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Sherlock was walking home from school. The feeling of freedom felt amazing. It was not common that his brother let him get himself home but work had been tough and Mycroft had been asked into the office during his lunch break and sometimes even dinner.
It was weird, not having his brother hovering over him nagging him about homework and chores, but he was not going to complain about having more freedom. He was going to enjoy as much as possible, even if that meant walking home instead of taking a bus like his brother had instructed. What Mycroft didn't know, couldn't hurt him, right?
So, he walked. A few minutes after leaving school, he came across a taped-off house. Police cars around and people in uniforms going in and out of the house, taking pictures and notes. It was a fresh crime scene. He looked at the time on his phone. He still had a couple of hours before Mycroft and Greg were due home. He definitely had time for some detective work.
Sherlock turned his school jacket inside out to hide the logo. He didn’t want them catching onto the fact that he was still a teenager. So, after doing so, he confidently walked up to the scene. He didn’t even say anything to the official detectives or police men standing in and around the yard.
Sherlock just ducked under the yellow tape with the intention of walking straight into the house. Well, he did deserve to be there, after all. He was a prodigy, and certainly more capable of coming to a conclusion than everybody else on the case.
Amazingly, no one seemed to notice a kid walking onto a crime scene. Apparently, if you did things with enough confidence, people believed you know what you’re doing and just let you be. Going inside the house, he started taking everything in. The turned furniture, the halfway open kitchen window, the water glass spilling in the stairs.
Immediately, he took his phone out, opened his camera, hit record and put the phone in his ear, pretending to be in a conversation while walking around recording everything.
Within a few moments, however, one of the policemen on his way out of the house saw him and paused. “Oi, who are you? What are you doing here, lad?” The cop asked. “This is a private investigation.” He said.
Sherlock thought on his feet, pulling out his school id card that featured his name and picture, while strategically covering the name of his school with his thumb.
“Sherlock Holmes, detective. I was just having a look around.” He lied smoothly, continuing. “I was assigned to find as much detailed evidence as possible. So, what is the status? I broke my pipe on the way over which is why I’m a bit late, forgive me.” He said.
“I promised myself I’d quit, but bless me, I just needed to have a smoke to keep the old nerves steady. You know how it is, old chap.” He said, patting the man on the shoulder fondly.
Sherlock noticed that the officer seemed unsure, he needed to come with a backup plan. Before he could open his mouth though, a big hand fell upon his shoulder, turning him around.
“What do you think you're doing?” Asked the familiar voice of no other than Detective Greg lestrade.
Sherlock blinked, staring up at Greg with wide and surprised eyes. “Greg? What are you-I didn’t know you were working on this case.” He stuttered, caught off guard.
Greg lifted an eyebrow. “You know why that is? Because you are a teenage boy who has nothing to do with this case.” He said dryly, giving him a sarcastic smile.
“Don’t call me a boy! I’m surely more than just a boy.” Sherlock stated indignantly.
The other police officer watched the scene with slight amusement before nodding towards the door. “I’ll be outside.” He said, turning towards Sherlock. “Nice try, lad.” He told the boy before leaving them alone.
“You know better than to wander onto crime scenes, Sherlock. This isn’t a game, it’s serious business. We could all get in trouble for you even stepping foot on this property.” Greg said, crossing his arms over his chest and giving him a stern look.
“I was just looking around. You know I can solve this way faster than any of the people that dare call themselves cops on here” Sherlock replied, crossing his arms over his chest definitely not pouting.
“We are not having this conversation in the middle of a house that just had a murder take place in it, Sherlock. You are going home, right now.” Greg said, leading the boy outside even as he protested. “Hey! No no, stop! You have to let me on this case! I could be a great asset!” Sherlock exclaimed as he was dragged out of the house.
Greg kept walking, almost carrying the boy since his legs seemed to have stopped working. Once they went through the yellow tape, he let go, turned Sherlock to face him and scrunched down a bit to look him in the eye.
“Listen to me Sherlock and listen well. You are not to be seen here again. You can’t be near, you can’t be in the neighborhood, you can’t even think about this case. You will go home and you will do your homework and do your chores and then you’ll go to bed or else there will be consequences that I’m absolutely sure you won’t like.” He threatened.
