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Chapter Text

Mycroft, even at the tender age of seven, was a genius. Outwitting his nanny to escape into the grounds of Musgrave Hall had been the work of seconds and he made a beeline for the thick grove of trees that provided privacy and sanctuary.

Something was amiss and Mycroft was furious that he could not deduce what was causing such a disturbing atmosphere in his home. He decided that he needed time and solitude to fathom it out.

He sat under the spreading branches of an oak tree, leaning against the broad trunk and closing his eyes. The ground was a little damp under the tree and Mycroft knew he would be thoroughly scolded for getting his breeches dirty. Not that his Mama would care. She was living in a world of her own these days or so it seemed. Father too, although he was a notoriously peripheral figure in Mycroft's life. Perhaps…

"Ow!"

Mycroft's thoughts were derailed by something falling on his head. Rubbing the sore spot, Mycroft glared up into the branches where he caught a flash of colour, swiftly followed by another acorn thrown with pinpoint accuracy. Someone was up there! Throwing things at him!

Struggling to his feet Mycroft looked up and said " I say! Will you stop pelting me with acorns?"

The tree rustled again and there was a thump as a boy, not much older than Mycroft himself, landed on the ground. Mycroft got the impression of a wide grin topped by a shock of jet black hair.

"Two acorns is hardly a pelting," said the other boy, his hands on his hips.

"I wish to be left in peace," protested Mycroft.

"Then you'd better find a different tree. This is mine."

"I beg to differ, this is my land!"

"Old Siger popped his clogs then?"

Mycroft was dumbstruck. He couldn't believe anyone could be so rude. His mouth opened and closed but no sound came out. There was a hint of contrition in the other boy's expression.

"I'm sorry," he said. "My mother will box my ears for that. Didn't mean no offence. I'm Greg, by the way. Dad is one of the gardeners. Don't need to ask who you are, not dressed like that. What? Cat got your tongue?"

"Waiting for a chance to get a word in. Good morning, Gregory. My name is Mycroft." said Mycroft. 

His Mama had been quite definite about his need to be able to put the lower orders at their ease. Though what she would have made of the barefooted hellion in the tattered shirt and trousers was anyone's guess.

"Nice to meet you, Mycroft. Come on. I'm supposed to be picking gooseberries for the kitchen. You can help. If I get done quick we can visit the stables and see the puppies. Let's go!"

Mycroft found his hand grabbed and his small self being dragged along behind his new companion to where the soft fruit bushes grew. He watched as Greg stripped off the ripe fruit and threw it into a wicker basket. The third time Greg raised his eyebrows, Mycroft took off his jacket and reluctantly helped, yelping as his fingers were pricked with thorns accompanied by Greg's laughter.

Some time later, his shirt stained with gooseberry juice and his hands with dried blood Mycroft was relieved to hear Greg announce that they had picked enough. Mycroft hid as Greg presented his bounty at the kitchen door but happily re-emerged when Greg gestured to him.

"You'll get what-for when you get back," laughed Greg. "You're filthy."

"I don't care," muttered Mycroft rebelliously. "Can we go and see the puppies now?".

"Yeah, let's go. Their eyes opened a few days ago and their mum doesn't mind us looking. Come on!"

For the second time that day Mycroft found himself in a headlong dash across familiar ground.

The stables were warm with the rich scent of manure and hay. Greg gestured for Mycroft to be quiet and they crept towards an empty stable where Whisper, one of Mycroft's father's favourite hunting dogs lay, her puppies nuzzling her as they fed.

The dog caught their scent and, sensing no threat, her tail thumped on the straw a few times. Both boys watched, fascinated, as miniatures of Whisper broke away from her, tumbling over each other to get towards the new and interesting smell.

"They are beautiful," breathed Mycroft, allowing a puppy to lick his extended finger.

"They are," agreed Greg."I come here every day to see them. Too bad your Dad has them sold already."

Mycroft looked startled but quickly realised Greg probably knew more about the business side of Musgrave Hall than he ever would.

"They'll be here for a few weeks yet though," said Greg philosophically.

Both boys startled as a harassed female voice sounded in their ears.

Mycroft's nanny was bearing down on the pair of them, her expression furious.

"Master Mycroft! Thank heavens I found you! Come on, you need to be bathed before your Mama sees you."

Nanny turned her unfriendly glare on Greg who glared back.

"And you should know better. Getting him in a state like this. You should be ashamed.".

"M'not!" Greg said defiantly but squeakily.

Greg watched unhappily as his new friend was dragged away by his ear then turned his attention to the puppies.

