Work Text:
Let it never be said that Sherlock wasn’t a determined little beast. Weeks of whining and pleading, not that he would ever call it that, came persistently until their parents finally gave in and decided that a holiday trip to Loch Ness wouldn’t be horrible. Or rather, decided that if they gave in to the incessant little brat they so lovingly called their youngest son, Sherlock could move on from his strange fascination with monsters.
Not that his parents understood that Sherlock wasn’t like most children and wasn’t interested in the idea of seeing the monster, but wanted to do the exact opposite. An entire holiday based on one child’s decision that there was no possible way that a monster of any sort, let alone a prehistoric one, could live in Loch Ness and the intent to prove such facts so that people could stop spouting such lies about seeing the beast in the fog.
Mycroft understood his brother entirely, knowing all too well what it was like in that strange little mind of his, so he didn’t try to fight him on too much. It was why, as he sat outside the cottage they were staying at reading a book, he didn’t actually question when Sherlock came out as well, a bag slung over his shoulder as the eight year old stood in front of him silently. Finishing the page he was on, Mycroft rested the book in his lap as he gave his little brother a questioning look.
“I told mummy I was going to go for a walk with you,” Sherlock announced.
Nodding along, Mycroft looked off toward the loch, knowing where his brother was heading. “It’s getting a bit late. Sun’s going to be setting before long.”
“I’ve got a torch if it runs long,” Sherlock said, patting the side of his bag.
“Well, if everything is planned out,” Mycroft said, not really in the mood to question the odd logic of his little brother. Instead, he merely picked up his book, going back to his reading as he asked, “Do you want me to come along?”
“Nope. I’ll be back soon enough.”
With that, Sherlock set about walking off toward the loch, disappearing without so much as another word. Turning the page of his book, Mycroft was certain that in Sherlock’s mind he was a clever thing, setting Mycroft up to run the risk of getting in trouble with their parents for letting the little imbecile wander off to try and trap an otter, again given that Sherlock didn’t learn not to do things, merely how to go about it better the next time. So, finishing his book, he put it aside before getting up and going off to track down Sherlock.
When he reached the edge of the loch, though, Mycroft nearly turned back because he refused to be responsible for Sherlock’s insanity since the boy clearly wanted to do meet his death at a tragically young age. It was the only logical explanation for why the boy wasn’t just searching the loch, but actually in it, his shirt and trousers folded up his bag as he seemed to be doing his damnedest to search the murky waters.
Looking back toward where he came, Mycroft sighed heavily before going over to the bag. Sitting down next to it, he shook his head in disbelief. “You know this is impractical and idiotic, yes?” He called out hoping Sherlock could hear given how far in he managed to find himself. “This is the second largest loch in Scotland.”
“It’s a mile at it’s widest point and 600 feet deep,” Sherlock yelled back at him, still swimming around, more focused on the water rather than his brother.
“And you’re searching it personally? You, a small child?”
Looking at him, wet curls plastered to the front of his goggles, Sherlock sulked. “I’m not small and I know what I’m doing.”
“I know what you’re doing too,” Mycroft called out as Sherlock went back to inspecting the water. “It’s called committing suicide.”
And if Sherlock was to die, he was certain that Mummy would be less than pleased. Not to mention that he’d be stuck carrying his brother’s lifeless body back to cottage and the trek there was hard tiring enough without adding sixty pounds of dead weight to the mix. The fact that he might have been worried about Sherlock as well, was just another reason to get the boy to listen to him and just accept the fact that he was right instead of trying t prove it.
Not that Sherlock listened. No, he kept swimming around, occasionally causing Mycroft to worry when he disappeared underneath the water for too long. Certainly the loch had to be freezing, but Sherlock on a mission could ignore just about every sort of outside stimuli through sheer focus and determination.
“What about the fish in there? They’re probably larger than you are,” Mycroft said, fully expecting to be ignored.
Looking back toward the shore, Sherlock called out to him, “I haven’t seen any.”
“Sherlock, your logic and methods are faulty,” he argued, rolling his eyes as he sat next to Sherlock’s bag. “Not to mention that mummy will kill you when you come back wet because I refuse to take the blame.”
“Fine. Don’t. I’ll tell her myself.” Because, of course Sherlock would given that he saw nothing wrong with what he did. “But I’m still not getting out. Not until I know there’s no monster.”
“Sherlock, we all know there’s no monster. It’s a tourist attraction.”
“It’s a lie and people claim they’ve seen it,” Sherlock complained.
Shaking his head, Mycroft thought of giving up as he watched Sherlock disappear for another spell before surfacing again. Calling out to him, he said, “People say the same thing about sasquatch, but not many people head into the Californian mountains just to search for it.”
“Next time.”
