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tweedandtinsel2011-02-18 10:34 pm
oxfordtweed) wrote in tweedandtinsel2011-02-18 10:34 pm
Lead on; I Follow
Fandom: Sherlock
Character/s: Sherlock, Mycroft
Word Count: 620
Rating: G
Summary: For Sherlock’s birthday, Mycroft agrees to do whatever the younger Holmes wants.
Notes/Warnings: Poorly-researched, but the idea struck me, and I ran with it. Another prompt fic.
Lead on; I Follow
“Where are we going, little one?”
“You’ll see!”
The younger Holmes didn’t take him by the hand, but he did still manage to lead him further into the small wood at the edge of the property. This whole thing had seemed like a fine idea when he had pitched it the previous week, but now he was beginning to strongly doubt his own judgement. Far safer would have been his original plan to buy Sherlock a chemistry set for his birthday; there are only so many ways in which acids can go wrong, and all within the confines of the house, where help could arrive in a timely manner.
Still, he let Sherlock have his birthday gift of whatever he wanted, and apparently what an eleven-year-old Sherlock wanted most in the world was to drag him out onto what he was now quite certain wasn’t even their property any more. If he’d known they were going out this far, he’d have put on his Wellies. Still, this was no time to be worrying about a pair of ruined shoes and stained trousers. He’d just make Sherlock hand over the money to replace everything.
When he saw what was no doubt Sherlock’s intended target, Mycroft groaned loudly.
“A shed, little brother?” he asked, trying not to trip over a fallen branch. “You do recall that the last one hadn’t survived its trial by fire? I fear that Father may actually beat us if this one catches fire as well.”
“Stop worrying,” Sherlock said. “Besides, that fire was completely your fault, and you know it.”
Mycroft rolled his eyes as they pressed on. The shed was locked, but with a padlock that was far too new to have been out here for very long. A suspicion that was quickly confirmed when Sherlock produced the key and opened the door.
The shed was like any other shed; cramped, wet, and infested with insects. This particular shed, however, had been used by a trapper, indicated by the alarming number of animal traps stored inside. Mycroft could not help but notice that many of them had been set.
Mycroft knew he should reprimand Sherlock for doing whatever he was planning. He should have turned right back and fetched someone to deal with this situation.
Instead, he shucked his waistcoat and moved closer to get a better look at the collection.
“When did you find this?” he asked, wondering why someone in Southern England would need a bear trap.
“Last month,” answered Sherlock. “When I was hiding from Mr Abbey after he found his car window smashed and blamed it on me.”
“You did smash his window,” Mycroft pointed out.
“You can’t prove it.”
Sherlock picked up a large stick and used it to spring one of the traps. The whole affair jumped straight up off of the worktop it had been sitting on, smashing the stick in its jaws.
“Do you want to set them somewhere?” asked Sherlock.
Mycroft looked round the shed. “I don’t think that’s wise, do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
Both boys jumped at the voice that could only belong to the owner of the shed. Mycroft heard the snap of closing steel jaws before he felt the searing hot pain shooting straight to his shoulder.
“How do you get your elbow caught in that?”
Mycroft looked up at his brother as they sat in the cubicle in A+E an hour later.
“Shut up,” he said.
“Do you think you’ll get a scar?” asked Sherlock, leaning over to look at the damage.
“Shut up,” Mycroft repeated tiredly.
“I told you nothing would burn down this time.”
Mycroft picked up the first thing he could reach and threw it at Sherlock, effectively chasing him out of the cubicle.
Character/s: Sherlock, Mycroft
Word Count: 620
Rating: G
Summary: For Sherlock’s birthday, Mycroft agrees to do whatever the younger Holmes wants.
Notes/Warnings: Poorly-researched, but the idea struck me, and I ran with it. Another prompt fic.
Lead on; I Follow
“Where are we going, little one?”
“You’ll see!”
The younger Holmes didn’t take him by the hand, but he did still manage to lead him further into the small wood at the edge of the property. This whole thing had seemed like a fine idea when he had pitched it the previous week, but now he was beginning to strongly doubt his own judgement. Far safer would have been his original plan to buy Sherlock a chemistry set for his birthday; there are only so many ways in which acids can go wrong, and all within the confines of the house, where help could arrive in a timely manner.
Still, he let Sherlock have his birthday gift of whatever he wanted, and apparently what an eleven-year-old Sherlock wanted most in the world was to drag him out onto what he was now quite certain wasn’t even their property any more. If he’d known they were going out this far, he’d have put on his Wellies. Still, this was no time to be worrying about a pair of ruined shoes and stained trousers. He’d just make Sherlock hand over the money to replace everything.
When he saw what was no doubt Sherlock’s intended target, Mycroft groaned loudly.
“A shed, little brother?” he asked, trying not to trip over a fallen branch. “You do recall that the last one hadn’t survived its trial by fire? I fear that Father may actually beat us if this one catches fire as well.”
“Stop worrying,” Sherlock said. “Besides, that fire was completely your fault, and you know it.”
Mycroft rolled his eyes as they pressed on. The shed was locked, but with a padlock that was far too new to have been out here for very long. A suspicion that was quickly confirmed when Sherlock produced the key and opened the door.
The shed was like any other shed; cramped, wet, and infested with insects. This particular shed, however, had been used by a trapper, indicated by the alarming number of animal traps stored inside. Mycroft could not help but notice that many of them had been set.
Mycroft knew he should reprimand Sherlock for doing whatever he was planning. He should have turned right back and fetched someone to deal with this situation.
Instead, he shucked his waistcoat and moved closer to get a better look at the collection.
“When did you find this?” he asked, wondering why someone in Southern England would need a bear trap.
“Last month,” answered Sherlock. “When I was hiding from Mr Abbey after he found his car window smashed and blamed it on me.”
“You did smash his window,” Mycroft pointed out.
“You can’t prove it.”
Sherlock picked up a large stick and used it to spring one of the traps. The whole affair jumped straight up off of the worktop it had been sitting on, smashing the stick in its jaws.
“Do you want to set them somewhere?” asked Sherlock.
Mycroft looked round the shed. “I don’t think that’s wise, do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
Both boys jumped at the voice that could only belong to the owner of the shed. Mycroft heard the snap of closing steel jaws before he felt the searing hot pain shooting straight to his shoulder.
“How do you get your elbow caught in that?”
Mycroft looked up at his brother as they sat in the cubicle in A+E an hour later.
“Shut up,” he said.
“Do you think you’ll get a scar?” asked Sherlock, leaning over to look at the damage.
“Shut up,” Mycroft repeated tiredly.
“I told you nothing would burn down this time.”
Mycroft picked up the first thing he could reach and threw it at Sherlock, effectively chasing him out of the cubicle.
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