"Probably won't see him around again," Greg muttered as the little ones nibbled his fingers. "Probably have him under guard. Might be afraid he'll catch fleas or something."

Greg paused in his muttering to scratch himself luxuriously. 

"Don't care," he lied.

*

Mycroft was furious. It had been one of the best days of his life and Nanny was intent on ruining every single bit of it. Back in the nursery he was stripped and scrubbed till his delicate skin turned fiery red then he was dressed in clean clothes, throughout Nanny kept up a complaining litany about young gentlemen who should know better. Mycroft had learned early on that if he kept quiet and listened he would learn a great deal and so it proved as she rattled on.

"Calls himself a gardener. He's not fit to wipe Mr Curtis's boots. As for his wife, she lets that boy run wild. A good birching would sort him out."

Nanny frowned as if Mycroft had personally offended her by his mere existence.

"Time for the drawing room. Best behaviour, Master Mycroft, and not a word about today. You don't want to be upsetting your Mama. Not in her condition."

Mycroft was bursting with a million new questions but meekly followed as Nanny swept downstairs to the drawing room and the daily ordeal of conversation with his parents.

*

As Mycroft made good his escape from the nursery the next day, he wondered if Gregory would be around. To his quickly-concealed delight, he found him hiding in the branches of the oak tree.

"Didn't think I'd see you again after yesterday," said Greg, trying and failing to hide how pleased he was. "Did you get into a lot of trouble?"

"Not really. Everyone seems too distracted to really bother what I get up to."

Greg looked almost sad at that, then grinned.

"Ever tried tickling trout?"

"What? Why on earth would I do that?" Mycroft asked, repelled and intrigued in equal measure.

"Come on, I'll show you."

The Sherrinford river ran through the estate and that was where Greg led Mycroft, even though Mycroft had been warned at great length to stay away from it.

"Lie down on the bank," said Greg, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

"What's that?" Mycroft asked, pointing to a cluster of freckles on Greg's wrist. "Is that your soul mark?"

"Oh, yeah." Greg said dismissively.

"It looks like a hook. Will you marry a slaughter man?"

Greg laughed and bent his elbow so his fingers reached upwards.

"It's an anchor. We're about thirty miles from the sea so not much chance of me finding my soulmate here. What about you? What does yours look like?"

Shyly Mycroft pulled up his sleeve and showed his forearm to Greg who snorted.

"A crown? Bloody hell. You'll have to marry a princess!"

Both boys giggled at the absurdity of it all, the idea that their future romantic lives should be mapped out by a random cluster of skin pigment.

"I don't think I want to marry anyone," said Mycroft. "Not if it makes you behave like my parents."

"How do you mean? "

"They don't seem happy. Not like we were taught soulmates should be."

Mycroft screwed up his courage and asked the question that had been bothering him. Somehow he knew Greg would have the answer.

"Gregory, Nanny says my mother is in a condition. Is she going to die?"

Greg resisted the temptation to laugh. Mycroft seemed incredibly young to him then and he did not want to upset his new friend.

"No. She's not going to die. You're going to have a baby brother or sister. Try and look surprised when they tell you. Young gentlefolk aren't supposed to know about fucking."

Mycroft nodded. He wouldn't say a word. Besides this fucking business sounded dreadful. A brother sounded marvellous though. Even a sister wouldn't be too bad.

As he watched Greg carefully slide his hands into the meandering river with a conspiratorial grin, Mycroft secretly hoped that he would like his new sibling as much as he already liked Greg.

Chapter Text

Six Months Later.

The moment Greg finished helping his father apply mulch to the rose beds to protect them from the turmoil of winter,  he hurried off to the oak tree where he knew Mycroft would be waiting.

Since their first encounter the two boys had spent as much time together as humanly possible in between Mycroft's lessons and Greg avoiding the village school to help out his father. Theorising that being able to read, write and count should be enough for any sane person, Greg had no intention of having any more schooling.

Mostly they talked, sharing endlessly fascinating snippets of their lives and their hopes for the future while Mycroft invented fantastic make-believe games for them to indulge in, while Greg taught Mycroft to climb trees, fish, scrump apples and how to identify the birds and animals they came across on their wanderings throughout the estate.

Greg always knew when Mycroft had managed to evade his draconian Nanny; some sixth sense would alert him to Mycroft's presence.

As Greg thought, Mycroft  was under the tree, wrapped up so densely that only the tip of his reddened nose and a pair of very watery grey/blue eyes were visible.