Sherlock looked up at the man with indignant eyes. He was offended that Greg would treat him in such a childish manner. Placing his hands on his hips, Sherlock decided he wasn’t moving. “I’m staying, and you are not the bloody boss of me.” Sherlock said. “Just because you are shagging my brother, does not mean that you have the authority to make me do whatever you say!” He stated.
Lestrade stood straight, he was not about to get in a fight of will with a child in the middle of his work place. Especially, in front of his colleagues. “Im not about to start a fight with you right now Sherlock and I can assure you that I do have the authority to send you off and more importantly, to do this.” He said, turning Sherlock and landing two fast, hard swats to his behind before nudging him in the direction of their house. “Go home now, and I suggest you lose the attitude before I lose it for you.” Greg threatened
“That doesn’t even make any s-OW! Greg!” Sherlock exclaimed, looking around nervously to make sure nobody had seen. That was so embarrassing! He noticed with mortification that some of the men smirked, finding the situation amusing.
“Now, Sherlock. I won’t say it again.” Greg said firmly. Sherlock sighed, taking off his jacket and turning it the right way. “Fine, but just know that I’m going to flush all of that stupid fancy tea you got Mycroft down the toilet.” The teen said, walking out.
Greg glared at the brat as he walked off. “Try it and I’ll inform your brother about that detention slip he was supposed to sign that just so happened to have his signature written on it already…” Greg trailed off, leaving the threat in the air as Sherlock mumbled to himself, walking on the sidewalk. “Bloody hell…this is going to be harder than I thought.” He grumbled.
Sherlock went home. He knew not to try his luck with Greg once he was in detective mode but he couldn’t get his mind out of that house. He knew he was missing something, he knew there was a detail that he saw and he missed but what?
He did his homework, or as much as he could and left it on the counter for someone to sign. He did the dishes that Greg had asked him to do two days ago, hoping that would get him on his side again. He even went to put away some clean laundry that had been laying in a basket since last Saturday. Mycroft had truly been busy if he’d allowed such calamity to go on for such a long time in their household.
While putting away the last of the laundry in his brother and Greg’s room, a solution occurred to him. He had to go back to that house, that much was obvious but he needed a way to blend in, to be left alone to do what he was good at doing. Without a second thought, he took one of Greg’s old police uniforms from his closet and got to work.
“Greg? Gregory?” Mycroft asked, walking into the kitchen. “Have you seen Sherlock? I haven’t seen him since he finished his chores.” He asked.
Greg lifted an eyebrow. “No, I thought he was in his room.” He said.
Mycroft shook his head. “No, I just checked and he wasn’t there.” He said, his voice concerned now. He looked out of their back window, thinking maybe he had just gone outside for some fresh air. Unfortunately, Sherlock wasn’t there, either.
“Where the hell did that little bugger go?” He asked.
They both looked around the house. Mycroft even called a couple of Sherlock’s friends to ask if he was there or if they knew where he might’ve been. No luck. After about an hour of looking and calling, something clicked in Greg’s mind.
“I think I might know where he is, love...” Greg trailed off. “Where?” Mycroft asked, concern shown on his face. It was getting late, and Sherlock wasn’t the kind of kid to run off for no reason. He rarely missed curfew, mostly because Mycroft insisted on driving him, but still. “I really hope I’m wrong, but earlier today I had to kick him out of a crime scene.” Greg revealed.
“You had to do what?” Mycroft froze.
“Yeah, lad was there, talking to the police. Begged me to let him in on the investigation.” Greg said.
“Oh Sherlock!” Mycroft sighed, “Do you think he’s there then ?” “I really hope he’s not but wouldn’t put it past him. Still, I'll go check.”
Mycroft muttered to himself, pissed as hell. “He’s going to regret ever stepping foot out of this house.” He said, crossing his arms and beginning to pace.
