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Walking into Mycroft’s room, Sherlock ignored his brother who was busy with some sort of summer project he had given himself or some other nonsense. Always inside reading boring books or eating biscuits before dinner because he was fifteen and apparently rules didn’t apply to people after a certain point, something that was entirely unfair considering the fact that he typically got scolded for eating biscuits before dinner.
Instead, he simply climbed onto the older boy’s bed, bouncing about on it because it was bigger than his own bed had better pillows before looking at his brother and telling him, “There’s a dragon or a chimera in the trees outside.”
Looking up from his book towards him, Mycroft sighed. “There are no such things as dragons or chimeras and I don’t have time for your games.”
“It’s not a game,” Sherlock said defensively as he crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. “Outside in my tree is a very large monster of some sort. I need it gone.”
“Throw something at it,” Mycroft suggested as he focused back on his book.
Sighing, Sherlock rolled his eyes before dramatically back onto the bed. Staring at the ceiling, he counted very slowly to ten before huffing loudly and wrapping himself around one of Mycroft’s pillows. The fact that Mycroft was still ignoring wasn’t amusing in the slightest given that he had real issues that were far more important than any silly book. Tossing one of the pillows at the older boy, Sherlock glared at him when Mycroft turned around after being hit.
“That’s stupid advice. If it was a lion, would you say to give it catnip?”
“Sherlock, I’m in the middle of something,” he said gesturing back to his self assigned reading.
And even though it pained him to say it, Sherlock knew that convincing Mycroft to get up for much of anything beyond meals was an impossible challenge. So, swallowing his pride, he looked around conspiratorially before saying in a hushed tone, “My treasure is in that tree.”
Because while the whole family knew about the fact that Sherlock had a treasure chest filled with all his various prizes, he had always done a fairly good job of keeping it hidden from them that way no one could steal all the cool things he had like his snake skeleton or francs from when they went to France. The fact that he had to tell Mycroft for the sake of getting his treasure back was the most obvious sign he had that he needed help, even if it meant finding a new hiding place for his bounty.
Of course, Mycroft, being the smug subhuman he was, merely lifted his chin haughtily as he crossed his arms over his chest. Staring down his nose at Sherlock, he asked, “So the great pirate has come to seek the aid of the admiral?”
“Stop playing about,” Sherlock grumbled, not particularly thrilled with the situation to begin with. “This is serious.”
“No. Admit that you need my help.”
Sitting up, Sherlock sneered at him. “I’ll ask dad.”
“Fine,” Mycroft said, unbothered as he turned back towards his book. “Although, I should warn you that he’s busy in his study, Captain.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Sherlock frowned in a way that Mycroft typically called his sulky little pout, not that Sherlock thought he pouted at all. He was eight, not some baby.
“You’re a child,” he spat out at Mycroft angrily.
Snickering, Mycroft merely said, “Don’t make me sit on you.”
Which was more than fine. If Mycroft wasn’t going to be helpful, then Sherlock would jut handle the problem all on his own. Leaning over the edge of Mycroft’s bed, he began to look around the various things his brother tended to keep under it.
“Do you have something I can throw at it?” He asked, inspecting one of his brother’s shoes before deciding against it. “A large something? Or a gun?”
“I am not in the habit of keeping guns or loaning them out to eight year old boys.”
“How about this?” Sherlock asked, holding up a croquet ball.
“Put that down,” Mycroft said, walking over to him to grab it.
Letting it go without much of a fight, he looked around the room before settling on Mycroft’s nightstand. “Or there must be something in here.”
“Sherlock, will you please leave?”
Ignoring him, Sherlock began to look through the drawer while Mycroft straightened up all the things he kept under his bed, another injustice since mummy always yelled at him for having things under his bed. Coming across a small bottle, Sherlock looked it over with a frown. “Mycroft? What’s lubricant?”
“Right. That’s it,” Mycroft said, moving faster than Sherlock could actually remember. Taking the jar and tossing it back into the drawer before slamming it shut, Mycroft grabbed his arm and began to march him towards the door. “Get up, we’re going to go deal with your silly monster problem and then you are going to leave me alone, understood?”
