Chapter Text
Mummy Holmes was no stranger to the headmaster’s office as her sons’ school. As much as she adored her sons and treasured them, she knew they had a knack for trouble. They weren’t cruel boys, or trouble makers…they were just misunderstood.
When she stepped into the receptionist’s office, she had expected to see Sherlock sitting in the waiting area. She was well aware that her middle son was the most contrary, and was prone to acting out. So she wasn’t surprised to see him sitting on the bench next to the door to the headmaster’s office, uniform dirtied and torn in places.
But what she wasn’t expecting to see Mycroft in a similar state of disarray, her eldest hated to get dirty or to be untidy for any reason. Yet there he was, sitting right next to Sherlock, with little Siger on his lap. The teen was doing his best to look bored with the entire situation, and Siger was looking down at his shoes, sniffling.
“Do I want to know what you did?” Mummy Holmes asked, tired.
Mycroft raised an eyebrow, “I’m afraid it was just a conversation gone awry.”
Mummy shook her head, opening the door to the headmaster’s office and going in.
From his perch on Mycroft’s lap, Siger rubbed his eyes, trying to stop the tears that were gathering there.
“Really Siger, you don’t need to fall to pieces over this.” Mycroft took out his handkerchief, drying his baby brother’s eyes.
Siger sniffled, “But they called me—”
“We know, Siger, we were there.” Sherlock scoffed, crossing his arms, “And we’ve been called the same thing, if not worse.”
Little Siger looked at his big brothers before laying his head on Mycroft’s chest, “…Are they all that stupid?” He whispered, half horrified at the thought.
Mycroft ran a hand through Siger’s messy curls, trying to tame them, “I’m afraid so, Siger.” He nodded, “It’s not just Mummy and Father, as we originally thought.”
Sherlock snorted, “It’s a wonder all of them have found the mental capacity to breathe and speak at the same time.”
“Yes, well, until we find a solution, we will just have to suffer through this.” Mycroft sighed, trying to tame Sherlock’s curls. This only made Sherlock ruffle them just to spite his older brother.
The youngest Holmes just looked at his brothers, “Can’t we just make them all smarter?”
Mycroft chuckled, “While we may be superior in every way, Siger, we are not miracle workers.” He smiled softly at his younger brothers, “Remember, both of you: caring is not an advantage. Do not care what these…fools think of you. We will always be smarter, better.”
Both Sherlock and Siger nodded in agreement.
Then Sherlock smirked, “So when do you plan on taking over the world, Mycroft?”
The eldest Holmes brother returned the expression, “It may take a while to get to the proper position, but rest assured, I’m making the plans as we speak.” He took Sherlock’s hand, lacing fingers with him as he looked at Siger, “For all of us.”
He didn’t mention that part of that plan included what Mummy’s real job was, that would come into play when they were older. After all, Mycroft needed to figure out which of his brothers would be best to have planted in the bowels of MI6 (though he had a good idea of which brother wouldn’t get himself killed in doing so).
As for himself, he had more bureaucratic ambitions. He knew it would take a few decades (unless he wanted to draw attention to himself), but if everything worked out well, he could be in control of the entire nation. Including Mummy’s office.
He hoped she wouldn’t mind. For all his scheming, Mycroft loved his Mummy. Mummy with a capital M.