Lavender's blue
Aug. 25th, 2011 01:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
solrosanNotes: So, my "I'm not going to write Sherlock-fics for a while now" didn't even last a day. Wrote this to this prompt at the kink meme while my mistress was studying for her exame.
Summary and promt: Little Mycroft used to sing to baby Sherlock to calm him. Sometimes Mycroft wishes he still could.
***
Sherlock had a tantrum.
He walked around in Mycroft’s office – the minor position in the government one – and gesticulated wildly, as if that would make his point come across better. It wouldn’t, it was just distracting. Sherlock should really know better.
Apparently Sherlock had gotten it into his head that Mycroft was to blame for Moriarty getting away for the second time in just a couple of month. What his brother though he would gain from something like that was beyond Mycroft. Hopefully Sherlock didn’t actually believe in all he was saying and just needed to ventilate, otherwise Mycroft would fear for his brother’s mental state. Well, more than he usually did.
Mycroft sat behind his desk, pressing his fingertips against each other, just waiting for the storm to blow over.
***
Sherlock just cried all the time; colic the adults kept saying, exchanging sympathetic looks. Mummy was so tired, even Mycroft could see that.
Mycroft was also tired, but just of the crying. Why did they give him a brother? He had told them he wanted a puppy instead. A puppy wouldn’t cry all the time. Surely Mummy must regret her decision to get another child instead of a puppy.
“Mycroft,” Mummy called from the kitchen, “Mycroft, please, can you take Sherlock?”
“I’m doing my homework,” Mycroft yelled back, whining already since he knew Mummy wouldn't see that as a good-enough excuse.
“Please Mycroft, I’m making dinner,” Mummy called back and Mycroft sighed, slamming his book shut just to show how displeased he was. The point was surely missed.
Sherlock lay in a crib in the master bedroom and Mycroft had to pull up a chair next to it to be able to look down over the side. The one his father used to put his clothes on had to do (and everything currently on it just had to be placed in a pile on the floor).
So now what?
Mycroft looked down at the screaming little package that was his baby brother and frowned. He was not strong enough to lift the baby properly from this position; that much he could figure out. So what then?
He reached down and patted Sherlock on the belly as well as he could. It didn’t help. If anything it made Sherlock scream louder. Stupid baby.
“Sherlock,” he tried in a low voice, “Be quiet.”
Unsurprisingly that didn’t help.
“Lavender's blue, dilly dilly….” Mycroft tried to sing in a hush, inexperienced voice and paused for a moment to see if it had any effect at all. The crying subsided for a split second and the baby looked almost surprised before he started again.
“Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly,” Mycroft started again in the same, low voice, “Lavender’s green; when I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen.”
Again he held up to ponder over the effect the singing seemed to have on his brother. He gave a quick smile and tilted his head and continued the song before Sherlock got the time to start crying again.
“Who told you so, dilly dilly, who told you so? It was my own heart, dilly dilly, that told me so…”
***
“Sherlock,” Mycroft tried, he had other things to do today. Like fire the person who had let Sherlock in. Or no, maybe that wasn’t fair. Or maybe Mycroft didn’t care.
***
Mycroft lay on a blanket on the kitchen floor next to Sherlock and let the baby chew on one of his fingers. Sherlock was teething and grumpy, but it was better than colic at least. Mycroft had to admit that he was much more pleased with his brother now, he was almost better than a puppy now.
With a frown Mycroft pulled his hand from Sherlock when the baby had decided to actually bite him. Mycroft knew he only had himself to blame, Sherlock was too young to understand (or was he? Sometime Mycroft thought the baby had too intelligent eyes to be so small, but that was just silly).
His brother looked at him for a moment and then he started to cry. Mycroft frowned. Stupid baby.
“Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly,” Mycroft started to sing with a soft smile on his lips and let his fingers dance in the air above Sherlock, “lavender's green; when I am king, dilly, dilly, you shall be queen.”
Sherlock reached for the hand and the crying was replaced with baby laughter. It was one of the most wonderful sounds.
***
“What do you have to say for yourself?” Sherlock shouted.
Mycroft continued to look at his brother over his fingertips in silence.
Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly, lavender's green.
“Say something!” Sherlock continued to shout.
When I am king, dilly, dilly, you shall be queen.
After throwing a lamp to the floor but fortunately not breaking it, Sherlock stormed out of the room. Mycroft glanced at the clock over the door, 20 minutes, Sherlock had been going at it for 20 minutes. He had good lungs his brother.
Mycroft sighed. Stupid baby.
Who told you so, dilly, dilly, who told you so?
It was my own heart, dilly, dilly, that told me so.
Summary and promt: Little Mycroft used to sing to baby Sherlock to calm him. Sometimes Mycroft wishes he still could.
