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.
“Oh! So pretty!” John cooed.
“Thank you, Jawn.” Mycroft said, with a tilt of his head. Sherlock made a face and went back to counting his sprinkles.
“Wha’ flavor is it?” John said around a mouthful of ice cream.
“It’s rose flavour.” Mycroft took a dainty bite, steadfastly ignoring the fact that John was talking with his mouth full.
“Fwowers?”
“Yes, like the flowers.”
“Rabbit food.” Sherlock whispered into his own ice cream that he was stirring into a soup.
“Can I try some? You can try mines.” John hastily plucked a gummy worm off of a spoonful of green ice cream before offering it to Mycroft.
Sadie: “You can have a bite, yes, but I’m not having that one.”
“Oh. Cause’da worm?”
“Yes, because of the…worm,” Mycroft said tightly. “Sherlock, you asked for it, please eat it.”
“Is too sweet,” Sherlock grumbled, holding up his spoon and watching the syrup drip from it.
“I’m sure it’s very sweet,” Mycroft got a small spoonful of his ice cream and held it up to John’s lips. “But I’ve seen you tuck away a whole jar of that marshmallow gunk without batting an eyelid. What’s put you off, hm?”
Sherlock picked up a gummy worm, put it in his mouth, and loudly slurped it down and chewed while looking Mycroft directly in the eye.
While Mycroft was busy scowling at Sherlock, john helped himself to another spoonful of Mycroft’s ice cream, leaving behind a trail of green whipped cream.
“This is da’licious. Next time I wan’ fwowers too.”Sherlock broke eye contact first, turning make to the porridge he’d made of his ice cream. “Can I try it too?” He asked, barely loud enough to hear.
“Of course,” Mycroft put a hand on the little detective knee. “Jawn, keep your spoon in your own cup,” Mycroft said, gently smacking the back of John’s hand as it made its way into his cup for the second time.
Mycroft scooped a bite of ice cream onto his spoon and offered it to Sherlock, who ate it quietly before opening his mouth for another bite.
Mycroft bit his lip. As precious as that was, they were in public. And while their behavior had been odd, it had been within normal limits. Mycroft really didn’t relish the idea of getting an ASBO for…whatever this was.
Sadie: Mycroft spooned one more bite into Sherlock’s mouth, then cleared his throat. “You’ve both had two bites, now eat your own.”
Sherlock looked down at his cup full of…well, it was more chocolate soup now than ice cream. He picked out another worm with his fingers. “Is’all melted.”
“That’s what happens when you stir it,” Mycroft said, finally taking the first ite of his own treat. “Try it again, it’s even better this way; it won’t freeze your teeth now.”
Sherlock laid the worm on the edge of his cup, then stared at his spoon. “…You do it?” he asked innocently, and Mycroft had a difficult time saying ‘no’.
He shook his head; “No, not here, lad. Sherlock needs to be a big boy and do it himself this time.”
Sherlock looked down and pouted, but didn’t argue. Because if he argued, he knew he’d get upset. And if he got upset, he knew he’d cry. And he didn’t want to cry. At least not here, in front of people. He went to pick up his spoon and at least make an attempt at finishing the rest of the sugary muck , but he noticed a smudge of chocolate on his thumb from the worm he’d picked up, and went to lick it off.
That…was a mistake. Because now that his thumb was in his mouth…he didn’t want to take it out.
Mycroft gently pulled Sherlock’s thumb out of his mouth and held his hand below the table. “Jawn. Are you almost finished with your ice cream, lad?”
John put down his cup guiltily, the ring of chocolate around his mouth showing where he’d tried to lick the cup clean.
“Yea. Is all gone. Can we have more?”
“Perhaps another day. I think we should take Sherlock home.”
John chewed his lip as he took in Sherlock’s sniffly face. “In trouble?”
“No, no ones in trouble. Can you help me dispose of the rubbish?”
John hopped up and collected the cups, snagging a forgotten worm from Sherlock’s cup before tossing them in the bin.
