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.
John scrubbed angrily at the tear stains on his cheeks. “I’m not a cry baby! You’re a whingey baby!” He shouted, struggling to get off Mycroft’s lap.
“Why don’t you cry about it some more you weepy willow!”
John gapped, affronted.
“Hold Jeffrey.” John said, shoving the plastic triceratops into Mycroft’s chest.
“Enough!”
Both little boys startled and stared wide eyed at Mycroft. “Until one of you can tell me what the problem is, you are both going to sit in time out. Now.”
Sadie: Sherlock plopped down onto the floor, crosslegged, and folded his arms over his chest. “You can’t make me,” he grumbled.
“Sherlock…”
The little detective huffed, blowing a wave of hair off his forehead, but stayed silent.
“If that’s the way you want to go about it, fine with me. You go stand in that corner, “ Mycroft pointed to the opposite wall with his elbow. “And Jawn will go stand in the other-”
“You were here to see ME!”
Mycroft is speechless…not an easy state to catch him in. “But-”
“Me! Not him!”
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