How would Mycroft end up babysitting to begin with? I feel like he’d want to interact with Sherlock when he’s small because it’d let them both be as affectionate as they want without their usual reservations. Jawn would be incredulous at best about My. At least at first.

squeakpigsrevenge:

sadieandmo:

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.

“Sherlock, apologize.” Mycroft put a gentle hand on the back of John’s neck.

“Sowwie!” Sherlock cackled, rolling on the bed.

“Say it like you mean it!” John sneered.

“And we’re done here. Jawn, will you get out the hero movie we’re going to watch and put it in the DVD player?” Mycroft guided Jawn out of the bedroom.

“Jawn no know how!” Sherlock chased them down the hallway, bare feet slapping.

“I do so!”

Mycroft gave john a gentle push towards the sitting room before turning on his baby brother. “Sherlock. Collect your bottle and Jawn’s cup, please.”

“Is my cup. Mine ‘ron man!”

No. Sherlock is to little for a big boy cup today. You’ll have your bottle. Now, go get them please.“

Sherlock frowned as he stooped below the kitchen table to collect the bottle.

“My’coff, where going?” John asked from the doorway of the sitting room.

“The lavatory. You both have tasks to complete. Behave!” Mycroft slipped into the bathroom, closing the door. It was a huge gamble, leaving them alone, but nature wouldn’t wait any longer.

Sadie: John turned to go into the sitting room to set up the movie, but he noticed that Sherlock breezed back into the room, with only his bottle in hand. “Where’s my cup?”

The little detective shrugged, and John frowned. “Go get it!”

Sherlock scowled. “You not boss!”

“My told you!”

The little detective dropped his bottle and folded his arms across his chest, then shook his head. “I do movie,” he said, brushing past John.

“Nuh-UH, my job!” John whirled around, caught Sherlock around the waist and lifted him off his feet, eliciting an ear-splitting screech.

Mycroft sighed, and wondered if he could get away with just staying where he was.