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piplover Rating: G
Pairings: H/W if you squint
Warnings: Extreme fluff
Wordcount: 1255
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has always been a precocious child.
The baby was crying again. Even in the relative solitude of his room, where he struggled with his sums and his tutor quietly read near the window, he could hear the sobbing wails which always seemed so disproportionate to such a small body.
“She’s not very good, for a nanny,” he observed softly, pen scraping against paper as he completed his last row of numbers.
“Some babies require more attention than others,” Mr. Huggins assured absently, turning a page and tilting the book slightly to catch the last of the weak winter sunlight. “Your brother is colicky, I believe. Even the best of nannies have trouble soothing such children.”
The wailing continued, nearly frightening in its unending longevity, and Mycroft struggled to keep his attention on his divisions table.
“Surely that can’t be healthy,” he tried again, attempting without success to think of a way to block out the whimpering little sobs which floated into the room. “It’s been near on an hour!”
Sighing, Mr. Huggins placed his book on his upraised knee and regarded his pupil with a thoughtful expression.
“Perhaps you are correct, Mycroft. If you wish, we shall speak to the nanny about your fears and you can judge for yourself how well a job she is doing, hmm?” Mr. Huggins’ tone was only slightly condescending, a slight smile playing about his lips.
Mycroft knew better than to scowl, though he did allow himself to stick his tongue out briefly at the tutor’s turned back. By the time he had returned his papers to their proper place and made certain his ink was stoppered, his brother’s wails had once more resumed their full volume.
Smiling sweetly at the man’s grimace, Mycroft led the way to the nursery, wincing slightly as the pitiful cries echoed out into the hall.
“Good evening, Ms. Smythe,” Mr. Huggins called as they entered the falsely cheerful room.
The pale blue wallpaper and lace-lined bassinet would have been the perfect image a newborn’s room had it not been for the harried woman slowly walking around the perimeter, hair falling in strands about her rosy cheeks from her otherwise immaculate bun.
“Mr. Huggins!” she greeted, the relief at having another intelligent being to speak to evident on her face as she nodded her head to him. “And Master Mycroft! To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”
As though realizing he had a new audience, Sherlock chose that moment to let out a particularly loud wail, and Ms. Smythe started to walk her lap again, gently bouncing the baby in her arms and patting his back.
“The young master here was rather concerned with his brother’s crying. I was hoping that you could put his mind at ease,” Mr. Huggins explained, smiling down at Mycroft in a fashion clearly meant to display to Ms. Smythe that he was humoring his young charge.
“Your brother’s just a tad colicky, dear, “ Ms. Smythe explained, wincing as Sherlock howled his displeasure with the world. “He should calm down in a bit, once he’s cried himself out.”
“May I hold him?” Mycroft asked, frowning as she bounced his brother once more against her chest.
“He’s very fragile, Mycroft,” Mr. Huggins cautioned.
“I know,” Mycroft protested, frowning. “I shall be very gentle. I promise,” he added, with just a touch of his exasperation showing. “Please?”
“Have a seat then, and you may hold him for a bit,” Ms. Smythe relented, and Mycroft hurried over to the great rocking chair placed by the window, his chubby legs dangling well above the floor.
Gingerly, as though uncertain as to the wisdom of her decision, the baby was placed in his arms, both adults hovering, prepared to rescue the infant at the first sign of trouble.
Mycroft stared down into the scrunched up, purple face, taking in the wisps of black hair which were plastered to the baby’s head and the watery, red rimmed eyes that were glaring accusingly.
“Hush, now,” he soothed, holding the little bundle close to his chest. “You really are making quite a racket.”
Sherlock hiccupped as though in agreement, his little face contorting in preparation of an awful howl. Mycroft, eyes narrowed, placed his pinky on the baby’s lips, not applying any pressure but allowing the tiny creature that was his brother to contemplate the new sensation. After a moment, the petal soft lips closed over the finger, cry unvoiced, and silence fell over the room, deafening in its suddenness.
“Oh, my,” Ms. Smythe whispered, hand going to her mouth.
“Well, I’ll be,” Mr. Huggins agreed softly.
The two adults stared in shocked wonder as Mycroft lectured his brother on the ruckus he was causing and how very rude it was. Sherlock, exhausted by his efforts, continued to suckle contentedly on the finger in his mouth, eyes slitting closed as he stared adoringly at the round face above him. “He just needed something to focus on,” Mycroft whispered, looking up knowingly into the faces of the astonished adults.
“Master Mycroft, you are a wonder,” Ms. Smythe sighed, sinking into a chair and self consciously patting her hair back into a semblance of order.
“No,” Mycroft murmured, smiling slightly as his brother finally succumbed to sleep. “I’m his brother.
*****
“Thank you,” Watson whispered as the elder Holmes closed the bedroom door, moving to pour them both a brandy. “That broken ankle of his is about to dive us all round the bend. He’s been restless all day, unable to get comfortable since I cut down his morphine. This is the first time he’s quieted enough to actually sleep. “
“He has always been a precocious child,” Mycroft sighed, taking the drink gratefully as he idly cast his gaze about the room. “I have found that giving him something to focus on, touch in particular, helps to sooth his mind, especially when he is in pain. Perhaps the next time he wakes you may wish to implement such a method, though it is merely a suggestion.”
“But a very valid one,” Watson agreed, tossing back his brandy with one swallow and then yawning hugely. “Forgive me.”
“Nothing to forgive, I assure you, Doctor. Perhaps you had best make use of this calm before the storm and see to yourself. If you wish to take care of your toiletries I can certainly watch over Sherlock for a bit. My schedule is already quite ruined for the night. “
“Thank you,” Watson agreed heartily, already moving to place his glass on the sideboard. “I will not be very long, Mr. Holmes.”
“Nonsense, Doctor, take your time. You are no good to my brother if you are not yourself taken care of. Now go, and I shall sit by the fire and peruse the newspaper,” Mycroft ordered.
Watson smiled his thanks, moving to the stairs and his bedroom to retrieve the items he would need for a bath.
“You are a wonder, Mr. Holmes,” he praised as he headed up.
“No,” Mycroft whispered softly, settling down on the chair by the fire, newspaper in hand and a small smile upon his face.
“I am his brother. “
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Date: 2010-07-29 01:44 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2010-07-29 02:45 am (UTC)Love the idea of Sherlock needing something to focus on even as a tadpole!
Very nicely done!
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