Despite a strong desire to clean them up himself, Mycroft handed each boy a wet nap, “wash your hands, and Jawn, you’ve a chocolate mustache to remove.”
Sherlock held the wet nap between two fingers, tears welling in his eyes.
Sadie: ‘Oh dear…’ Mycroft saw that trying to get Sherlock to do anything for himself right now was utterly useless. Oh, well…if the woman at the counter was still watching, she’d already seen enough, including Sherlock sucking his thumb, so what did it matter anymore? Mycroft took the wet nap and wiped Sherlock’s face and hands, trying to sooth him in a low voice the entire time. “Shhhh, what’s all this, hm? What’s the matter…is it because your ice cream melted too fast?”
Sherlock shook his head ‘no’, and his bottom lip began to tremble.
Mycroft had to get him appeased somehow; little things like hand-holding and spoon-feeding could be easily missed among a crowd who wasn’t paying attention…a six foot man bawling and blubbering at the top of his lungs couldn’t. “Is it because I told you to do it yourself? Sherlock, I promise, I swear, that if you can just wait until we get home, I’ll hold you all afternoon if you wish it!”
“Y-you, you m-mean it?” Sherlock whispered, his voice sounding strained, and Mycroft could practically feel that awful throat-clenching sensation one gets before a big cry for him.
“Shh-sh-sh, of course I mean it, I promised didn’t I? Just hold off until we get home, it won’t be long!” Mycroft looked around for John, trying not to appear as desperate as he felt. “Jawn, are you ready?”
“Ready!”
Mycroft frowned at the smudges of chocolate still around John’s mouth. “For pity’s sake,” he huffed as he used another wet nap to clean John’s face.
“Maybe Sherlock should hold the ‘brella. He’ll feel big if he’s carrying a sword.” John tried to move his face away from Mycroft’s insistent washing.
It didn’t seem worth it to correct John, again. And if a sword would stem the water works…“Would you like to carry the umbrella, Sherlock?”
In the moment inattention, Sherlock’s thumb had made it’s way back into his mouth. He shook his head sadly and tried to bury himself into his big brothers side. Mycroft took his thumb from his mouth and threaded their fingers together.
“Jawn can carry the umbrella than. Let’s get you two home before the flood gates open.”
John chirped in delight, taking up the ‘sword’ like a swashbuckler. “I’m mean g’een long Jawns!” John rocketed out the door making the swishing sound effects for his sword as he did battle with an invisible foe.
“We can make it six blocks, we’ll be fine.” Mycroft said, feigning confidence he didn’t have.
Sadie: “Mister Big Mean Jawn Green needs to stay with the rest of his crew, still!” Mycroft said as he ushered Sherlock through the door, while the little detective made increasingly frustrated grunts and tried to unhook his fingers from Mycroft’s grip. “No, little boys like you have to hold hands while we’re outside.”
“Bu’d I–!”
“I know you want your thumb, but we can’t do that right now…”
“You’re wrong, it’s Mean G’een Long Jawns!”
“I know; I heard you the first time, lad.” Mycroft felt Sherlock’s legs start to buckle and grasped his elbow to keep him from having a full-blown meltdown right on the sidewalk. They were much too little to have taken out like this, but it was far too late to do anything about it but get them back home safe and (somewhat) sound.
“But you got it wrong!” John held the umbrella out and thrust it at them in what Mycroft would have noted as a brilliant fencing move under any other circumstances.
“I did, you’re right, I did,” he replied absently as he pulled Sherlock close and all but picked him up. “Sherlock, listen…Sherlock, listen to My…I have your dummy in my pocket, remember?”
When all else fails…bribery.
Sherlock stopped sinking to his knees and went still; “Dummy?” he repeated, blinking up at Mycroft with eyes full of unshed tears.
“Yes, that’s right, dummy…and you know what, if you can walk all the way to Baker Street without throwing a fit, I’ll give him back. Can you do that?”
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