—Cry it all out, you'll be alright. I love you very much. Shh, shh, you're alright. I love you and I'll always love you, even when you do very, very ridiculous things. I'm sure you'll never, ever do it again."
It took everything Sherlock had to keep from laughing. It was really just too adorable that she was so concerned about him having proper cuddles and to hear her recite the words Mycroft used to soothe her after a smacking.
"This is the part where you say that it hurts too much and I'll never sit again ever in all my whole long life," Rose encouraged.
Funnily enough, that was precisely how it felt! "It hurts too much and I'll never sit again, and I'm very sad about it," Sherlock murmured.
"It'll feel better in the morning," Rose assured him.
That Sherlock very much doubted.
"And now you get a kiss on your head." She stopped rubbing his back and leaned over to give him a kiss. "There! Now you're all cuddled up. That's lovely, isn't it?"
Sherlock smiled and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "It is lovely and I feel so much better. Thank you." He dropped a kiss on top of her wild curls that mirrored his own. "And now it's time for us to sleep."
"Okay," Rose agreed, closing her eyes.
Sherlock remained awake a while, watching Rose sleep. God his arse hurt! But it was worth it so Rose could keep her ship; he'd do it all over again if he had to, though really, his arse would prefer not to. In fact, there really wasn't anything he wouldn't do for the tiny sleeping girl he proudly called sister.