Meanwhile, Sherlock was on the scene; flashlight in hand, costume on body, fake mustache on face.He had to take extra measures to make sure that any witnesses who might see him wouldn’t know how young he was. He personally thought he looked great, all things considered. Though, Greg’s uniform was a tad big on him…
Sherlock looked around the house for any evidence he could come across, going upstairs. The house was bigger than he expected, the upstairs floor felt more like a maze than a house. One room led to another. It was so dark it felt like it had never seen the light of day. Sherlock tried to turn on a lamp, but they were not working. He knew he was right for thinking of bringing his flashlight.
He walked through the rooms. They all looked like guest rooms, bare of any personalization but once you paid attention, you could find little tells of who each room belonged to. It was such an odd feeling. He couldn’t imagine his home without everything that made it his and Mycrofts and now Greg’s.
Each room had something that made it feel like a home. Even when they lived at the manor, you could always tell the place was lived in as soon as you walked in. He finally made it to the master’s bedroom. It was as pristine as the other rooms. He walked to the walk-in closet, which was bigger than his own room.
As soon as he got there he could tell something was off. Why wasn’t that room taped-off? Making sure not to touch anything, he started walking around the room, the fact that it was so dark was actually helping him. The light from the flashlight helped him see clearly which objects were moved from their place.
“What the hell do you think you are doing here?” A deep voice said from behind him, making Sherlock leg out a high pitched screech.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!” He screamed. Anybody walking by would have assumed it was a little girl who had just seen a cockroach on her bedroom floor.
Greg narrowed his eyes down at the boy, looking at his ridiculous attempt at a disguise. “Are you serious right now?” He asked, placing his hands on his hips.
“Uhm….hi?” Sherlock said sheepishly. “Fancy meeting you here!” He tried to muster up as much confidence as possible. “I thought you were off today, thought I might be able to help out, you know? Get a head start in finding out who’s responsible for all of this.”
Greg rolled his eyes. “Sherlock, I know that’s you. You look ridiculous.” He said. Sherlock’s fake deep voice continued, not giving up. “I don’t know who that is. Perhaps you could use a good rest. Take the night off, I’ll take it from here.” He said.
Greg didn't have time or patience for Sherlock's games. He grabbed the boy by his ear and guided him out of the crime scene for the second time that day, only this time, a couple of swats propelled the boy forward.
"I don't have time for this Sherlock. You're brother is worried sick about you, you broke so many rules today that I'm surprised Guinness hasn't called for you, you, young man, are in so much trouble that you'll wish we'll smack you more just so you actually lose the ability to feel but no, we will spank you just enough so that you feel it every time you move for the foreseeable future." He scolded, not missing neither a smack or a step on the way out.
Once they were out, he finally let go of the kid. Sherlock's hands immediately went to rub away at his ear and bottom. He could feel tears welling in his eyes but he refused to let them fall. He was not going to cry, he was not going to give Greg the satisfaction of knowing that he got to him. "Don't you want to know what I found?" He asked him instead, trying and failing to control his voice so it wouldn't crack.
"What I want, Sherlock, is for you to get in the car so I can take you to your brother, and I want you to do it in silence. I don't care to hear any more of the words coming out of your mouth." He said, opening the back door of his car, knowing how much Sherlock hated riding in the back when no one was riding up front in the passenger seat. It made him feel like a little kid.
Sherlock huffed out of frustration. “I am not Sherlock! What part of that don’t you under-“ Sherlock froze as Greg’s glare intensified. Clearly, the man was not in the mood to be messed with, and Sherlock could tell he was already in a world of trouble. So, he sighed and begrudgingly got into the back seat, his arms crossed and his fake mustache still on despite being caught. He wasn’t even going to buckle his seatbelt out of pure defiance.
Greg rolled his eyes and leaned over the boy, buckling him in himself. Sherlock immediately unbuckled it with a smug look. Greg’s palm itched to lambaste the lad’s disobedient behind, so it did exactly that.
Sherlock yelped as he was turned to the side and felt his bum get attacked with a flurry of sharp, stinging swats. “Alright, alright! I bloody get it!” Sherlock exclaimed. Greg landed two more before buckling Sherlock in once more, giving him a warning look before slamming the door shut and going to the front seat. His boyfriend’s bratty little brother (and by proxy, his own little brother) was going to receive quite a rude awakening once they got back.
