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“Good morning, love.” Mycroft greeted, entering his brother’s room and going directly to open the windows to let the sun in. “Rise and shine." He said, sitting on the bed next to the burrito that was his little brother.
“Sherlock, it’s time to wake up, darling." Mycroft said, shaking his shoulder when he didn’t get any reply. Sherlock groaned, tightening his hold on the covers. “Sherlock, come on. We have to leave soon.”
“Im not going.” Sherlock grunted grumpily. “Yes, you are. We talked about this.” Mycroft said, lightly swatting his brother’s thigh before standing up and going to the closet, getting Sherlock’s outfit out and placing it on a nearby chair.
“Bugger off.” Sherlock's muffled voice mumbled.
“Sherlock, it’s late." Mycroft said in a more stern voice. “You have 5 minutes to get out of bed and get ready to leave. I’m not asking you to come; I’m telling you, you are coming. Don’t make me come and get you.” He warned, leaving the room.
Sherlock groaned, begrudgingly getting himself out of bed. “Ughhhh…” He huffed, slowly standing to his feet. He yawned, rubbing his eyes with the back of his fist drowsily. He looked at his clothes with half-lidded eyes, grabbing the dumb undershirt.
Mycroft’s coworker had invited them to his baby’s christening at his church, and Sherlock had to go with them because they weren’t leaving him alone at home.
After stepping into his trousers and pulling on his sweater vest, Sherlock looked at himself in the mirror as he stretched. He didn’t even bother brushing his hair, opting instead to grab his blanket and put on his slippers.
Mycroft set Sherlock’s breakfast on the table, waiting for the teenager to enter the room. When Sherlock went downstairs, Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Oh, bloody hell…” He said, looking at the messy-haired boy.
Sherlock took a seat at the table, sipping his tea sleepily. He took a bite of his toast, barely even conscious. It was too early, and his brain was on autopilot currently.
“Good morning.” Greg said, taking a sip of his own tea. “Sleep well?”
“Not enough.” Sherlock grumbled.
“That’s what happens when you don’t go to bed on time. Next time, listen to us.” Greg lightly scolded, getting up from the table.
The previous night they had fought over Sherlock going to bed on time, arguing that he was not a little kid who needed to be sent to bed, and they argued that if he got his way, he would spend most of the night awake and be cranky the next morning. They were right.
“I’ll go and finish getting ready." He said, leaning down to give Mycroft a soft kiss before going up the stairs to their room.
Only to come back 2 minutes later, holding a bottle of hair gel. “It seems like my new gel mysteriously ran out." He said accusingly, looking at Sherlock.
Sherlock didn’t even look up from his scone. “Well, I suppose you will need to run to the store before we can leave. What a pity.”
Greg glared at him. It was too early to be dealing with this. “If someone will be running this morning, it will be you running from my hand connecting with your backside.” He threatened.
“Mycroft’s suit was also submerged in water in the bathtub. Care to explain?” Greg said, giving the boy a pointed look. Mycroft gasped, his eyes widened. “Sherlock, you didn’t!” He shouted furiously.
Sherlock gave them an innocent, half-asleep look. “Whatever could I have done?” He asked, taking a bite of his yummy blueberry muffin.
Mycroft glared down at the boy. “Sherlock, I am not in the mood for these shenanigans! Tell Greg what you did with his hair gel, and for the sake of your bum, I sincerely hope that you didn’t discard it, lest you want a sore arse before we even get to the church!” He threatened. “You are lucky I’m not using my slipper on your bum right now for ruining my suit!” Mycroft exclaimed, offended.
Sherlock gave him a nonchalant look. “So…what you are implying is that we cannot leave until I tell you where the hair gel may, or may not, be? Am I correct?” He asked with a smirk, sipping his tea arrogantly.
Mycroft’s eye twitched, his palm itching as well. “William, I swear on everything and everyone I love, you included, that I will turn you over my knee if you don’t tell us where you hid it. This is your last warning.” Mycroft said.