***
Sherlock had a tantrum.
He walked around in Mycroft’s office – the minor position in the government one – and gesticulated wildly, as if that would make his point come across better. It wouldn’t, it was just distracting. Sherlock should really know better.
Apparently Sherlock had gotten it into his head that Mycroft was to blame for Moriarty getting away for the second time in just a couple of month. What his brother though he would gain from something like that was beyond Mycroft. Hopefully Sherlock didn’t actually believe in all he was saying and just needed to ventilate, otherwise Mycroft would fear for his brother’s mental state. Well, more than he usually did.
Mycroft sat behind his desk, pressing his fingertips against each other, just waiting for the storm to blow over.
***
Sherlock just cried all the time; colic the adults kept saying, exchanging sympathetic looks. Mummy was so tired, even Mycroft could see that.
Mycroft was also tired, but just of the crying. Why did they give him a brother? He had told them he wanted a puppy instead. A puppy wouldn’t cry all the time. Surely Mummy must regret her decision to get another child instead of a puppy.
“Mycroft,” Mummy called from the kitchen, “Mycroft, please, can you take Sherlock?”
“I’m doing my homework,” Mycroft yelled back, whining already since he knew Mummy wouldn't see that as a good-enough excuse.
“Please Mycroft, I’m making dinner,” Mummy called back and Mycroft sighed, slamming his book shut just to show how displeased he was. The point was surely missed.
Sherlock lay in a crib in the master bedroom and Mycroft had to pull up a chair next to it to be able to look down over the side. The one his father used to put his clothes on had to do (and everything currently on it just had to be placed in a pile on the floor).
So now what?
Mycroft looked down at the screaming little package that was his baby brother and frowned. He was not strong enough to lift the baby properly from this position; that much he could figure out. So what then?
He reached down and patted Sherlock on the belly as well as he could. It didn’t help. If anything it made Sherlock scream louder. Stupid baby.
“Sherlock,” he tried in a low voice, “Be quiet.”
Unsurprisingly that didn’t help.
“Lavender's blue, dilly dilly….” Mycroft tried to sing in a hush, inexperienced voice and paused for a moment to see if it had any effect at all. The crying subsided for a split second and the baby looked almost surprised before he started again.
“Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly,” Mycroft started again in the same, low voice, “Lavender’s green; when I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen.”
Again he held up to ponder over the effect the singing seemed to have on his brother. He gave a quick smile and tilted his head and continued the song before Sherlock got the time to start crying again.
“Who told you so, dilly dilly, who told you so? It was my own heart, dilly dilly, that told me so…”
***
“Sherlock,” Mycroft tried, he had other things to do today. Like fire the person who had let Sherlock in. Or no, maybe that wasn’t fair. Or maybe Mycroft didn’t care.
***
Mycroft lay on a blanket on the kitchen floor next to Sherlock and let the baby chew on one of his fingers. Sherlock was teething and grumpy, but it was better than colic at least. Mycroft had to admit that he was much more pleased with his brother now, he was almost better than a puppy now.
With a frown Mycroft pulled his hand from Sherlock when the baby had decided to actually bite him. Mycroft knew he only had himself to blame, Sherlock was too young to understand (or was he? Sometime Mycroft thought the baby had too intelligent eyes to be so small, but that was just silly).
His brother looked at him for a moment and then he started to cry. Mycroft frowned. Stupid baby.
“Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly,” Mycroft started to sing with a soft smile on his lips and let his fingers dance in the air above Sherlock, “lavender's green; when I am king, dilly, dilly, you shall be queen.”
Sherlock reached for the hand and the crying was replaced with baby laughter. It was one of the most wonderful sounds.
***
“What do you have to say for yourself?” Sherlock shouted.
Mycroft continued to look at his brother over his fingertips in silence.
Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly, lavender's green.
“Say something!” Sherlock continued to shout.
When I am king, dilly, dilly, you shall be queen.
After throwing a lamp to the floor but fortunately not breaking it, Sherlock stormed out of the room. Mycroft glanced at the clock over the door, 20 minutes, Sherlock had been going at it for 20 minutes. He had good lungs his brother.
Mycroft sighed. Stupid baby.
Who told you so, dilly, dilly, who told you so?
It was my own heart, dilly, dilly, that told me so.
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Date: 2013-08-10 08:42 pm (UTC)I'm never bored of stories about the Holmes brothers - and this one is very nice, too. I wonder what grown-up Sherlock would have done if Mycroft had actually started singing - maybe he would have been so shocked that he'd have stopped raging about for a bit...
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Date: 2013-08-11 02:19 pm (UTC)According to one of my previous comment replies I was planning on letting Mycroft sing to shut Sherlock up, but that tactic had probably been overused by the time Sherlock reached the age of 10 ;)