Thankfully , the ride home was short and quiet. Still, he could tell by looking at the sulking child in the rear view mirror that it was not going to be easy. Sherlock was the living image of petulance.
Taking a deep breath, he got out of the car and when Sherlock didn’t follow him, went back and got him out, pulling him by the bicep all the way to the house. Mycroft must have been waiting because the door opened before they reached the front steps. “Is he okay?” He asked his boyfriend.
Worry clear in his expression Greg nodded and handed him the boy. He could tell the exact moment that worry became anger while he also grabbed the boy by the arm and walked him inside.
Sherlock growled as he was snatched. “Hey, let me go!” He snapped at his older brother. “You go upstairs and change into your night clothes. Put Greg’s uniform back right this instant.” Mycroft demanded sternly. “You don’t even want to let me explain?!” Sherlock exclaimed. Mycroft gritted his teeth. “You will have plenty of time to explain and answer for your actions. Now go. And take that ridiculous thing off your face!” Mycroft stated.
Sherlock huffed and purposefully made sure to stomp up every single one, pausing only when he got to the stop step to turn and to look at Mycroft. “I’ll take mine off when you take yours off!” He shouted, running into his room and slamming the door behind him.
While Sherlock changed upstairs, Greg was letting his boyfriend know everything that had transpired since he found Sherlock at the crime scene earlier that day. To say that Mycroft was furious was an understatement. Not only had Sherlock disobeyed both of them but he’d also disrespected Greg and his place in their lives when Greg had done nothing but been supportive and caring for the both of them.
“I know he doesn’t mean it.” Greg said, doing his best to calm his partner down. “That’s even worse! I would understand if it were like that but if he doesn’t feel that way, then he just did it to hurt you.”
“I think he was just trying to show toughness. He had just been caught, you know he doesn’t deal well with that.” Mycroft defended.
“Still, that’s no excuse. This needs to be dealt with.” With that, he turned and walked up the stairs in search of his little brother, Greg right behind him. For once, Sherlock did as told and they found him in their room hanging up the stolen uniform. “You have a lot of explaining to do.” Mycroft said, entering the room.
“Bugger off, Mycroft. I’m not in the mood to listen to you bitch…” Sherlock huffed, stepping out of Greg’s far too baggy trousers.
“Sherlock, you will not speak to him that way!” Greg scolded. Sherlock scoffed. “I don’t want to hear it from my brother’s boy toy, either.” He said sarcastically, stepping into some pajama pants.
“Oh, that’s more than enough.” He said making his way to the bed and taking Sherlock with him. In a couple of steps, he sat on his bed with his brother standing between his legs. “This can’t ever happen again Sherlock,” He scolded, taking down his brother’s pants. “Not the disobedience, and especially not the disrespect.” He firmly hauled his little brother over his lap.
The lad had hit another growth spurt, Mycroft had noticed that he didn’t fit over his laps as easily as before. He was still all limbs and awkwardness. Hopefully, soon his mind would catch up with his body and maybe he wouldn’t need to keep doing this. Discipline was what he despised more than anything else when raising his little brother. “Greg, love, please do bring the paddle from the study” he asked, lowering his brother's boxers and landing the first swat with his palm.
“The paddle?!” Sherlock asked, voice defiant. “You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m going to let you use that on me!” He exclaimed, trying to get up. Mycroft’s arm was firm on his back, holding him in place. “It’s funny that you think you are in a position to let me do anything. I’m the adult here, you don’t get to decide on consequences” he answered, not missing one beat on slapping his brother's behind.
Greg frowned at Sherlock’s face before sighing. “Yes, dear.” He went to go and get the dreaded implement. He didn’t enjoy the thought of Sherlock being spanked, but the teenager had pushed him and Mycroft too far this time. Sherlock kicked his legs, hissing. “Unhand me, you fucking wanker! I mean it!” He shouted. He hadn’t even been able to pull his pajama top on top of his undershirt before being manhandled by his brother like some kind of lunatic!