Greg lifted an eyebrow at the boy, shaking his head. “Just tell us, lad. You know it’s not going to end well, and I don’t think you’d fancy squirming on those hard pew seats, would you?” He asked, referring to the church pews they’d have to sit on for a while.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about." Sherlock lied, taking another bite. It took less than two seconds for his brother to get up from the table, grab him by the bicep, and get him up.
Mycroft lifted his hand, ready to strike Sherlock’s bum. “Okay, okay, okay! I’ll tell you." He surrendered. “I put it in a bag in your shoes." He sheepishly admitted.
Mycroft lowered his hand. “What? Why?” He asked, not believing the childish action.
“It was a joke; I thought it would be funny.” Sherlock defended
Greg gasped, quickly going to go retrieve his shoes. Mycroft lifted Sherlock’s chin, glaring him in the eye.
“You are on very thin ice, young man. If you continue with this ridiculous rubbish, you will end up with-“
“-with a sore arse. Yeah, yeah, I got that part, brother. Do you have anything new, you bloody git?” Sherlock asked sarcastically, batting Mycroft’s hand away from his face.
Mycroft let go of his face. Giving him one last warning to behave before going upstairs to finish getting ready. Sherlock went back to his breakfast, while Greg cleaned some gel that escaped the bag where his gel was.
When the men had rejoined the kitchen, Sherlock was ominously holding a blueberry scone with jam in his hands.
Mycroft and Greg’s eyes widened before they gave Sherlock a warning look.
“Don’t.” Mycroft started.
“You.” Greg continued.
“Dare.” Mycroft finished through gritted teeth.
With a mischievous smirk, Sherlock dropped the sticky treat on himself, getting the jam all over his sweater and trousers.
“Oopsy.” Sherlock said, clearly proud of himself.
“Oh, you naughty little…!” Mycroft exclaimed, grabbing Sherlock by the hand and standing to his feet before turning him under his arm.
Sherlock yelped as he felt his trousers and underwear get tugged down to his knees, kicking his legs wildly as Greg grabbed a nearby wooden spoon and handed it to his boyfriend.
Mycroft accepted the spoon with a polite nod. “Thank you, love.” He said before landing the spoon down across Sherlock’s pale bum with a sharp smack.
Sherlock cried out in pain as Mycroft landed a flurry of swats all over his behind, unable to do anything but wail and shout.
“OW! OUCH! AAH! Shit! OWW! Alright, alright! I-OWW-get it! AAH!! OUCH! OW OW OW! DAMN IT!” Sherlock hollered, grimacing as his posterior was lit aflame.
“Greg, darling. Would you be a dear and bring some jam-free clothes for Sherlock?” Mycroft asked his boyfriend, not missing a beat with the spoon.
“Mycroft, stop! I get it, I’m sorry!!” Sherlock cried.
“Sorry about what, brother?” Mycroft asked.
“About everything!” Sherlock responded.
“That’s not an answer, Sherlock.” Mycroft stated.
“Okay, okay, about the pranks, please stop!” Sherlock wailed.
“Those are not pranks, Sherlock; that’s you being naughty because you didn’t get your way." He said, emphasizing the last words with a smack to his undercurve before setting his brother straight.
Sherlock immediately rubbed at his face and bum, trying to soothe the pain and clear his tears, to no avail because they kept coming. He looked at his brother with a hurt expression before looking at Greg, who came back with some clean clothes and… a belt in his hand.
“Don’t think we don’t know you messed your own clothes on purpose, young man.” He said, reaching him. “This,” He said, turning Sherlock around and landing one hard lick with the belt, “Is to remind you to behave today, or you will be getting reacquainted with this belt when we get home.”
Sherlock wailed at the sharp smack that Greg landed with the belt, turning back around to face him so his bottom was out of the line of fire. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he angrily sniffled, glaring daggers up at the two taller men. “T-that didn’t even sniffle hurt.” He huffed, gingerly rubbing his poor behind.
Mycroft rolled his eyes and began to remove Sherlock’s jam-covered sweater vest, only for Sherlock to smack his hands away. “Piss off! I can do it my bloody self!” He snapped at the man.
