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.

Jawn huffed and tried to wiggle away as Mycroft rubbed a dollop of shampoo into his short hair. “No, My’coff! Gotta cons’trate!”

Sherlock shushed him before Mycroft had a chance. He adjusted the position his duck and then let it fly. It arced through the air and then banged against the counter before hitting the ground.

“Ohhh,” Sherlock whinged, putting his chin on the edge of the tub while he gave his duck stink eye.
“My turn, my turn! My’coff, off p’ease!” Jawn tipped his soapy head out reach. “I dun’ wanna clean a’ kitchen!”

Mycroft sat back on his haunches, “quickly then. Your aim will be even worse if there is soap in your eyes.”

Jawn aimed his duck, glancing between it and the sink repeatedly, the tip of his tongue between his teeth. Jawn’s duck splashed out of the tub, bouncing off the faucet and flying most of the way back to the tub.

“That was very close. Sherlock’s turn.” Mycroft tossed the ducks back into the tub and filled a cup. “Let’s rinse you off.”

Sadie:

“Bu’ I win!” Jawn declared, with a loud, resounding “NUH-UH!” from Sherlock.

“No, you don’t. Tilt your head back.”

“Do so!” Jawn insisted, even as Mycroft reached under his chin and made him tilt his head back, anyway. 

“It didn’t land in the sink.” Mycroft slowly poured water over Jawn’s hair while gently working the shampoo out with his fingers.

“It touched the sink!”

“But it didn’t land in the sink, which is the goal.”

“Ha-ha,” Sherlock sang as he pushed his duck underwater, and began to ready it.

“No comments from the peanut gallery are necessary.”

Jawn crossed his arms and gave Mycroft an upside down glare that could rival the detective’s when he was in full sulk-mode. “Wipe that look off your face…wait, I can do that for you,” he said, and proceeded wipe one of his wet hands over Jawn’s face, then smirked as he sputtered.