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“Mycroft! Let me go at once!” Fourteen year old Sherlock demanded, wincing as he was dragged inside their home by his ear. His furious older brother had lectured him the entire drive home, and he was certain that there was far more of that to come.
“What the bloody hell were you thinking? Sneaking out at this time of night, or should I say morning.” Mycroft said, glaring at the clock on the wall that read ‘2:04am’.
Sherlock had been out wandering Baker Street, getting some fresh air. He quite enjoyed Baker Street when it was that time of day, less people and all. He was not a people person, by any means. He thought he had earned a nice stroll around the block. Clearly, Mycroft didn’t agree with his point of view.
“I was just getting some fresh air, you daft git.” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes and gingerly rubbing his ear after Mycroft so graciously released it.
The twenty one year old fixed Sherlock with a stern glare, placing his hands on his hips. “I beg your pardon? You are already in enough trouble as it is without the cheek, so I suggest you park your bum in the corner.” Mycroft said.
They both knew it wasn’t really a suggestion as much as it was a threat. Unfortunately, Mycroft, being a Holmes himself, knew how stubborn the boy could be. Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest and sent a defiant glare Mycroft’s way.
“I can see that you clearly need additional incentive.” Mycroft said bluntly. He tucked the boy under his arm and landed a flurry of chastising swats to Sherlock’s backside.
Sherlock grit his teeth and kicked his leg back, stomping in an attempt to cope with the sudden pain he felt across his bottom. “I will not ask you again. Go.” Mycroft stood him back on his feet and sent him on his way with one last swat.
Sherlock crossed his arms as he stood in the corner, glaring daggers at the wall. Mycroft shook his head. He was going to make sure to spank that attitude right out of him.
Mycroft let out a silent sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding in this whole time. Regardless of how insane Sherlock drove him, he loved him dearly, and he was terrified when he found his room empty when he went to check up on him. Sherlock wasn’t the best behaved boy. Trouble seemed to find him without fail.
Mycroft knew how their mum would handle this, so he decided to take a page out of her book. He walked into the kitchen to retrieve the ‘weapon of choice’ as Sherlock would melodramatically say.
When he returned, he sat down on the living room sofa and tapped the wooden spoon onto his palm. “Come here, Sherlock.” He demanded. “What if I don’t want to…” Sherlock mumbled. Mycroft’s eye twitched. He was really going there. Well, so be it.
“William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Get over here, now.” Mycroft snapped. Sherlock winced slightly at the mention of his full name. Mycroft was such an arse.
He let out a loud sigh and walked over to where Mycroft was sitting. Mycroft lifted an eyebrow. “Without the attitude, lad.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. Who the bloody hell did Mycroft think he was?! “The brother that’s going to refresh your memory on how to be respectful.” Mycroft responded. Sherlock’s face blanked. He didn’t mean to say that outloud…
Mycroft tugged the teenager over his knee, landing smacks across the seat of his brother’s pants. “I am too old to be taken over your knee like some naughty little brat!” Sherlock yelled at the top of his lungs. He kicked his legs in an attempt to break free of his brother’s grip, but Mycroft easily overpowered him.
“You are being quite the naughty little brat you claim not to be. We haven’t even started our conversation about your misdeeds from earlier, but if you must receive an extra lesson, I have no problem carrying it out.” Mycroft said, lifting his arm and smacking his palm against Sherlock’s backside.
Sherlock let out a long line of curses, much to the irritation of his brother. “If you truly feel that way, you are in luck. I have a brand new bar of soap with your name on it.” Mycroft stated, increasing the intensity of the swats.
Sherlock mumbled the words ‘pompous arse’ under his breath, which was not lost on Mycroft. He was 21, not 91. “Quite cheeky for a boy over my knee, yes?” Mycroft mused, tugging Sherlock’s pants down.
When he felt the sharp spanks landing on his now very thinly protected bottom, Sherlock couldn’t help but let out a loud yelp. After a dozen more swats, Sherlock began wiggling. ‘Good. It’s finally getting through that thick skull of his.’ Mycroft thought.