Mycroft gave him a firm look. “Well, hop to it, then. Don’t dilly dally, either. We are about to be late, and if we are, you’re going to wish you made a different decision.” Mycroft said before turning and leaving. He now had to find a new suit…
So, Sherlock did end up getting dressed in a timely fashion, Greg’s hair was properly gelled, and Mycroft found a new suit (it was almost as if he had a ton of them), so they were able to get in the car on time to go to church.
Sherlock pouted in the backseat the entire ride, arms crossed and glaring out of the window.
Greg gave Mycroft a look, nudging him to talk to the boy. He didn’t want the energy to be so grouchy before they had even made it inside the building.
They already knew Sherlock was going to loathe being there, but quite frankly they didn’t trust him enough to leave him home alone after prior incidents, so he had to come with them.
“So…after we get back, I’m thinking of taking us out to a restaurant for lunch. Did you have anything in mind, brother dear?” Mycroft asked, gently running a hand through Sherlock’s hair that he had brushed for him.
As expected, Sherlock turned and hissed at him, loathing the man at the moment for making him go to this boring occurrence. Mycroft quickly snatched his hand away, knowing the boy wasn’t against biting or scratching. He was like an angry cat.
Greg gave him an amused look. “Sherlock, surely it isn’t so bad, yes? We will be out before you know it.” He said.
Sherlock huffed, scoffing. “Why the bloody hell do I even have to go to this stupid thing? What does that baby getting christened have to do with me? I’d probably burst into flames the second I step foot through that door after all of the things I do…” Sherlock complained.
Mycroft snorted. “Believe me, Sherlock, I’m well aware of the evil and mischief you’ve caused throughout the years. That’s a bit dramatic, though. You’re still a sweetheart deep down.” He said, placing a gentle kiss on Sherlock’s cheek, making the boy blush and groan.
“Mycrofttt!~ Stop!” Sherlock whined halfheartedly. Greg and Mycroft chuckled, moving closer to the boy and wrapping their arms around him to give him a nice cuddle.
“C’mon, poppet. Give us a smile.” Greg said, gently rubbing the nape of Sherlock’s neck as the boy relaxed against them. “You both are a couple of bollocks,” Sherlock commented, making the men chuckle.
Together they went inside and sat down. They were miraculously on time for the service but late for greetings and chitchat, so that would have to wait for the end. Sherlock sat in the middle of the couple, wincing while he tried to sit in the least painful position. “This hurts so much." He complained, biting his face on his brother’s shoulder.
“You deserve every minute of ache you get today. You’ve been very naughty.” Mycroft scolded. Sherlock groaned. “My God, Mycroft, don’t say ‘naughty’!” The teen replied, embarrassed.
The service went by slower than Sherlock could possibly imagine. He found himself yawning and nearly nodding off as time went on, which Mycroft and Greg supposed was better than him creating mischief or putting up a fuss.
All was going well, until Sherlock caught a glimpse of someone familiar sitting towards the back of the church. There, several rows behind him, sat James Moriarty. Sherlock’s rival arsehole from his school.
Oh, what he wouldn’t give to mess with him. The last time he saw him was when he ‘accidentally’ bumped into Sherlock at lunch and got his apple juice all over him.
Unfortunately, Sherlock didn’t have enough time to get back at him in the way he wanted to, which was to give it back to him tenfold.
Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in his head. Hiding a devious smirk and feigning innocence, he looked over at Mycroft. “I’m off to the loo. I’ll be back.” He said before leaving their aisle and heading towards the side doors.
Within the short time it took to get to the hallway, he took note of the higher floor of the sanctuary that was right above Moriarty’s aisle. “Now, I just need to find a bucket…” He said to himself.
As time passed, Mycroft began to get concerned. “Where is he? He’s been gone for at least ten minutes.” He whispered, looking over at Greg.
Greg placed a calming hand on Mycroft’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’s alright. Maybe he just got distracted coming back. You know his obsession with stained glass.” He said.
It was true; Sherlock found stained glass windows to be quite fascinating. He enjoyed the aesthetic of it all. With a troubled sigh, Mycroft forced himself to relax. “You’re right, you’re right. I’m just overthinking it. I’ll-“ Mycroft held in the loudest gasp of his life as he looked behind him.
