“ Greg frowned and accepted the warm, damp flannel Mycroft handed him. “I know, it’s just….” “He can have sweeties tomorrow.” Mycroft rinsed Sherlock’s tray and arranged it in the dishwasher. “You’re always so damn practical.” “Somebody has to be, darling. Go clean him up.” “…You have to be kidding me.” “He’s in a rare mood; Little, eager to please, sentimental. Take advantage.”
“
“ “So do I. That’s Sherlock’s favorite way, too.” “Yea’,” Jawn said, and then grew quiet.So
quiet, that Mycroft thought he had finally drifted off, and he stilled
his hand. But no sooner than he tried to ease his way off the cot;
“…My’coff?” Mycroft sighed quietly, and sat back down.“Yes?” “Wha’d was Sher’yock like?” “What do you mean?” “When he was a bay’bee.” “
Sadie: This is a commission that was ordered last year by a blogger who requested a short story featuring their Little Girl and Mummy Irene, having an Easter Egg hunt!
Happy Easter, everyone! 🙂
“Darling, stand still and stop fussing.”
“Nuuuuuu!”
Irene stopped meddling with the felt-covered, bendable pink bunny ears that she was attempting (without much success) to affix to her fussy little girls’ hair, and stepped back; “…Our guests are going to be arriving soon. Should I tell them that they’ll be on their own for the Easter Egg hunt?”
Her little girl gave a high-pitched whinge. But, being the good Mummy that she is, Irene knew what that sort of whinge meant. “Then let Mummy get you dressed, pet,” she said, and then laughed at the pout she got in return. “Such a pouty little bun-bun,” Irene cooed, and tapped her little girl’s upturned nose. “Mummy’s little Bunny.”
Bunny blushed and hid her face in her hands. “Nuuuuuuuu,” she said again, only without the whinge.
“Yeeeeeeeese,” Irene said, mimicking her tone and taking the opportunity to fix her little Bun-Bun’s ears while she was blushing herself into oblivion. She left one sticking straight up, and bent the other so that it looked like lazy, flippity-floppity bunny’s ear. “Perfect! And just the perfect shade of pink to match your dress!”
“My d’ess?” Bunny asked in that soft way of hers, and peeked through her fingers as she looked down at her self. Mummy had found a lovely dress online, just in time for Easter, with a big, squishy bubble-skirt in pink gingham, with straps like overalls that buckled over her shoulders…the buckles were Bunny’s favorite part, and the reason it was the most perfect dress for Easter–they were bright and shiny, and shaped just like bunnies!
Bunny moved her hands away from her face and touched the buckles, fascinated by the shine on them. “My d’ess!” she chirped, and did a little spin to make her skirt poof up.
Irene beamed at her charming little girl, and then thought to check her watch. “Oh, my…darling, our guests are due any second. Go fetch Luna and the baskets, please.” No sooner than Irene had spoken, when the doorbell sounded downstairs. “Look, there they are! Hurry now!” she said, sending Bunny off with a playful swat to the back of her puffy skirt.
Bunny gasped. “Lu-lu!” she said, and darted off to find her plush bunny and the Easter baskets.
While her little girl was busy, Irene made her way to the front foyer, her heels tapping on the marbled floor and echoing off the high, vaulted ceiling as she approached the front door, where she could hear muffled voices as well as see blurred, moving shapes on the other side of the frosted glass. Just as she reached for the knob, the doorbell rang again.
Her lips curled into a coquettish smile and she opened the door, only to be greeted by John Watson’s commanding voice; “–told you, you only ring it once!” he barked at the very chastised little boy at his side.
Her smiled broadened. “Hello, John.”
John’s attention snapped to Irene as he realized she had answered the door. “Hullo, Irene,” he said, his face softening, and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry about that, someone just got a little eager…Sherlock? What do you say?”
Sherlock, having been appropriately reprimanded, had his head bowed. At the sound of his name, he glanced up from his black-buckled shoes and looked at her shyly. “Sorry, ‘Rene,” he pouted, and reached up to tug at one of his curls.
“That’s quite alright, sweetheart,” she cooed at him, and stepped aside to let them both in. “Come in, come in…aren’t you excited at the fun you’re going to have at Auntie ‘Rene’s today?!’
Sherlock finally held his head up and gave her one of his award-winning sweet, crooked smiles; “Y’ah, “ he said, letting John take off his coat and revealing his own brand-new Easter outfit.
