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?”
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