“Oh brother, I suggest you correct that tone and that vocabulary because we’re just starting here and I have all night long” Mycroft suggested with a tone that was everything but a suggestion. He continued his sequence of slaps, using his own leg to pin his brother’s down to stop him from kicking. Sherlock’s resolved wavered a little, being completely pinned down ejected all possibilities of getting up before his brother decided to do it.
“You are the worst brother ever! I hope you know that!” Sherlock exclaimed. Mycroft simply snorted. “Right.” He said, pissing Sherlock off even more at how dismissive he was. “I mean it, Mycroft! More like My-CRAP!” Sherlock shouted, squirming and struggling the best he could. Greg returned with the paddle, handing it to his boyfriend. “Here you go.” He said.
“Greg! After everything we’ve been through “ Sherlock yelled from his brother's lap. Having anger in his voice was better than tears, so he opted for it. “How could you? You fucking traitor!”
Both Mycroft and Greg said that they shouldn’t engage with what Sherlock said, even though it hurt. It was bait and they all knew it. Even so, there was no winning because the less they engaged, the angrier Sherlock became.
Sadly, they had been in this position many times over the years. They all knew how it went. It always went one of two ways, either at first Sherlock was angry and would dig himself deeper with rude comments or he would cry from the very moment he knew he was in enough trouble to earn a spanking. Either way, both ended with a very sorry and regretful kid who was ready to listen and have a conversation instead of sassing his way through one.
“You are the one at fault here, William. Don’t try to blame it on Greg, nor me. It won’t work.” Mycroft said, grabbing the paddle and patting it against Sherlock’s bare behind.
Sherlock tensed up, clenching his fists in anticipation. “PISS OFF!” He shouted out of frustration. With that, Mycroft landed a swift smack against the brat’s bottom.
Greg sat in the seat at Sherlock’s desk, watching the whole thing unfold. “Quite cheeky for a lad who just got caught impersonating a police officer, invading a private crime scene, and gathering classified evidence without permission.” Greg said.
“OUCH! I DESERVED TO BE ON THAT CRIME SCENE! IT WOULD-AHH-HAVE BEEN SOLVED APPROXIMATELY TWELVE TIMES FASTER! OWW! AAH, SHIT!” Sherlock wailed as Mycroft landed the paddle in a firm pattern.
Sherlock’s fake mustache unfortunately fell off because of the moisture of sweat gathering on his face due to all of his struggling.
“You deserved to be at home, curled up with a nice cup of tea and a book near the fireplace. Not in the middle of a private investigation you were not given clearance to, Sherlock. You are well aware of that.” Mycroft said, smacking the paddle down sharply.
Sherlock couldn’t hold the tears anymore, he buried his face in his arms on the bed, hoping, and failing, that they wouldn’t notice. “Stop you twat. I could be of help and you know it.” He said in between sobs. Mycroft knew then that Sherlock’s resolve was quavering. Soon they would be able to have a proper chat.
“You need to stop with the name calling Sherlock, you’re just getting into more trouble.” He scolded, paddling from very top to bottom in quick succession.
“It’s sniff n-not-OUCH! Fair!” Sherlock complained tearfully. “You always treat me like I’m some helpless little kid! When am I going to get a c-chance to prove myself?!” He asked sadly.
“This is not the way to prove yourself, Sherlock. I’m sorry, but this is unacceptable behavior. Quite frankly, very dangerous as well.” Greg said.
“What if the murderer had returned to the scene of the crime late at night in an attempt to tamper with something?” Mycroft asked, paddling Sherlock’s upper thighs. “You would have been in a much worse situation than just Greg catching you.” Mycroft scolded.
“I would’ve been fine!” Sherlock cried, “I would’ve gotten out." He swore. “You’re just upset be-because you k-knowI can solve that case. OWW!! STOP! Mycroft, PLEASE!” Sherlock bawled.
“No. I’m not stopping until I get it through your incredibly thick teenaged skull that you are not an adult. You are sixteen, a child.” Mycroft reminded him.