“Alright,” Sherlock agreed, albeit with a good deal of confusion. Looking up at his brother, he told him, “Although I still don’t understand why you’d have lubricant. Are you plotting to make a clockwork robot? Can I help if you do?”
Sighing, Mycroft nodded. “Of course you can. But it’s our secret.”
“Alright.” Rushing off down the hallway, he called out, “Now come on. I can show you to the monster.”
He was more than good at keeping secrets and perhaps if he did an especially good job, Mycroft wouldn’t tell mummy and dad about the fact that he had his treasure chest hidden up a tree. After all, mummy already didn’t like him climbing high up things and their dad would undoubtedly see the small treasure chest as a bit of a hazard given how precarious its position in the tree was.
Shaking his head, Sherlock decided that after getting his treasure chest down, he’d definitely move it to somewhere else. Not that he didn’t trust Mycroft to keep his secret as well, but if there were going to be monsters in the tree, well, he definitely didn’t want to have to go through the hassle of fending them off. Even if he was a very good pirate to begin with, he was certain that after the first time it’d just get boring since pirates didn’t get scared.
And Sherlock Holmes definitely didn’t know the meaning of fear. Him stopping a good ten paces away from the tree was nothing more than a precaution in case the beast decided to attack since he knew something was up there. Staring up into the leaves, he squinted, trying to see if he could make it out, only to inevitably fail.
“So it’s in this tree?” Mycroft asked, walking right up to the trunk of the tree and staring up.
Not moving an inch from where he stood, Sherlock merely nodded. “It was. It sounds like a crying baby.”
“Right,” Mycroft said, rolling his eyes. “How do you typically get up there?”
“I climb it.”
Glancing back up the tree, that annoyed little look he got every time Sherlock said something he didn’t like on his face, Mycroft clenched his jaw. “You climb the tree?”
“Yes. I’d show you, but... “
Trailing off, Sherlock simply stared up at the tree, knowing that Mycroft would understand.
“I know how to climb trees,” Mycroft said, not that he sounded all that thrilled as he began to make his way into the tree. “Certainly if you can do it, it can’t be that hard.”
“I’m lighter than you and have more experience.”
“I was climbing this tree before you were even born. I know what I’m doing.”
“Be careful of it, My,” Sherlock called out. “I think it doesn’t like people.”
Disappearing into the leaves, Mycroft didn’t seem to want to heed Sherlock’s warnings though. Instead, he continued about what he was doing with a series of grumbles before saying. “There are no such things as chimeras, dragons or monsters. I thought we covered that at Loch Ness.”
“ But I saw this one, Mycroft,” Sherlock said, wishing that his brother would listen to him for once. “I saw it fly and it’s... It’s real, even if I don’t get it.”
“Have you ever thought you might just need a nap and to stop running about like—“
Backing up at the sound of the beast’s cry, Sherlock bit at his lower lip nervously, half tempted to simply tell his brother that the treasure chest wasn’t worth it and that they should just go back inside and let the monster be for now. Not that he did in the end.
No, instead he took a step closer and yelled out his brother, “You hear that? That’s the beast.”
“Sherlock, just stand there and be quiet.”
And while he typically hated when Mycroft told him to be quiet since it meant that the older boy was sick of hearing the ‘childish’ things he had to say, Sherlock decided that for once he would listen.
Stomach clenching tightly as he waited, Sherlock could hardly explain what happened next. There was that awful sound again, a crack and then Mycroft and his treasure chest came tumbling out of the tree with a thud and yet another terrifying cracking noise. Looking up at the tree in shock, Sherlock stared at it for a moment before the groans of his brother caught his attention.
Rushing over to where Mycroft laid on the groan, curled up in a ball, Sherlock kneeled down next to him.“Mycroft! Are you ok? My?”
Rocking back and forth in a little ball as he held his arm, Mycroft shook his head, eyes shut tightly in pain. “Get dad.”
Swallowing, Sherlock frowned. “You said he was in his study though.”
“Sherlock, just go, would you?” Mycroft screamed.
Eyes widening, Sherlock nodded as he rose to his feet. “Alright.”