“There is no next time,” Mycroft said, fearing that Sherlock’s antics might lead to him trekking through a mountainside trying to keep him from getting lost or eaten. “Now, get out before I force you out.”
“Five minutes.”
“Sherlock, no. You get out now.”
“Just leave if you’re going to be unhelpful,” Sherlock argued, clearly displeased even from the distance that separated them.
“I’m not unhelpful, you’re just a brat,” Mycroft shot back. Resting his head in his hands, he shook his head, eyes trained on the ground as he added, “You’re being irresponsible and childish and if not for you, we wouldn’t be here. But no, you just had to prove that the occasional idiot is wrong just because you couldn’t trust the fact that...”
Looking up again, Mycroft frowned when he didn’t see Sherlock at all. Quickly getting to his feet, he stood at the edge of the water. “Sherlock? Sherlock!”
Swearing under his breath, Mycroft continued to search for Sherlock, who seemed to have disappeared. Toeing off his shoes and socks, he tried his best to keep calm while he waited for Sherlock to resurface because his brother had to resurface. He had to come back up eventually. Ready to take off his shirt and jumper and search for his little brother, Mycroft was almost relieved when Sherlock reappeared further into the loch than before, coughing and sputtering.
“Sherlock, that’s it. Get out of the water,” he demanded, no longer joking around. His heart was pounding in his ears and he still felt as though he might be sick from Sherlock’s little vanishing act.
Taking off his goggles, Sherlock stared at him for a long moment before saying, “Mycroft, my leg hurts.”
“Just come back then,” he said, trying to be more comforting than panicked.
“It hurts and something touched me.” Sniffling, Sherlock looked around nervously, worrying his bottom lip as he looked around him, obviously in a bit of a panic himself. “Mycroft?”
“It’s going to be fine. I’m going to get you.”
Stripping down to his trousers, Mycroft made his way into the loch, questioning how it was Sherlock could tolerate such cold water for so long, especially with the sun finally starting to go down. When he finally reached his little brother, he realized that perhaps the little terror wasn’t as ok as he thought. Dripping wet and red in the face, Sherlock looked absolutely exhausted as he tried to keep himself afloat. The moment Mycroft got close to him, a bit breathless himself from all the exertion that came from swimming, Sherlock latched on to him for dear life, arms wrapping around his neck.
“Mycroft, something touched my leg and it was really big,” he complained, face pressed against Mycroft’s neck.
“It was likely just a salmon or another fish,” he reassured him as he tried to rearrange Sherlock so that he could get them both back to shore. “I told you there were fish here.”
“Just a fish,” Sherlock muttered.
“Hold onto me, alright?”
Nodding, Sherlock tried to tighten his grip on Mycroft. Swimming them both back to shore was a bit of a challenge, but Sherlock did as he was told, clinging to him well after they were out of the water. Walking over to where Sherlock’s bag lay, Mycroft did his best to pry his little brother off of him.
“Sherlock, is there a reason you won’t let go?” He asked in an annoyed tone.
Staring at him, the boy sulked before loosening his grip.“Is mummy going to be upset?”
“Yes, but I’ll tell her what happened. You’re probably tired and freezing as it is,” Mycroft said, finally managing to get the boy to let go of him long enough to be put down.
Standing around shivering, Sherlock nodded as he pointed to his bag. “I’ve got a towel for drying off.”
“Good,” he said, happy for his brother’s limited foresight.
Digging through the bag until he found the towel, Mycroft set about drying Sherlock off as much as possible before handing the boy his clothes while he dried himself off. The entire thing was an oddly quiet moment for the two of them, Sherlock cautiously watching the water the entire time. Putting on his shirt, Mycroft hesitated as he grabbed his jumper before handing it to Sherlock.
“Wear this.”
“It’s too big,” Sherlock complained as he put it on anyways, practically vanishing in the too large shirt.
Shoving everything else in the bag, Mycroft slung it over his shoulder before picking Sherlock up as well. “You’re freezing and it’s warm. Now, no more complaining,” he said as he began the trek back to the cottage.
“Mycroft?” Sherlock asked after a long moment.
“Yes, Sherlock?”
“Do you think there’s a monster in the loch?”
Taking a deep breath, he sighed as he shook his head. “No, but I think it’s best if you slept in my bed tonight. Someone needs to keep a close eye on you.”
“I think I can manage that,” Sherlock said, already fighting to keep his eyes open as he held onto his brother. Yawning in Mycroft’s face, Sherlock held onto him a little tighter as he muttered, “You can tell mummy it was my fault, if that helps.”
Nodding, Mycroft smiled at the tired boy in his arms. “Thank you, but I think I can handle mummy on my own.”
After all, silly boys looking for monsters didn’t deserve to be blamed all the time.