“Well,” Irene cooed, still grinning like the cat who caught the canary. “Aren’t you precious…turn around and let Auntie see you!”
Sherlock blushed furiously, but did as Irene asked, showing off an outfit that was incredibly similar to her little girls’…only instead of pink gingham, there was robin’s-egg-blue, and instead of a poofy skirt, there were short-all’s.
But, but outfits did include identical white blouses with Peter-Pan collars, black polished Mary-Jane’s, and the same sets of silver, bunny-shaped buckles.
Irene winked at John; “I told you it would suit him.”
John grinned back. “What can I say…when you’re right, you’re right. What were you supposed to tell Aunt Irene for your new clothes, sweetheart?”
“I y’ike them b’ery much, f’ank’oo!”
“You are so welcome, pet!” Irene clasped her hands together, as pleased as could be…these were going to make for marvelous pictures.
“ ‘Rene?” Sherlock asked. “Where’s Bun–?”
“Hiiii, Sher’yock!”
Sherlock turned around and grinned his sweet,lopsided grin as his friend bustled into the room and abandoned the white woven baskets she carried just so she could launch herself into into his arms. “Hi, Bun’nee!” he said, and wrapped her in a hug, her stuffed bunny squished between them.
“Aw, that was sweet,” John said as he hung up his and Sherlock’s coats. “Now I’m starting to feel a bit left out.”
“Hiiii, Un’ca Jawn!”
“That’s more like it…hi, cupcake!”
“I’m no’d a cu’bcake!”
“I’m sorry, I forgot!…but you do look a tiny bit like a cupcake in your pretty dress!”
Bunny giggled and hid her face against Sherlock’s shoulder.
“What do you say to Uncle John, darling?”
There was a muffled “F’ank’oo!”, and Irene laughed. “I don’t know, John,” she said, looking over at him with a gleam in her eye. “Do they look excited to you?”
John caught the gist and winked back. “Gee, I d’unno, Irene…they look a little sluggish. Maybe a nap should be in order first…” he said, and lost it at the chorus of ‘Nooooooooooo!’s and the very unhappy faces that were thrown his way.
Irene clapped her hands over the roar while John continued to crack up. “Boys and girls–BOYS AND GIRLS! LISTEN!”
The protests from the pastel duo grew quiet and set their gaze on Irene; Sherlock, sucking his thumb and Bunny, who was chewing on her stuffies’ long, floppy ear.
Irene smiled. “There we go,” she said, her voice back to it’s normal timbre. “Of course Uncle John and I were teasing: we’ll still hunt for eggs first, then lunch, then a nap.”
Both Littles looked at each other, relieved.
“Now, there are rules we need to talk about.”
Both Littles looked at each other again. “Rule’th?” Sherlock asked, his thumb making him lisp.
“Yes, rules. There are exactly forty-eight plastic eggs outside, twenty-four for each of you, and they all have wonderful prizes inside. But Sherlock can only collect the Silver eggs, and Bunny can only collect the Gold ones.”
“That’s a really good idea,” John whispered to her behind his hand. “I was wondering how to keep him from finding them all.”
Sherlock raised his hand, and Irene giggled to herself. “Yes, sweetheart?”
“Um, c’n I, um, c’n, I hel’b Bunny fin’ hers?”
“How sweet! Only if she asks you to, pet.” Irene clapped again. “Gather your baskets!”
Bunny and Sherlock each gave excited squeals and scrambled for their baskets.
“Ready? Alright, follow me!” Irene led the giddy, giggly bunch to the backdoor with john trailing behind, and held her hand on the knob. “Remember, you can only collect your own color egg, understand?”
They both nodded at her, each one bouncing from foot-to-foot in anticipation.
“One…two…three! GO!” Irene flung the door open and was nearly trampled in a flurry of shrieking and shiny-buckled shoes, if John hadn’t pulled her out of the way just in time. “That, was hilarious.”
“Shut up,” she laughed.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Not twenty minutes later, all four were seated at the patio table, already set for lunch, while Sherlock and Bunny were cracking open their eggs and babbling excitedly over their prizes.
“Y’ook, Da’yee!” Sherlock was sitting in John’s lap, chocolate already coating the corners of his mouth, and waved a tiny container of bubbles under his nose. “Bubb’as!”