“Now then, we can finally start your original punishment.” Mycroft tugged Sherlock’s underwear down to meet his pants, taking note of the pink bottom over his knee. They still had quite a long way to go.
Mycroft grabbed the wooden spoon and tapped it against Sherlocks bottom. “Fair warning, how quickly we finish up depends on your cooperation.” Mycroft said. Sherlock stubbornly decided not to respond. He wasn’t going to give his brother the satisfaction of getting to him.
“Let’s jump right into it, then. What on Earth were you thinking? You could’ve been mugged, or killed! You have a curfew for a reason, William.” Mycroft lectured, popping the spoon down in quick succession.
Sherlock buried his face into a couch pillow, his yelps and cries muffled by the material.
“I nearly had a heart attack when I saw that your room was empty. Do you have any idea what you put me through tonight? I’ve half a mind to give you a bedtime spanking tomorrow just to make the lesson stick.” Mycroft chastised, his swats with the spoon painfully precise.
“Today.” Sherlock corrected.
Mycroft froze, wooden spoon in the air. “Care to run that by me again, young man?” He asked icily. “You said that I had no idea what I put you through ‘tonight’. It’s well past 2:30am, therefore, what you meant to say was tod-“
Mycroft tilted the boy forward, completely out of patience for his brother’s cheeky replies. He began to smack Sherlock’s sit spots and upper thighs, satisfied when he received an incredibly loud wail in response.
“Okay! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Sherlock shouted out desperately. “For what, might I ask?” Mycroft questioned, the spoon leaving quite an impression upon Sherlock’s now rosy rear and undercurve.
“For sneaking out!” He cried, a sign that Mycroft’s lesson was finally getting through to him. “What else?” Mycroft asked.
Tears rolled down Sherlock’s face as soft cries left the back of his throat. “Having an attitude with you!”
“You’re forgetting one last thing, Sherlock.” Mycroft said. Sherlock openly sobbed, really hoping that the spanking would be over soon. “For worrying me to death. That’s the final reason.” Mycroft answered. This made Sherlock sob even harder. Mycroft knew that it was time to wrap the lesson up.
“These are the last ten, lad. Count them.” Mycroft said, lifting the spoon and landing it right on the center of Sherlock’s cherry red backside. “One!” Sherlock whimpered pitifully. Mycroft landed four slaps in quick succession, just as ready for the punishment to be over as his brother was.
“Ahh! Five!” Sherlock yelped. Mycroft landed another three, this time focusing on Sherlock’s sit spots. “Eight!” Sherlock sobbed hysterically. Finally, Mycroft landed the last two, one on each side of Sherlock’s rear.
He swiftly set the spoon down and sat Sherlock up on his lap, careful to make sure his bottom wasn’t touching his leg. Mycroft held Sherlock in his arms, gently rubbing his back and stroking his hair as the teenager sobbed into his shoulder.
“It’s over now. Shh. I know, I know. You’re alright, poppet. You took that very well. I take it that you will think twice about doing that again, hm? Hush now.” Mycroft whispered soft words of encouragement.
“I won’t be able to sit for another century, Mycroft.” Sherlock stated with a grumpy sniffle, holding onto Mycroft’s vest. Mycroft gently brushed a few stray pieces of hair out of his brother’s face.
“My my, that’s quite theatrical, don’t you think?” Mycroft said, a hint of amusement evident in his tone. “Not at all.” Sherlock sniffled stubbornly.
“You are grounded. Straight to school and straight back until I tell you otherwise.” Mycroft said. Sherlock groaned, and Mycroft lifted an eyebrow. “It’s almost as if you did something completely dangerous.” Mycroft said sarcastically.
Sherlock played with a button on Mycroft’s shirt as his older brother soothingly ran a hand through his hair. This is where being cheeky got him, and he didn’t even get a chance to fully enjoy his walk! He wouldn’t exactly say this was all worth it, but he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the aftercare his brother provided.
Although Mycroft had constantly nagged him, Sherlock had to admit that he provided great comfort for someone so stuck up.