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.
“Sharks are not begatarians, My’coff.” John sniffed.
Mycroft scowled at him in turn. “Not actually helpful, Captain.” Mycroft pulled the little detective along, wishing in vain he hadn’t given Anthea the afternoon off. This would be so much easier if they could call for a car. Mycroft and Sherlock passed up the little captain and he trotted along behind them.
“Baby seasick?”
“Not exactly. He’ll feel better once we’re in the flat. He’ll have a good cry. And then we’ll have juice and a snuggle.”
“Me too?”
“Do you feel the need to have a cry?”
“No. But I like juice.”
“Alright then, you can have juice and a snuggle as well.”
“Why does he have my dummy?”
They turned onto Baker Street, the stoop for 221b looking for all the world like a life raft. Sherlock sagged even further into Mycroft, barely lifting his feet.
“Bugger all.” Mycroft huffed as he turned and scooped the little detective up onto his hip. Despite being feed up by John, Sherlock was still alarmingly light.
“My’coff, make him give me my dummy!”
Sadie: “We’ll find you one once we get inside.”
“But I want that one! It’s got the bear on it and it’s mine!”
“Jawn, please…let him borrow it, just for now.” Mycroft could hear Sherlock crying quietly and sniffling near his ear, while trying to watch where he was stepping as best he could with his little brother’s shoulder blocked 40% of his view.
“But he’s got loads inside!” John kicked the bottom step.
“Them being inside doesn’t help us right now, does it?” Mycroft tried to reach the doorknob, but having both hands full of a clingy little detective made that quite impossible. And he didn’t really want to find out what would happen if he tried putting him down first. “Can the highly decorated Captain Jawn help us by opening the door, please?”
John folded his arms and pouted behind them, intending to do no such thing.
Mycroft sighed…Sherlock’s weight was becoming a strain now that they weren’t moving. He hitched him up to get a better grip and to switch shoulders, and looked down at John; “Once we get inside, we’ll find a whole hoard of dummies to trade for yours back, but we can’t do anything about it until we get up there. Door, please?”
John glowered at him for a moment before scooting around Mycroft and opening the front door, making sure the knocker was askew. Mycroft ignored john and walked into the foyer.
“Alright, here we are. sweet boy. You tried very hard and I’m very proud. Do you think you can go up the steps on your own?” Mycroft cooed, gently trying to extract himself from a labyrinth of gangly limbs. Sherlock merely clung tighter and started to cry in earnest. “I suppose not. Jawn, go on up stairs and make sure the door to flat is open, please.”
John stood in the open doorway, eyeing the street. “I wanna play on the swings.”
“No, Jawn. It’s time to come inside.” Mycroft started to up the steps slowly.
“But the park has a lookout so we can see merchant ships.”
“Without your crew, you’ll have no way to overtake a merchant ship.”
John scowled at the stoop before coming into the foyer and shutting the door with a bit more force than was necessary.
“If you find Sherlock a new dummy, then we can watch a pirate film while we snuggle.”
“I don’t need to watch a pirate film, cause Ima real pirate.”
Sadie: “Real pirates can still learn from watching other pirates, but fine…you can pick what to watch.”
John took a deep breath and blew a giant raspberry…he wasn’t getting to do anything now, and he wasn’t even in trouble. He turned sideways and squeezed beside Mycroft and Sherlock on the stairs; “What’s he cryin’ for, anyway?” he said, having to raise his voice over Sherlock now.
“Overwhelmed,” Mycroft answered. “And because he’s a baby, and that’s what babies do.” He took each step slowly, one foot at a time, and kept close to the wall.
John reached the door and flung it open, making it bang against the wall inside. Mycroft flinched; “A little more gentle there, lad…less Hulk, more Banner.”
“Jawn SMASH!” John shouted smashing the Union Jack pillow onto the floor.
Mycroft rolled his eyes and sat on the sofa, Sherlock still riding his hip. “Are you going to bring me some dummies so Sherlock can pick another one and return yours?” Mycroft gently peeled the massive coat from the little detectives shoulders.
“It’s my dummy and I want it now!” John shouted, abandoning the umbrella and pummeled pillow on the floor. He reached to take the dummy from Sherlock’s mouth but found his wrist caught in a firm grip.
“No, no, Jawn. I told you you could have this one when you found me a replacement.”
“He can find it ‘imself! He hides all the rest of ‘em so I can only have this one! And now he has this one too!” John stomped his foot for emphasis.
“That sounds frustrating, but does not change the fact that I told you to find another dummy to replace this one.” Mycroft gently squeezed John’s wrist. “You aren’t doing this for Sherlock. You are doing it for me.”
Sadie: John went red in the face and pulled his wrist free before stomping away. Mycroft watched him with a raised eyebrow…now that little Jawn was comfortable enough around him, that ugly little temper was rearing its head. He anticipated a door being slammed and covered Sherlock’s ears, but it never came. “I bet you’re not going to tell me any of your hiding places, are you?” he asked softly, tilting his head to peek down at his brother, who looked back up at him with a tear-covered, ruddy face. “No, I thought not.” Mycroft tapped the tip of his nose and kissed his forehead. “Now let’s see…where did you used to hide them…” He reached down to pull off the little detective’s shoes and called out to John, in case he was still listening; “Try looking in the battery casings of your toys.”
John was curled up under the bed in his and Sherlock’s ‘big’ room, fuming. Their ice cream trip had gotten cut short, he hadn’t gotten to go to the toy store, he hadn’t gotten to go to the park, he couldn’t have his dummy AND he was having to find another one for the git who’d stolen his! All because Sherlock had decided to be a crybaby and hog all the ‘tention again. He heard Mycroft saying something from the sitting room, and covered his ears.
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