John kissed his cheek; “I see that. Perhaps you and Bunny can play with them later.”
Bunny sat at Irene’s feet, her own basked balanced in her lap. “Oooo,” she cooed as a plastic ring fell out of her egg and into her palm. “I gott’ed treasure!” she said, holding it up for Irene to see.
“Goodness, how did that get in there?” Irene took it from her and slipped it on her own finger, then held it to to admire it. “Diamonds aren’t for babies!”
“Mummy, noooooooo!” Bunny giggled and sat up on her knees, reaching for her prize. “Tha’ds mine!”
“Is it? Are you sure?”
“Y’us!”
“I’ll trade you a kiss for it.”
Bunny tilted her head up and Irene pecked her on the lips, then slipped the ring on her little girl’s finger. “Did you have fun, darling?”
Bunny held out her hand and admired her ring, just like her Mummy had. “Y’us!”
“C’n we do i’d again???” Sherlock chirped from the other side of the table.
“But you’ve found all the eggs, dearest!”
“I c’n hide’em y’is time!”
“Me too!” Bunny added.
Irene looked at John, who shrugged. “Very well,” Irene said, finally. “Both of you may take turns hiding them again while we fix lunch.”
There were cheers and whoops from both little ones. “Bun’nee, you c’yose you eyes!” Sherlock said, scooping his eggs back into his basket and scrambling down from John’s lap, with Bunny hot on his heels.
“This was a really, really good idea,” John said to her, watching the babies across the yard.
Irene smiled as she watched her little Bun-bun peeking at Sherlock through her fingers.
“Yes…I do have them, from time to time. Care to help me in the kitchen?”
John bowed and gestured for her to go ahead, before following her back into the house.
As per usual on his day off, John had gathered the paper and his coffee, and proceeded to camp out on the couch for his mid-morning break. Still in his gown, he sat his cup on the low table within easy reach, put his feet up and stretched out, and then unfolded his paper and flipped to the sports to see if his boy’s had been holding their own.
And, as per usual on John’s day off, Sherlock set his barely-touched coffee in the sink, shed himself of his pajama bottoms, waited until he heard John turn away from the sports page, and then followed him into the sitting room where he crawled up onto the couch and stretched himself out on top of John.
“Mm,” John hummed as he kissed the top of Sherlock’s head and maneuvered one arm so he could lay it across the other man’s shoulders without letting go of his paper.
He waited to see if it was one of those days.
After a few lovely, sun-warm minutes of quiet cuddling, John heard the soft ‘nuk-nuk-nuk’ that meant Sherlock was sucking his thumb.
John grinned and folded his paper over so he could hold it in one hand, then curled his free one through Sherlock’s hair. “One of those days, huh?” he asked, without expecting an answer. He already knew.
Sherlock curled into an impossibly, adorably smaller little bundle at John’s side.
He could feel the motions of Sherlock’s jaw as he suckled, now. “Ah-ah,” John said, giving Sherlock’s head a gentle nudge with his chin. “You know you’re not supposed to suck your thumb, love.” John had called a brief interlude on the thumb-sucking when he noticed marks on both the knuckle of the detective’s thumb AND the bridge of his nose, where his fingers rested. In the meantime, while the marks faded, he tried to keep the little oral-fixator hooked on his dummies. “Go get one of your dummies–”
Sherlock began to whinge, until John interrupted him with “–and then we’ll go to the park. Does that sound fun? Would you like lunch at the park?”
Sherlock went quiet, then sat up and rested his chin on John’s chest and blinked up at him. “Yeah?!” he asked with a muted awe.
“We can, IF,” John said, talking over the gasp that had escaped his little boy; “If you can get up without a fuss and get a dummy like I asked you to.”
Sherlock scrambled to get off of the couch and John did what he could to avoid taking any elbows or knees to the tender bits. He smiled as he heard Sherlock thumping through the flat, excited as can be by the prospect of getting to feed the ducks and have chips for lunch.
John sighed a soft, relaxed kind of sigh…it was one of those days.
Sherlock was back shortly. But, instead of climbing back onto the couch (and John) as John thought he would, he just stood there by John’s head, waiting.
John finally looked up to see what the hold-up was.
Sherlock was stood there looking back and forth between each of his hands, which were both closed in loose fists.
“What’cha got there, muffin?”
Sherlock frowned slightly, before setting each object on the table in front of John:
Two dummies…one pink, the other blue.