Rushing back inside, Sherlock made his way to his father’s study, not even bothering to knock before letting himself in. It was a bad thing to do since people were supposed to always knock or something, but when Mycroft was cruel enough to scream at him, that meant that he had a free pass to ignore all the rules of the house.
Breathless, he looked around the room before finally settling on the less than pleased look on his father’s face. “Dad?”
“What is it, Sherlock?” Siger asked with that same sighing tone that Mycroft tended to use.
Licking his lips, nerves suddenly overwhelming him, Sherlock looked toward the window as he clenched his hands into fists at his side. “...Mycroft fell out of a tree.”
Sitting up a bit straighter, Siger looked him over curiously. “How?”
“I went to my treasure tree and there was something up there so I asked Mycroft to get rid of the monter for me and—“
“There are no such things as monsters, Sherlock,” Siger said, sounding a bit exasperated.
Which wasn’t fair because Sherlock knew there were. He saw the beast in the tree so it was real and it hurt Mycroft. Wiping at the tears welling up in his eyes for reasons he couldn’t begin to figure out, Sherlock simply shook his head, feeling lightheaded and breathless and far too overtaxed as he said, “Well something up in the tree scared Mycroft too and he fell and he was crying and he told me to get you and... And...”
Words dying into choked little sobs, Sherlock was happy to have someone to hold onto for a moment, Siger running his hand through his curls as he tried not to cry too much since pirates probably didn’t really do that much either.
“Ssh. It’s alright,” Siger told him once Sherlock calmed down enough to be let go. “You go find your mum and have a nice lie down. I’ll go check on Mycroft.”
“He’ll be alright, won’t he?” Sherlock asked, wiping his face with the back of his shirt sleeve. “The navy can’t have an injured admiral. It’s like having a broken toy soldier, it just doesn’t work.”
“I’ll see to it everything is right as rain. Now run along.”
Nodding, Sherlock left the room. He didn’t go find mummy, since he didn’t want her to see him all teary eyed or be worried that Mycroft got hurt by some monster. Instead, he holed himself up in Mycroft’s room, wrapping himself around the older boy’s pillows, fully intent on waiting for his safe return.
Of course, after a day of monsters and all sorts of challenges, it really couldn’t be helped when he dozed off, only waking sometime later, the admiral at his side and his treasure chest resting by the door. Looking over his brother, Sherlock was happy to see that everything was in fight right as rain. Not much more than the odd scrape on him as he sat there, book in his lap, reading. Sherlock didn’t even notice a problem until he caught sight of his brother’s arm.
“Mycroft, are you ok?”
“Here,” Mycroft said, handing him the book he had been reading.
“What is this?”
“Your beast.”
Reading over the page, Sherlock was a bit baffled to realize what his monster had been. “A peacock?”
“Some idiot apparently was keeping it and it got loose from what dad found out. So, not a monster. Just a very frightened bird.”
Nodding, Sherlock looked back at the cast on his brother’s arm, toying with the edge of the page before finding it in himself to ask, “Are you alright?”
“Broken wrist,” Mycroft explained. “I’ll be just fine in a few weeks. Nothing to worry about.”
“I’m sorry you got hurt,” Sherlock muttered softly.
Looking him over, Mycroft shrugged the matter off, saying, “Yes, well, it happens from time to time.”
“If it’ll make you feel better, you can read to me about animals. A pirate should know all the fauna and flora of a land, after all.”
“I don’t know,” Mycroft said, glancing down at the book in Sherlock’s hands. “Page turning might be a bit tricky.”
“I’ll do it.”
It was the least he could do since he didn’t mean to get the admiral hurt. If he had known that would be the outcome, Sherlock definitely would’ve settled for simply left out food for it something. Make a trap.
As it was, after a brief moment of consideration, Mycroft nodded in agreement, wrapping his good arm around Sherlock’s shoulders. “Well, alright. If it will make me feel better.”
Smiling at him, Sherlock nodded, “It really will.”
After all, since pirates didn't really get scared about anything, he didn't really need the simple comfort of Mycroft reading him a book.