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.
“Perfect.” Mycroft rolled up his sleeves and began to rummage through the cupboards for ingredients. A bottle of paracetamol rolled out from behind a jar of tomato sauce and bounced off the counter and onto the floor.
“Thank god. Sherlock, please pick that up for me?” Mycroft put two pots on the stove top and started the sauce. One didn’t get a reputation for being chubby without knowing how to cook.
Sherlock patted Jawn’s shoulder before crawling under the table to retrieve the bottle of pills. Jawn stared, wide eyed, at sherlock’s rump wiggling beneath the table. One thumb was in his mouth and his other hand was rubbing his sore bum.
“Jawn.”
The little doctor startled and looked up.
“Can you fetch the salad from the fridge?” Mycroft smiled into the pot as the little doctor moved to obey. While he dearly loved their boisterousness, he definitely could get used to this.
“Myc!” Sherlock shook the bottle of medication in front on Mycroft’s nose. Well, sort of used to this.
“Yes, good boy. Can you, very carefully, get Myc a glass for water?”
Sadie:
Sherlock blinked up at him, wide-eyed and attentive. “Cup?” he asked, nodding, and scurried off to another cabinet. “Cup! Cup, cup, cup, cup…” he chanted and, opening the one that contained all of their sippy-cups and bottles, selected one for Mycroft and brought it back “Cup!” He held it up proudly.
Mycroft gave him a tight smile, and took it anyway. Well, he did ask him. And all things considering, he was better off handling plastic in any case. He tapped the spoon he was using to stir against the pot, knocking off any extra sauce, then set it aside. “Good boy, thank you,” he said, taking the cup and turning towards the sink to fill it. “Now, can you be a love and pick out bibs for yourself and Jawn?” Best to keep them busy until it was time to sit down and eat. Sherlock scampered off, pleased enough to be helping, and Mycroft popped the plastic cap on the pills. “Jawn,” he said, shaking out two pills and tossing them back into his mouth. “Did you get the salad?”
No answer.
‘Damnit.’ He took a mouthful of cold water and swallowed. “Jawn.”
No answer. And Sherlock was giggling.
“Jawn…” Mycroft took around, expecting the worst…and saw Jawn sitting on the floor, fridge door wide open, and eating the slices of carrot from the bag of pre-mixed salad. Okay, not the worst. He put his hands on his hips and stared down at the worried-looking little boy; “…I thought you said you weren’t hungry, you little thief. Get out of Mr. McGregor’s garden!” he said, and playfully snatched the bag from him.
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