John grinned. “Sweetheart, you can’t have both…I know you like to, but it makes your mouth hurt, remember?”
Actually, Sherlock’s personal record was six–that’s right, SIX– dummies at once, and that had lasted for a good half hour before he’d complained about his tongue feeling funny.
Cute as hell, though.
Sherlock glanced at him, still frowning, and shook his head.
“No? Then why’d you bring two, baby?”
Sherlock shrugged before taking his thumb back into his mouth.
John reached up and took his wrist, pulling it right back out again. “No-no, use your words like a big boy.”
Sherlock’s frown turned into a full pout, bottom lip poking out and all.
“No, no no nononono.” John used Sherlock’s wrist to tug him over, and sat Sherlock in his lap. “No, leet’s not fuss just yet…give Daddy a chance to figure it out, yeah?”
Sherlock perched on John’s knee and nodded, all while eyeing the two dummies on the table.
John began to put his deductive skills to use. “Okay, so,” he mused, one hand on his chin. “I told you to pick a dummy. But you brought me two dummies.”
Sherlock leaned his cheek against the top of John’s head and nodded.
“Meaning….hm. Meaning…you didn’t want to pick?” John hazarded a guess.
Sherlock nodded again.
“You want me to pick.”
Sherlock nodded a third time, and patted John’s cheek.
John chuckled; “So it’s Daddy’s job to pick today. Alright, I can do that,” he said. “Let’s see, pink, or bl–”
John stopped short.
The colours.
Sherlock had hundreds, literally hundreds, of dummies to pick from, in every sort of colour, size, shape, and design. He could have brought a green one, or a yellow one, or a black one, a white one, a spotted one, a striped one, the possibilities were just about endless…
And yet, he’d brought a pink one, and a blue one.
…John wasn’t just picking a dummy today.
It wasn’t the first time Sherlock had asked him to make this choice…in fact, they’d done it a handful of times before. Just not recently.
So, it was that kind of day.
John turned his gaze up at his little boy, who’d gone back to staring at the pair of dummies, the tip of his thumb resting just at the curve of his lower lip.
Well, in that case…not a little boy, then. Not today.
John reached out and picked up the baby pink, heart-shaped dummy and Sherlock sat up, suddenly back to full attention.
A faint blush dusted the tops of his cheeks as John slipped the dummy through his–her, parted lips.
“There,” John said, patting Sherlock’s backside. “Is my little Miss happy now?”
Sherlock nodded shyly as the blush spread, matching the dummy in a rather fetching way.
“Sweet girl. Can you snuggle with Daddy until he finishes his paper?”
Soon, the pair were back to their morning cuddle positions, with John reading out the obituaries as his fingers teased and twirled Sherlock’s curls into ringlets that were befitting of any little Princess.
Chapters: 11/? Fandom: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, Mycroft Holmes’s Umbrella Additional Tags: Age Play, Non-Sexual Age Play, Brotherly Bonding, nappies, Dummies, Spanking, Mycroft has the patience of a saint, dinos are very ‘portant, Little Sherlock, Little John – Freeform, Bathing/Washing, Bratting Series: Part 3 of The ‘Co-’ Series
Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Sherlock (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade, Molly Hooper Additional Tags: Age Play, Non-Sexual Age Play, Whump, Sherlock Whump, Domestic Violence, mentions of physical abuse Series: Part 5 of The ‘Co-’ Series Summary:
Actions have consequences, most of which are born out by other people. No one knows that more than Sherlock.
Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Sherlock (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade, Molly Hooper Additional Tags: Age Play, Non-Sexual Age Play, Whump, Sherlock Whump, Domestic Violence, mentions of physical abuse Series: Part 5 of The ‘Co-’ Series Summary:
Actions have consequences, most of which are born out by other people. No one knows that more than Sherlock.
Chapters: 10/? Fandom: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, Mycroft Holmes’s Umbrella Additional Tags: Age Play, Non-Sexual Age Play, Brotherly Bonding, nappies, Dummies, Spanking, Mycroft has the patience of a saint, dinos are very ‘portant, Little Sherlock, Little John – Freeform, Bathing/Washing, Bratting Series: Part 3 of The ‘Co-’ Series
Sherlock and Greg at a crime scene; Sherlock goes to pick something up and before Greg can think he goes “What’cha got there, muffin?” and everyone freezes while Sherlock slowly turns and glares at him with pure thunder in his eyes and Greg is just:
Greg waited at the door patiently while Mycroft washed his hands…which, Greg sheepishly realized, he hadn’t even asked him to. Some caregiver he was.