"Cold, innit?" Greg offered, shivering in his hand-me-down coat. Mycroft nodded.

"Can we go somewhere that isn't so chilly?" Mycroft pleaded.

By unspoken agreement the two boys ended up in the stables where it was, at least, warm. Mycroft  unwound the scarf from his neck and Greg saw that his friend's face was tight with worry and it wasn't just the cold making his eyes water.

"What's wrong?" Greg asked.

"My mother. Nanny says the baby is coming but I can hear my mother screaming. It's horrible. And it won't stop. She sounds like she's d-d-dying." 

Mycroft's voice broke and Greg didn't hesitate to pull him into his arms for a hug.

"I've heard the women talking. They say that having babies is a painful business. Stands to reason anyone would scream if it hurt too much. Like that time you stubbed your toe when we went swimming."

That gained Greg a weak chuckle and he patted himself on the back mentally for distracting his friend.

"I did not scream!" Mycroft protested. "Not much in any case."

Greg let him go and they sat together on a convenient hay bale. 

"Everything will be fine, Mikey. Looking forward to having some company in that mausoleum of yours?"

Greg grinned to himself as Mycroft swatted him on the leg and pulled a sour face.

"I don't live in a mausoleum. And don't call me Mikey. I-I-I am honestly not sure, Gregory. Apart from the time I spend with you, my pursuits are somewhat solitary. It will be many years before my sibling will be capable of joining in with anything, by which time…"

"Yeah," sighed Greg. "You'll be at school. Maybe even university. I wouldn't worry, Mikey. I think you'll be a great big brother."

Mycroft frowned at the nickname but felt warmed by his friend's praise.

"I should probably get back to the house," said Mycroft, real regret in his eyes. "If it's all over no doubt Nanny will be looking for me."

Greg nodded his agreement.

"Yeah, not someone you want to cross. If you get a chance to escape tomorrow, you can tell me all about it."

"Oh, I will." Mycroft replied defiantly. "That woman will not stop me from seeing my friend!"

"Around dinner time, if you can. There's not much to do in the gardens so I won't need to help my father. You'd better go."

Mycroft wrapped himself up again and darted out of the stables.

 A minute later, Greg did the same but headed home to one of the estate cottages where he was greeted with the warm, savoury smell of his mother's cooking and a clip round the ear from his mother for not coming straight home.

"Sorry," Greg apologised as he tucked into a plate of mutton stew. "This is wonderful, Mother."

Alice Lestrade looked mollified as her son placed his plate in the sink and went out to fill the log basket without being asked.

Greg was whittling away at a piece of wood when his father came in and sat down heavily at the kitchen table.

"Well, that's another day done," said Tom Lestrade as he cleaned his plate with a hunk of bread. "We're going out tonight, my lovelies."

Greg looked startled. Nights out were a rarity with them usually having no money to spare but his father was smiling.

"Free beer for all in the Sherrinford Arms. To drink the health of the new heir."

"New heir?" Greg asked.

"Lady Violet has been safely delivered of another boy."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Alice exclaimed, clapping her hands. Greg smiled too, happy that his friend had the brother Greg knew Mycroft had been hoping for.

"I suggest we get down there before that boozy lot from the village drink all the ale," laughed Tom.

In a very short time the Lestrades were dressed in their Sunday best and Tom took Alice's hand as they stepped outside the door, the soul mark on his wrist shining like a jewel with all the colours of the rainbow. 

His parents loved each other fiercely though Greg had ample evidence that it wasn't always the way with soulmates. Wistfully he traced the anchor on his own wrist and wondered.

In the village pub the landlord made sure that everyone in the crowded taproom had a drink before announcing in a carrying voice.

"A toast, good people. To Lord and Lady Holmes for this excellent beer!"

The crowd cheered.

"All provided to wet the head of the new addition to Musgrave Hall. To Sherlock Holmes. Long life, health and happiness to him."

The crowd cheered even louder. Greg sipped at his glass of cider and smiled.

*

Two weeks later, the entire village packed out the church for the christening of the baby who wailed most satisfactorily when the vicar doused him with holy water and the Devil left him.

Greg watched Mycroft throughout the service. His friend looked stiff and uncomfortable, though that might have been down to the new clothes that probably cost more than Greg's father earned in a year.

Greg suspected he'd be hearing all about life with the new baby very soon. He couldn't wait.

Chapter Text

Greg had worried about Mycroft ever since the christening but thought that, with a new baby at home and probably new responsibilities, Mycroft might not have as much time for his friend as previously.

