Wee Sherlock and Mycroft
More from Sherlock + Mycroft fic, wherein Sherlock and Mycroft ARE WEE CHILDREN.
"It's mummy, isn't it?" Mycroft said as he dressed, despite the fact his papa had told him he only needed to put on his trainers. Though only seven, Mycroft was sure he wasn't going anywhere dressed in only his trainers and blue striped jim-jams.
"She's fine," Siger said, emptying Mycroft's school rucksack, so he could put some clothes in it. Mycroft made a face at that, which Siger, who was clearly preoccupied, ignored.
"She's having that baby," Mycroft yanked his rucksack from his papa. His parents had been talking about the horrible thing for months now and he wished they would stop.
Siger smiled again, this time even wider than the first and Mycroft felt a stab of utter hatred for the creature -- not even alive and breathing like he was, technically -- which could make his papa smile like that. Mycroft was only seven; he couldn't read the faint lines of sadness fanning his father's eyes, nor the doubting stoop in his shoulders. Doubt that was different than the uncertainty of a new child.
All he knew is that his papa smiled even wider now than he had at Mycroft's piano recital this morning, and Mycroft had played the best of all the other children. His mummy had said so; she had kissed him on the head and told him so. He had been so happy he'd forgotten her stomach was wrong. It was all bloated from that baby inside it.
He'd said it was like a parasite once, but his parents didn't seem to like that.
Three year old Sherlock is adorable and uses phrases like "pay heed". For realsies.
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"It's mummy, isn't it?" Mycroft said as he dressed, despite the fact his papa had told him he only needed to put on his trainers. Though only seven, Mycroft was sure he wasn't going anywhere dressed in only his trainers and blue striped jim-jams.
"She's fine," Siger said, emptying Mycroft's school rucksack, so he could put some clothes in it. Mycroft made a face at that, which Siger, who was clearly preoccupied, ignored.
"She's having that baby," Mycroft yanked his rucksack from his papa. His parents had been talking about the horrible thing for months now and he wished they would stop.
Siger smiled again, this time even wider than the first and Mycroft felt a stab of utter hatred for the creature -- not even alive and breathing like he was, technically -- which could make his papa smile like that. Mycroft was only seven; he couldn't read the faint lines of sadness fanning his father's eyes, nor the doubting stoop in his shoulders. Doubt that was different than the uncertainty of a new child.
All he knew is that his papa smiled even wider now than he had at Mycroft's piano recital this morning, and Mycroft had played the best of all the other children. His mummy had said so; she had kissed him on the head and told him so. He had been so happy he'd forgotten her stomach was wrong. It was all bloated from that baby inside it.
He'd said it was like a parasite once, but his parents didn't seem to like that.
Three year old Sherlock is adorable and uses phrases like "pay heed". For realsies.
comments at dreamwidth. Comment there using dreamwidth or OpenID.