“My job isn’t to make you king of the detectives. My job is to protect you, and if that means spanking some sense into your little arse, then so be it!” He exclaimed.
SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK!
Four swats landed in quick succession. Sherlock wanted to burn that damned paddle. Why the hell did it have holes in it if they only made things more painful?! Tears rolled down Sherlock’s cheeks as he bawled.
“You lot a-are just sniffle o-overprotective!” The teen sobbed. Greg sighed.
“Perhaps, but that’s only because we know you, Sherlock. We know how you operate, and one of these days, you are going to get yourself killed if you aren’t careful.” Greg said.
It was true; had they gone easier on the boy, he would have taken that opportunity to do the most dangerous, irresponsible acts imaginable. Sherlock was a genius, a true prodigy. However, that only meant he really needed to be well supervised and reminded that he was, in fact, still a kid.
“I may not be related to you by blood but I do care about you deeply. And if that means that I have to step in to discipline you when your brother is not around, then so be it. My-our priority is your safety and well being.” Greg said.
Mycroft decided to add onto that statement. “If you ever even think about sneaking out to do something like this again, I swear on every single thing and person I love, I will personally give you a spanking every single night for two weeks straight.” Mycroft promised.
Greg nodded, crossing his arms determinedly. “We can alternate nights, because I’ll have quite a bit to say about it as well. Do you understand us, William Sherlock Holmes?” He asked.
Sherlock finally lost to the tears. The pain was unbearable and the words made it worse. He knew all of it was true, he never had doubt it and he also knew they would never break a promise, the threat of bedtime spankings hanging over his head because he knew it was not a matter of “if” as much as “when“ he would get in trouble again
Mycroft landed another sharp smack. “A verbal question requires a verbal answer in this house, Sherlock.” He said sternly. He wasn’t going to let him off easy. “Y-y-yesss, I sob u-understand…” He trailed off, his shoulders shaking as he wept.
Mycroft decided that was enough, He was pretty sure the kid would remember this for at least a couple of days. With a final round with the paddle ending with some particularly hard whacks to his sitting spots, Mycroft ended the punishment. Leaving the paddle next to him on the bed, he aimed his focus on rubbing a gentle hand up and down his brother's shaking back. It usually took the kid a moment to realize the spanking had stopped.
Sherlock just laid there and cried his little heart out, along with all of his anger and frustrations. After a couple of minutes, Mycroft fixed Sherlock’s underwear and maneuvered them so the were both laying on the bed
Greg moved over to lay next to them, gently petting the mop of messy brown curls. “It’s alright now, lad.” He said. His head resting on the headboard, Sherlock curled on his side with his face buried in his chest
“You b-both sniffle suck.” Sherlock said softly, moving his head out of Mycroft’s chest glaring daggers at each mad with wet eyes.
Greg and Mycroft bit back a chuckle, opting to give him an empathetic smile instead. “Well, be that as it may, maybe you’ll keep that in mind from now on.” Mycroft said, gently wiping Sherlock’s tears with his thumb.
“We wouldn’t want a repeat of this, hm?” Greg asked, rubbing Sherlock’s back. Sherlock sighed softly, feeling exhausted. “No, not at all.” He said, resting his head back down of his brother”s shoulder
Something on the boy’s dresser caught Mycroft’s attention. He lifted an offended eyebrow at Sherlock. “…Is that my mustache comb?” He asked.
Sherlock shrugged half heartedly. “I had to make it look realistic.” He defended casually. Mycroft felt the feeling of irritation begin to sink back in once again. “You little thief! That’s my good comb!” He exclaimed.
Sherlock groaned, rolling his eyes at his brother’s dramatics. “Oh, don’t take the piss, Mycroft! You know I’ve been begging you to shave it for years now!” Mycroft huffed. “I’ll have you know, I love my facial hair!”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Be honest with yourself, Mycroft. It looks like a bloody piece of roadkill.” He said dryly. This, of course, led to a squabble. Both Holmes brothers sat up from their relaxed position, arguing back and forth. Greg couldn’t help but to chuckle behind his hand at the amusing sight, shaking his head fondly. He loved his Holmes boys.