He was delighted to find Mycroft sitting under their tree just as Greg was thinking of heading home.

"Mikey! Hello."

Greg hoped he was hiding the deep shock that he was feeling seeing his friend. Close up Mycroft looked terrible; pale with bloodshot eyes and rumpled clothing. He acknowledged Greg's greeting with a wan smile.

"How is life as a big brother?" Greg asked, then wished he hadn't as Mycroft grimaced.

"Sherlock is perfect," said Mycroft in a croaky voice. "Hale and hearty but Gregory," Mycroft stood up and grabbed Greg by the coat." He won't stop crying." 

"Oh. Why?"

"No one knows. The doctor has declared him well, Mama can quieten him by feeding him but Nanny can do nothing with him. She's leaving tomorrow. She cannot cope. He will be quiet for a little while if I hold and talk to him but I cannot be encumbered by an infant! No one has slept since his arrival. "

"That must be terrible," said Greg soothingly. "But if the doctor says he's fine then I don't know what you can do."

"Mama says our new nanny is experienced with such cases. She is to arrive tomorrow."

Greg drew his small friend into a comforting hug.

"Then that might be the solution. You know, your nanny isn't a very nice person. Maybe Sherlock could sense that."

"Possibly." Mycroft's reply was muffled into Greg's chest. "He'd better like this one or we will all be in the asylum by summertime."

"Perhaps they allow visitors," teased Greg and Mycroft snorted indignantly.

Greg drew away slightly and looked into Mycroft's eyes.

"Best thing you can do is go home and try and rest. See what tomorrow brings, eh?"

"Yes, you are right. That would probably be for the best. Thank you, Gregory. You are a true friend."

"Any time, Mikey. Next time I see you, you might be more rested."

"Don't call me Mikey," hissed Mycroft before storming off.

Greg laughed. At least Mycroft hadn't lost his distaste for being teased.

Whistling, Greg headed for home.

*

Mycroft honestly couldn't give a moment's attention to his lessons the next day. Nanny had left, trumpeting her distaste both for Sherlock and for him and he was more than a little anxious about the new one who was due to arrive any time.

Face glued to the nursery window Mycroft surveyed the gravel drive leading up to Musgrave Hall. Behind him, Sherlock grizzled in his cradle.

Mycroft turned away from the window and carefully picked up his baby brother who glared at him for his impudence.

"Hush, little brother." Mycroft whispered. "Our new nanny is to arrive today and she will not linger if she finds you in your current presentation, now will she?"

Sherlock continued to glare at him but at least he had stopped crying.

Mycroft heard the sound of cartwheels on gravel and hurried back to the window.

The carrier cart drew up outside the front door and a small figure jumped off. The driver pulled down what appeared to be a heavy carpet bag, placed it on the gravel, tipped his hat and climbed back on board, flicking the reins to get the horse back in motion. 

The woman, Mycroft surmised by the colour of her coat and the long, heavy skirts, squared her shoulders, grasped the bag and marched towards the door, hauling with gusto on the bell pull.

"She's here," Mycroft said to Sherlock. "Let's pretend we haven't been spying, shall we?"

The baby wrinkled his nose as if to disagree with his brother then blew a few bubbles as Mycroft settled him back into the cradle but desisted from crying. Mycroft took that as a positive sign.

If he had expected the new nanny to come rushing up to the nursery, Mycroft was destined to be disappointed. Ages passed and Sherlock was winding up to a full-blown wailing session when the nursery door opened and his mother walked in, closely followed by the small woman who had got off the carrier cart.

"Mycroft," said Lady Violet. Close up, his mother looked almost faded, not the vibrant woman he was so used to seeing. She cast an anxious eye towards the cradle then collected herself. "This is Mrs Hudson, your new nanny."

Mycroft stepped forward, bowed slightly and stuck out his hand as he had been taught.

"A pleasure to meet you, ma'am." 

Mrs Hudson's face lit up and she turned to Lady Violet.

"So polite. Such lovely manners. Very nice to meet you, Mycroft."

Lady Violet gestured to the cradle, where Sherlock was sounding almost inconsolable by now.

"And Sherlock. I fear you may have your work cut out with him, Mrs Hudson."

Mrs Hudson crossed to the cradle and picked up the screaming infant with practiced ease.

"All right, young man. What's all the noise for?" she asked and miraculously, Sherlock stopped crying and tried to focus on the face inches from his. Another miracle was that Mrs Hudson was smiling.

"Lady Violet, I don't think you'll have any more trouble with this little fellow."

