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It was eleven o’clock on a Saturday morning when Mycroft arrived in the living room of 221B and quietly assumed his usual seat, i.e., John’s armchair. He could hear John pottering around in the kitchen, while Rosie sat on the floor in front of the TV watching Teletubbies – neither had registered the arrival of their unannounced, and unexpected, guest. He relaxed back in the chair, smiling as he watched Rosie while she bounced up and down on her bum along with the Teletubbies theme music.
John glanced round to check on Rosie and caught sight of Mycroft’s head over the back of HIS chair. He shook his head in annoyance – ‘dammit!’, there were two armchairs and a sofa to choose from, so why did Mycroft always choose HIS chair? It surely wasn’t a power thing or he would choose Sherlock’s; was it done deliberately then just to wind him up? If so, it was working! He counted to ten before speaking, trying to mask his annoyance, “Mycroft, didn’t see you arrive. Sherlock’s not here - not sure when he'll get back.”
“He'll be here shortly.”
“Oh, right, of course, he will.” No point asking how Mycroft knew that. “Tea?”
“Yes, please.”
At the sound of Mycroft’s voice Rosie stopped what she was doing and shuffled around looking for him. As soon as she saw him, her face lit up with a big smile and she squealed in delight, “My … My!”
Before Mycroft could rise from the chair to go to her, she clambered to her feet and toddled unsteadily toward him as fast as she could. “Rosie, you can walk!” he exclaimed in delight.
“Yes, we were keeping it as a surprise for you. Weren’t we, Rosie? She took her first steps five days ago.” John’s pride in Rosie’s achievement was evident in his voice. “She’s a clever girl!”
“Indeed, she is,” Mycroft concurred, “You are a clever girl, aren’t you!”
As Rosie reached Mycroft, she grabbed hold of his knees to steady herself. So enthralled had he been at seeing her walk, he entirely failed to observe the melted chocolate on her fingers and around her mouth. Only now when the damage had been done did it register. He sat, temporarily frozen in place, staring at the trail of little chocolate handprints on the knees of his new light grey linen suit, hand-prints that were multiplying as Rosie tried to climb up on to his lap. His new suit!
John re-appeared from the kitchen bearing a cup and saucer in one hand, and Rosie’s sippy cup in the other. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before him, “Oh, hell ….. “
Rosie held her hands up to Mycroft and demanded impatiently, “Up … Up!”. He looked up at her then back down at his trousers and sighed in mock surrender. “Of course, my dear. Up you come.” He reached out and helped her climb up to sit in his lap. “And how are you today, Rosie?”
In response, Rosie produced the remains of a chocolate biscuit, as though from thin air, and held it up to Mycroft’s mouth - it was a Cadbury’s chocolate finger, he noted. He pretended to take a bite, “Mmmmm. Yum, yum, that’s a very good biscuit. Thank you.” Encouraged by the sounds of appreciation issuing forth from Mycroft, Rosie grasped hold of his jacket to pull herself to her feet, then tried to cram the biscuit into his mouth. He gently re-directed it to hers, “Thank you, Rosie, your turn now.” She avoided the biscuit and buried her face in his neck as she gave him a hug.
John watched in silence, amused by the interaction between the two. He was amazed at way the Mycroft had reacted to the damage Rosie inflicted on his suit – it looked new and very expensive, and he doubted whether those chocolate stains would ever come out. “God, Mycroft, I am so sorry. Give me your jacket and I’ll try sponging it clean – I’ll get you a cloth for your trousers. Here, I'll take Rosie.”
“Nonsense, John, everything is fine. We’re good, aren’t we, Rosie.” He tickled her tummy making her laugh. John blinked in surprise - Mycroft was always very fastidious about his appearance, and his suits probably cost more than several months' worth of John's army pension, and yet there he was, relaxed and seemingly unconcerned by what had just happened.
“Well, at least let me wipe the chocolate from her hands and face – a bit late now though. Sorry.” He put the cups down on the worktop and picked up the tea towel. “I’ll run this under the tap to dampen it.” He returned a few seconds later and held his hands out to take Rosie.
“Let me,” Mycroft reached for the cloth. First, he wiped the chocolate from Rosie’s hands, then her face - she squirmed in his lap trying to evade his ministrations. When he was content that Rosie was now a chocolate-free zone, he held the cloth back out to John.
“Um, there’s chocolate on your face and neck,” John indicated the position with a vague wave of his fingers.
Mycroft wiped himself with the cloth, “How’s that? Did I get it all?”
John nodded, “Looks like it.”
“Do you have a fresh bib for her?” asked Mycroft as he untied the bib from around Rosie’s neck.
“Yes, I have some here.” John returned to the kitchen to fetch one from the small pile of freshly laundered baby clothes sitting on the worktop. “Here you go.” As he watched Mycroft place the fresh bib around Rosie’s neck, he realised that he had actually grown quite fond of Sherlock’s big brother, something that even a few months ago he would never have anticipated.
Mycroft lifted Rosie up and placed a kiss on her cheek. “Look at you, all nice and clean.”
“Can I ask you something?”
Keeping his eyes on Rosie, Mycroft responded, “Of course, John.”
“Just wondering why, when you’re so particular about your name being used in full, Mycroft, Rosie gets to call you ‘My’ and you call her ‘Rosie’ not Rosamund?”
Mycroft laughed and kissed Rosie again, “Mwah! That’s our secret, isn’t it, Rosie dear?”
“Okay, glad you explained that. Right, fine, I’ll get the tea – but no more chocolate biscuits … for either of you!” He heard the downstairs door slam shut. “That’ll be Sherlock.”
A few seconds later, Sherlock appeared in the living room. His eyes immediately took in Mycroft’s appearance, “Really, brother, stealing chocolate from a baby won’t do your diet any good!”