What he saw was the worst-case scenario. Up on the balcony stood a very familiar-looking teenager holding a full bucket of water up on the railing. It was very obvious what his intentions were when Mycroft spotted a bored-looking Moriarty sitting beneath that very spot.
“Greg, I’ll be right back.” He whispered hastily to a confused Greg before quickly getting out of his seat and practically running towards the door as fast as he could without bringing attention to himself.
With an evil grin, Sherlock smiled down at Moriarty. “Oh, how I adore payback.” He said gleefully to himself.
Holding the bucket up, he got ready to tilt it over onto the pew below him…only to feel a strong pair of arms snatch the bucket of water from him. That same pair of arms scooped him up from under his armpits and carried him away towards the staircase.
With widened eyes, Sherlock gasped as he was whisked into the hallway. “Mycroft! Wait-wait! It’s not what it looks like!” He exclaimed, trying to hold onto anything that they passed to stop them from moving.
The wall, a doorknob, anything! Nothing worked, unfortunately, as Mycroft swiftly carried him to an empty room that looked to be used for the children’s service.
"I am tired, Sherlock, of your shenanigans. You've been asking for some discipline since this morning. What were you planning on doing, huh?"
"I was getting back at Moriarty. He started it!. He poured apple juice all over me." "He pours juice on you, and you decide to pour a whole bucket of water on him?"
Sherlock nodded, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Yes! Thank you! I knew you’d understand!” He exclaimed.
Mycroft narrowed his eyes at the boy, placing his hands on his hips scoldingly. “Young man, you are in a world of trouble. I’m not going to stand for this troublemaking nonsense. You know better than to attempt to do something like this, especially in the middle of service! Are you trying to get us banned from every public building in England?!” Mycroft lectured.
Sherlock huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, please! He deserved it! You aren’t against revenge, you’re just against it when I do it!” He exclaimed.
Mycroft lifted the boy’s chin, looking him in the eye. “Listen here, lad. If you want to get back at him, you should at the very least know better than to try to do it here of all places. My coworker is here, Greg is here, I am here. What made you think that this was the appropriate time and place for something like this?” Mycroft asked. "What were you planning on doing with his family? They wereright next to him."
At the thought, Sherlock’s eyes widened. “Well…I actually hadn’t thought about that…” He said, trailing off. Mycroft was glad that the lad at least had the decency to feel bad after that.
“…BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!! NOW THAT WOULD’VE BEEN FUNNY!” Sherlock cackled, unable to hold back the genuine laughter leaving his throat at the idea of Moriarty and his family soaking wet. Oh, they’d be pissed!
Mycroft gritted his teeth. “Alright, that’s it. Clearly I’m not getting through to you via words.” He said, taking off his suit blazer and neatly setting it aside before grabbing Sherlock and turning him to the side, delivering a flurry of sharp swats to the seat of the boy’s trousers.
Sherlock yelped, the laughter suddenly being replaced by shouts of pain. “OWW! OUCH! AH! Mycroft! OWW! OKAY, ALRIGHT! I’M-OUCH! SORRY! I GET IT! OWWW!” Sherlock cried out, squirming in his brother’s hold.
After landing a dozen more, Mycroft placed his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders and looked him in the eye with a glare. Sherlock rubbed his bottom with a grimace, matching his brother’s glare.
“Pipe down, Mycroft. Moriarty was in need of a good shower anyway…” Sherlock grumbled. Mycroft growled, fuming over his brother’s unapologetic attitude. He lifted his palm to swat him again, but was stopped by Sherlock wagging his finger down at him.
“Ah ah ah, God doesn’t appreciate violence. Love thy neighbor; Matthew 22:39. Sherlock quotes. Mycroft blinked at him in shock, not at all expecting that. “Pardon?” He asked.
“…What? I can’t even memorize books anymore?” Sherlock asked with a scoff. “You know I love books.” Especially ones he could weaponize with quotes and verses against his brother!
Just then, Greg opened the door and walked inside. “Everything alright in here, lads?” He asked, closing the door behind him. Lifting an eyebrow, Mycroft looked at him questioningly. “How did you know where to find us?” He asked.