‘Rookie mistake,’ he told himself. ‘You’ve been taking care of the boys for how long now, and today of all days you start mucking it up.’ “Good boy,” he said out loud as he shut off the tap, while watching Mycroft’s reaction in the mirror.
Mycroft was still blushing–hadn’t stopped since he woke up, really–and kept his gaze down, refusing to look at Greg.
He wasn’t very pleased with him right now, after the toilet, uh…experience.
Instead of letting Mycroft use the toilet normally, Greg had made him sit down for a wee…mostly for the practicality of it, and partly just so Greg could get to see his reaction. Which had been adorable, as expected.
And it made him the tiniest bit sulky (’tiny’ in terms of a Holmes being sulky, at least). Which had been even more adorable–that pout of his had a lot of charm behind it when it wasn’t accompanied by a sneer, just like his little brother.
Greg took the hand towel from the holder on the wall and dried Mycroft’s hands, taking each one in turn and sort of giving him a mini-massage by gently rubbing the knuckles and in between each finger, as well as his palms.
Small details were important to Mycroft, no matter what his headspace, so small details were what Greg was going to try harder to focus on (like the handwashing…seriously, he was used to doing this with the boys on a near-weekly basis; it shouldn’t be this bloody difficult to keep in mind now). Because he wanted this to be as enjoyable an experience for him as possible.
Because this was a good idea.
And it seemed to do the trick; Mycroft’s shoulders’ relaxed at Greg’s attention, and he finally looked up at him through his lashes, head still tipped down.
“There,” Greg said as he hung the towel back up, and gave Mycroft’s forehead a kiss as he leaned forward. “Are you ready to see what’s waiting for us?”
Mycroft nodded, and Greg watched him lift his closed fist to his mouth and go to suck on the back of his thumb, rather than the whole thing…Greg grinned as he watched his face pucker slightly at the taste of leftover soap still remaining on his skin, but apparently that wasn’t too much of a deterrent because that thumb stayed exactly where it was.
“You’re so cute,” Greg chuckled, and ushered Mycroft out of the room with a hand at the small of his back.
“Nnn,” the other man grunted.
It sounded like a pretty neutral grunt to Greg, but then again, knowing Mycroft?…it probably meant ‘no’, anyway. “Yes, you are,” Greg replied with a meaningful pat to a plushly-padded bum; “You’re cute, you’re sweet, and best of all, you’re all mine.”
Mycroft kept his head tipped down, and went quiet.
That is, until they reached the top of the stairs.
As Mycroft went to take that first step off the landing, the hand that Greg had on his bum was suddenly in front and pressing at his tummy, holding him back. “Ah-ah, you know the rules.”
This made Mycroft stop short in his tracks and finally lift his head to peer at Greg, puzzled, with his foot hovering over the first step.
“No, you know how we do things around here,” Greg said. “What’s the rule about the steps.”
Mycroft blinked at him owlishly.
“Mike–sweetheart,” Greg caught himself before he could repeat his earlier mistake and use the wrong name at the wrong time. “You know well enough that little boys don’t go down these steps on their own.”
He could see the corner’s of Mycroft’s mouth turn down around his thumb. “Uh-huh, same rules for everyone, love.” Greg held out his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Hold my hand.”
Mycroft’s frown deepened as he glared down at Greg’s waiting hand, causing his brow to furrow.
Greg waggled his fingers again and this time, with much reluctance, Mycroft slowly reached out and took his hand.
“There’s a good lad. Now hold on to the banister.”
Mycroft’s head snapped up fast enough to make Greg wonder if he’d actually gotten dizzy (because he sure as hell did just from watching), and stared at him as if he’d grown a second head.
Greg already knew the problem…he’d gone through the same thing with Jawn and Sherlock both. Multiple times. “Yes,” he said, nodding his head towards Mycroft’s mouth. “That means that thumb has to come out. Just for a little while,” he was quick to add.
Mycroft’s flustered glare quickly devolved into a pure scowl…and even being dressed like an infant with his thumb in his mouth did little to diminish the effect of a true Holmes’ Scowl
™
.