Mycroft's mother looked relieved and said with her usual grace.

"Very well. I shall leave you to do your job, Mrs Hudson."

The nursery door closed firmly behind her.

"How old are you, Mycroft?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"I'm seven. Nearly eight." Mycroft replied.

"And a very clever boy which should be obvious to everyone."

Mycroft felt his jaw drop as Mrs Hudson had spoken to him in Ancient Greek.

"I'll wager this one will be just as clever as you," she continued in the same tongue. 

"How do you speak the classics?" Mycroft asked.

"I'm not revealing all my secrets at once," she replied, this time in Latin but Mycroft had seen the flash of approval in her dark eyes.

Mrs Hudson placed Sherlock in the cradle and picked up a carved wooden soldier who wore a gaudy crimson coat and vivid yellow trousers which she tucked into the cradle beside him.

"There. That will give him something to focus on while we have a little chat," said Mrs Hudson to Mycroft,  in English this time.

"Tell me about your other nanny."

Mycroft did, telling Mrs Hudson about the insistence on perfect manners at all times while the nursery food grew cold, the switchings for minor infractions, her horror at finding Mycroft associating with the son of a servant and her complete inability to cope with Sherlock.

She didn't interrupt, just listened until Mycroft ran out of words.

"Well, she's typical of the breed. Thinks children should be seen and not heard and are only fit to associate with others of their own class. In short, she is an idiot. Listen to me, Mycroft. You are an exceptional boy but it must have been so lonely for you, stuck in here with no one but that harridan for company. And I suspect your tutor is as dry as sticks too. Probably about a hundred years old. Am I right?"

Mycroft giggled. He couldn't help himself. She had described Mr Wilson to perfection.

"What about Sherlock? How did you ever get him to stop crying?" Mycroft asked.

"He's bored out of his mind. You would scream too if all you had to look at was a white wall. That is all he can see right now. I will see about getting him things to focus on. Bright colours and loud noises will be perfect for him."

"Is that why he would stop crying when I spoke to him? Well, he would sometimes."

Mrs Hudson smiled and nodded.

"He might not understand what you're saying but he can feel that you love him. That's what's important. Why don't you get your coat and shoes on? I think we should go for a walk. You can show me around the grounds."

"Yes, of course." Mycroft scurried off to obey while Mrs Hudson bundled Sherlock up in a thick shawl and held him close.

"Now you're fixed, lad, we're going to make sure your big brother doesn't lose his friend. The class system works both ways, you know, and I'm positive this Greg hasn't told his parents where he's spending his free time either."

Sherlock frowned as if he understood just as Mycroft returned dressed for the outdoors.

"Right then. I know your mother has a perambulator downstairs so we'll put young Sherlock in that and you can push him while you show me around."

"Yes, Mrs Hudson." Mycroft looked pleased at the thought of a bit of responsibility.

"Good lad. Keep calling me that. I can't be doing with you calling me 'Nanny' and this fellow here might not weigh much now but he'll feel like half a hundredweight by the time we're finished."

Carefully the trio made their way down the nursery staircase and Mrs Hudson placed Sherlock in the perambulator with some relief.

"Not getting any younger, Mycroft." she claimed as she reached for her coat.

Mycroft almost missed it; the sleeve of Mrs Hudson's dress rode up slightly and he saw her soul mark. Instead of the nebulous freckled thing he sported or the rich, glowing soul mark of his parents, Mrs Hudson's was book shaped, dead white, like old scar tissue.

"It's been twenty years," said Mrs Hudson, softly, noticing the direction of his gaze  "Twenty years since he died, my husband. He was a university professor. Taught Classics. I miss him every day."

"I'm sorry," said Mycroft.

"Don't be. We found each other, and that's not always guaranteed. Neither is happiness but we were lucky. Come on, let's do some exploring before teatime. What you you say?"

Mycroft grinned in reply

Chapter Text

Greg was sitting contentedly by the fire whittling away at his new project. It was starting to resemble a rabbit which made him happy. His mother was singing in the kitchen as she put the final touches to their evening meal and his father dozed in his chair.

The knock at the door made all three of the Lestrades look at each other in surprise. It was an unusual time for visitors; most people in the estate would be at home, in anticipation of their own evening meals.

Greg's mother dried her hands on her apron as she went to open the door. 

Greg couldn't see who it was but he heard his mother's tiny gasp and saw her bob a small curtsey.

"Please come in," she offered.

