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 leaned back into Mycroft’s arms, head tipped back. “Whisper, Jawn?”
“Yes! Sherlock’s gotsta whisper.”
“I can get up now, My,” the little detective stage whispered.
Mycroft rolled his eyes. “No, Sherlock. It’s time to rest.”
“Watch movie?”
“Yes.”
“The a’bengers win.”
John squawked indignantly. “No tell the endin’! Where is ur mute button?”
Sherlock’s eyes got huge as he patted his chest where is dummy was usually clipped. “Lost!
Sadie: “We’ll find it after the movie ends,” Mycroft said, rolling Sherlock at an angle onto his side so he could still see the screen and popping his bottle back into his mouth before there were anymore complaints. The little detective grunted and tried to spit it back out, but Mycroft was adamant. “Finish it.”
Sherlock glared at him with all of the impotent rage a two-year-old at heart could muster, but when he realized he wasn’t getting anywhere, he settled back and watched the action unfold (for what must have been the 50th time) while taking long, slow drags from his bottle.
Both Mycroft and John let out a deep sigh of relief; it was the first quiet moment they’d had since…well, since naptime ended. “What’s the Captain’s power?” Mycroft asked, absently patting Sherlock’s bum with his free hand
“Big an’ strong,” John replied, staring at the screen. Unlike Sherlock, he could always find some new detail going on in the background, no matter how small, and he took great pride in rubbing it in Sherlock’s face when he did so.
“So, like the Hulk? And Thor?”
“Nu-UH, s’diff’rent!”
“How so?”
…John didn’t quite know how to respond. He knew how it was different, or course, and how each hero had their own qualities to bring to the team, but he couldn’t put it into words.
“He’s like Jawn.” Sherlock said, turning his head away from the bottle.
“How so?” Mycroft asked
“A’cause, Jawn would do whatever it takes to get the bad guys. An’ he was small before an’ he was still the bravest.”
John blushed crimson, his hands twisting the hem of his blanket mercilessly. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“Also, he’s bossy and in love with a genius.” Sherlock waggled his eyebrows at John’s indignant huff and grunted his displeasure when Mycroft stuffed the bottle back into his mouth.
“He’s the bossy one.” John groused, glaring at the television.
“It’s a competition you are both going to lose.” Mycroft said with a soft smile, gently nudging John. “He was correct in that you are very brave.”
“Another word for dumb.” John chewed his lip and forced himself to keep his eyes focused on the screen, though he’d stopped watching the movie.
Mycroft sighed, “I’m sorry. I was wrong to say such a thing and you’ve shown a hundred times over that that isn’t true.” Mycroft left off patting Sherlock to rub John’s back. “Jawn is very clever, as well as brave.”
Sadie: John felt himself blushing and huddled his blanket back up over his head to hide it. “But you’re always right?”
“I’m right about being wrong.”
“But what if you’re wrong now about being right?”
“No, I’m right now.”
“Right now what?”
“What?”
“What about right now?”
“No, I was saying that I’m right, right now–” Mycroft stopped when he heard muffled giggling coming from the folds of John’s blanket, at the same moment he felt Sherlock trembling in his lap…he glanced down and caught Sherlock biting down on his lip, hard, in an effort to keep from laughing.
Mycroft sighed. “…Massive brats. Massive, AWFUL, whingy little brats.”
Sherlock leaned up and pressed his face underneath Mycroft’s chin. “Lub, My!”
John scooted up onto his knees and pressed himself along Mycroft’s side, “Yea! Love, My’coff.” He pressed his blanket covered lips to Mycroft’s temple, making a loud smacking noise.
“Yes, yes, I love you, too.” Mycroft patted twin padded bums, “but you’re both still terrible.”
“Are you right now?” Sherlock quipped, sending John into a fit of giggles that nearly toppled him off the sofa.
“Easy,” Mycroft wrapped an arm around John’s waist and tugged his blankie down off his face. “Jawn needs to put his bottom on the sofa.”
John bounced back onto his bottom, causing the springs in the sofa to groan. “It used to be bouncier,” he pouted.
“I’m sure being jumped on by naughty boys has nothing to do with why it’s no longer ‘bouncy’.”
“Sherlock did it!” John pointed at Sherlock who had snuck off the sofa and was rapidly crawling out of the sitting room.
Sadie: “I think he had help in that department,” Mycroft said as he stood and started to follow the bum that was scurrying down the hall…the flowers sewn along the backside of the onesie seemed to be waving at him. “Where do you think you’re going, little sir?”
Sherlock giggled and sped up, his knees thumping along, and Mycroft wondered if they didn’t ache after a long day of being tiny. He reached down and caught the little detective’s narrow ankle just as he skirted the edge of the nursery door.
Sherlock squealed and bucked, trying to pull his foot free. “No, no no no nonononononono, My! L’eggo!”
“You’re much too little to go off by yourself like that, lad. Tell me what you’re after, and we’ll bring it back with us.”
Sherlock stopped his struggling and went limp, laying belly-down on the floor. Mycroft, having gotten wise to such tricks in the span of the afternoon, kept his hold on his ankle. Sherlock looked over his shoulder at his brother; “Co’ders?” he asked.
“Cudders?”
“Co’ders!” Sherlock insisted, slapping his hands against the floor.
“He means colours!” John shouted from the other room. “Crayons!”
“Well, that doesn’t sound like a good idea in the slightest.”
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