Good thing Greg was immune by now, having been on the receiving end of one many, many times before. “Mm-mm, no. Those are the rules.” ‘The rules that you made, you tit,’, he added silently.
Mycroft’s eyes widened momentarily–it must have been quite a shock for him to be told ‘no’ still, Greg thought– before his expression returned to that sour pucker of his. With a stomp of his foot, he yanked his hand out of Greg’s and whirled around, turning his back to him.
“Ah, now see…that’s just going to get you left up here by yourself while I go enjoy our secret downstairs.” Greg turned to do just that, and barely made it to the second step before a loud “NO!” stopped him. He looked over his shoulder.
Mycroft was now facing him again, only this time his hands (both of them) were at his sides, balled into fists, and there was a noticeable wobble to his bottom lip that belied his glare. Which wasn’t even a glare so much anymore, as much as an attempt to keep from pouting.
Which was the cutest eff’ing thing to Greg…he couldn’t help but grin, in spite of the ‘stern’ front he was trying to pull off.
“Yeah, good choice. I don’t like being left alone, either.” Greg offered his hand to Mycroft again. “And look, your thumb left all on it’s own…might as well take the banister and come down with me anyway, since he’s out of the way and all.”
The grinning seemed to put Mycroft at ease again, and the rest of his grumpy facade fell away with just the tiniest bit of a pouty lip left behind. He took Greg’s hand without any hesitation this time and held onto the banister with the other before coming down to join Greg.
Greg just stood there for a moment, beaming like an idiot. He genuinely couldn’t be more proud of his little guy; “Look at you, making all the right choices today,” he said, and brought Mycroft’s hand up to his lips to place a kiss on his knuckles.
The blush returned to Mycroft’s cheeks in an instant, and he dipped his head again…
…but not before Greg caught the tiny hint of a smile.
Greg’s heart melted…seriously, this was the best idea ever. It didn’t matter how the rest of the day went–that was a moment of pure gold.
They finally made their way down the stairs–slowly, one step at a time, and with Greg counting each one out loud, just like he did with the other boys. Of course, Mycroft didn’t loin in the way they did, but that was okay…he wasn’t scowling anymore, and that was all that mattered.
“Annnnnn, seventeen! Good job!” Greg cheered as they reached the bottom step. He held his and Mycroft’s hands aloft like a pair of winning boxers, and Mycroft had just won the grand title or championship, whatever it is that boxers win; “Yaaaay!”
Mycroft giggled–actually giggled, and pulls his hand out of Greg’s…though playfully this time. “Noooooooo.”
“Yeeeees, Greg teased and poked the bit of Mycroft’s tummy that was showing above the waist of his training pants, making him giggle again and twist away. “Nooooooo!”
Greg laughed; “Okay, okay, Greg’ll stop. So, you ready for your surprise, or should we go back upstairs and go back to bed?!?”
Mycroft, who was smiling just as brightly as Greg was from ear-to-ear, shook his head. “No!” he giggled, and rocked forward on his toes.
“Okay, Happy Feet,” Greg chuckled. “But you gotta close your eyes first.”
Once again, there was no hesitation before Mycroft did exactly as Greg asked and closed his eyes, squinching them shut tight.
Greg couldn’t believe it….this was working!
He moved behind Mycroft and put his hands on his hips, then started to move them to the sitting room. “No peeking! Keep those peeper’s shut!”
“No!” Mycroft chirped, and covered his own eyes with his hands.
They came to a stop in the entrance way to the room. “Now, wait for it…” Greg said, while Mycroft practically bounced on his toes; “…wait…waaaaaiiiiit…now!”
Mycroft dropped his hands….and the giggling stopped. The bouncing stopped. He froze.
John looked up from where he sat on the sofa, his mouth dropping open slightly, Sherlock looked up from where he sat at John’s feet, where he was in the midst of building an elaborate castle, and gasped. “HI, MY’COFF!” he called out, and waved his brother over excitedly.
Greg went to prod Mycroft along into the room; “Look who came to play, say ‘hi’, Mycro–!” Greg was cut short as Mycroft’s head whipped around like the possessed girl from that old movie he saw only once as a kid (that had given him nightmares for months afterwards…hence the ‘only once’ part).
Just as sure as the look on Mycroft’s face was going to be giving him nightmares now…if he didn’t spontaneously combust first, that it.
Sadie & Mo's Boutique 