Greg and his father were on their feet by this time and Greg heard the other person say,

"I'll leave this outside. It'll do the little soul good to have some fresh air. Thank you, Mrs Lestrade."

Greg's eyes were out on stalks by this time as a small neatly-dressed woman came into the cottage, closely followed by…

"Mycroft!" Greg exclaimed. He couldn't help himself. The looks his parents were giving him made his future very clear. He'd have some explaining to do.

"Hello, Gregory." 

Greg got a closer look at his friend. Mycroft looked better, as if a huge burden had been lifted from him, probably something to do with the stranger who was smiling at Greg's parents.

"My name is Martha Hudson." the stranger announced. "I'm the new nanny up at Musgrave."

"It's very nice to meet you, ma'am," said Greg's father. Being polite to the house servants was something that had been drilled into him long ago but he was a kind man anyway, courteous and respectful of all.

"Martha, please. I'm not the queen. We won't stay long, it's nearly teatime. I just wanted to introduce myself and make sure that it's acceptable to both of you that Master Mycroft here carries on his friendship with your boy. Personally I think it's a good thing for a lad to run around and get mucky now and then and too much book learning can rot your brain."

"Gregory?" his mother asked. "Are you and the young master friends? You kept that quiet."

"So this is the friend you've been carving the rabbit for?" said his father. 

Greg took a deep breath and nodded.

"Yes, Mycroft and I are friends. It just sort of...happened. His old nanny didn't approve one bit so we had to be a bit sneaky and I didn't tell you because I thought you might think I was getting...ideas. Y'know. That I'm better'n everyone else."

Those last words were addressed to the rug on the floor so he missed the fond and exasperated, in equal measure, glances exchanged by the adults in the room and the sight of Mycroft crossing all his fingers simultaneously.

"You daft bugger " Greg looked up to see his father laughing at him. "Not saying we approve of you fibbing, son, but whyever would your mother and I object to you having a special friend?"

"Your father is right," said his mother. "As long as you mind your manners Master Mycroft will be welcome here as your friend."

"There now." said Mrs Hudson contentedly. "That's all sorted. We will take our leave and let you all get on with your evening. Come along, Master Mycroft."

Mycroft hesitated for a moment then said, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr and Mrs Lestrade. Thank you for letting me still be friends with Gregory."

He bowed to both of Greg's parents then rushed out after Mrs Hudson leaving a stunned group of people behind.

"Wash your hands before dinner, you two," said Alice Lestrade firmly. "Dinner is ready. We can talk later."

*

Mycroft tucked into hot buttered toast and potted shrimps swiftly followed by sponge pudding and custard and sat back replete.

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson. I don't think my parents would approve of Gregory one bit but I don't want to lie to you about where I go when I'm not here."

Mrs Hudson put down her cup and saucer and smiled.

"He's a good lad with more than a pinch of mischief in him, that's for sure. You and he will be good for each other I think."

The nursery clock struck the hour.

"Time for your dancing lesson, Mycroft," she said. "Don't pull faces, lad. You need to know how to navigate a ballroom just as much as how to handle a business meeting. Go on, off with you!"

She waited till he had gone before laughing to herself. She was going to have a wonderful time here at Musgrave and she would do everything in her power to see that her two tiny charges grew up to be the fine men she knew they could be.

In his cradle, Sherlock began to whimper.

"All right, lad." Mrs Hudson said as she picked him up and held him. "Let's get you downstairs to your Mama, shall we? Then I'll have to think up a rollicking bedtime story for your brother. I imagine that dancing always puts him in such a mood."

She left the nursery and carefully walked down the stairs holding tight to a fascinated Sherlock. 

"Something with mermaids and pirates. Or knights and dragons. We'll see."

Mrs Hudson grabbed a passing maid and asked her where Lady Violet might be found at this hour.

*

The next day, after his chores were done, Greg made his way to the oak tree and found a jubilantly grinning Mycroft.

"I hope your parents weren't too angry. Believe me, Gregory, I had no idea what she was going to do."

"It's all right, Mikey. My parents were surprisingly fine with our being friends. Besides, I like her."

"So do I. So does Sherlock, to my utter amazement. She keeps him vastly entertained while I am busy with my lessons and he sleeps as an infant should and cries when it is appropriate. For that alone she would earn my undying devotion."

"Mine too now it's put a smile back on your face. Now, what shall we do today? How about we go and see if the ducks are nesting yet?"

"I do like to see the ducks," confessed Mycroft. "They're so amusing."

"Sounds great. Let's go."

The two boys raced off, lighter in heart than either would ever confess to.