Sadie: That’s a very good point. John would fight tooth and nail to keep that ‘tough guy’ exterior up around Mycroft…his is not a baby, should anyone need to be reminded. But, Sherlock *does* look awfully content to sit in his older brother’s lap. And Mycroft, while still being his normal stuffy, proper self, doesn’t sound as nearly condescending as he usually does. And John is starting to feel a bit left out.
John puffed his chest at the insult. “You’re not being nice!”
“Indoor voices, Jawn, I won’t tell you again.”
John stood up on the bed, towering over Mycroft. “Stop smacking my baby! I won’t tell you again!” John pointed an accusing finger at Mycroft.
“I think we’ve just officially counted out ice cream, don’t you.” Mycroft said with a roll of his eyes. “Get down, before you fall down, Jawn.”
“You! You think you can tell everybody what to do! Tell ‘em what’s what, even if they know different.” John had started to pace the length of the bed, waving his hands emphatically.
“Jawn, you need to get down. I’m going to count to three…one.”
“Stop being mean!”
“Two…”
Sadie: Mycroft stood Sherlock up and moved him out of the way…he doubted John would stomp on him, accidentally or otherwise, but he wasn’t risking it. “Jawn, this is your last chance. Of course I’m going to tell you ‘what’s what’, I’m the adult. And I’m telling you to get your bum down before you get hurt.”
‘Whether it be on his north or south end,’ he added silently.
John was on a roll, however. “NO, you are not the boss!” He jumped on the bed to emphasize each word, his hands balled into fists.
Now it was Mycroft’s turn to glare at him. He had no choice; it was time to use the last resort, the ultimate weapon. He looked down at Sherlock, who was holding him tightly around the waist and hiding his face against his big brother’s arm. “You’re scaring the baby.”
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