Greg shrugged. “Well, it was simple, really. I just followed the sounds of Sherlock’s shouting.” He said. Sherlock blushed bright red and facepalmed. “Great, that’s just lovely…” He groaned.
Mycroft gave Greg the rundown of what he had discovered. As expected, Greg gave Sherlock a disapproving look. “That naughty streak of yours is bound to get you into trouble, Sherlock. Why can’t you just sit and be a good boy like we know you can be?” He asked.
Sherlock turned his back on them, not wanting to hear the lecture. “Oh, spare me the melodrama. I’m already in a church; I don’t need your preaching too.” He said.
Mycroft’s palm was itching to land a few more well-placed swats if Sherlock continued. “You are this close to receiving another spanking right here instead of at home, Sherlock.” He warned.
Now, that got the boy’s attention. Turning back around, Sherlock began to plead his case. “Whoa, woah! That’s quite unnecessary indeed.” Sherlock walked over to Mycroft and Greg, standing in between them and casually wrapping his arms around them both. “I mean, Ephesians 4:32, anyone?” Sherlock smirked with a cheeky smile.
Greg sighed, shaking his head as Mycroft turned to face Sherlock so he was looking him directly in the eye. “William Sherlock Holmes. You are going to sit in that pew for the rest of the service, keep your mouth shut, and be on your best behavior.” Mycroft ordered.
"You know, if quotes are what you're into, how about Proverbs 13:24?" Greg asked with a glint in his eye.
Sherlock paled. "You wouldn't". He said, stepping away from them.
Mycroft looked at Greg, confusion on his face, before it hit him. "Aaah, yes, the old 'spare the rod, spoil the child.' We wouldn't want to spoil you, now would we?" He asked his brother.
"Well, Sherlock dear, that can be easily fixed. Rods can be found anywhere. If not, there's always belts and canes and switches and..."
"Okay, I get it, you're into torture," Sherlock interrupted. "You should save that for the bedroom, you know? It's not something you should be discussing with minors; you could get in trouble." He smirked.
"WILLIAM SHERLOCK HOLMES." Mycroft scolded.
"Don't scold me; scold your boyfriend who's exposing your pillow talk." Sherlock stated nonchalantly with a shrug.
"That's enough; you're in so much trouble when we get home." Mycroft said, grabbing Sherlock by the upper arm and opening the door to lead him back to their seats.
Greg followed them, and all three of them waited for the service to be over.
Sherlock squirmed in his spot, glaring at the floor. He hated the situation he landed himself in because he already knew what was in store for him when they got home.
He was miserable.
Soon enough, it was time for them to leave. After politely greeting his coworker, he swiftly grabbed Sherlock by the hand and led him down the hallway.
Sherlock just couldn’t help himself, needing to get out one last quip. “Awww, no souvenir from the church store?” He said sarcastically.
Greg and Mycroft were at their wits' end. If Sherlock wanted to play, then game on.
Much to the boy’s confusion, Sherlock was led straight into the attached church store. “I was being facetious.” Sherlock grumbled.
“I wasn’t.” Mycroft responded before his eyes fell upon exactly what he hoped he’d come across. A perfect implement for their home that they could display!
“Well, would you look at that? That’s the exact same bible verse Sherlock quoted earlier! Isn’t it, dear?” Greg asked Mycroft with a smile.
Mycroft nodded, returning the grin as Sherlock’s face turned bright red. “Indeed, it is.” He said, grabbing a paddle from the shelf and turning it over in his hand. He smacked it against his palm to test it out, making Sherlock jump slightly.
“This’ll be perfect decor. One you can look at, while also being of use. Isn’t that just amazing, brother dear?” Mycroft asked, his smile never fading.
Sherlock glared at his brother and Greg, hating the lot of them.
“You son of a-“
“-ah ah! We’re in a church, darling. Mind your manners.” Mycroft condescendingly booped his nose with his finger before taking the paddle to the register and paying for it.
As they left the building, something caught Mycroft’s eye. With a gasp, his jaw dropped at the words on the church sign. ‘Moriarty sucks,’ Sherlock smirked, while Greg and Mycroft looked like they were going to faint.
“Oh my word…” Greg trailed off as Mycroft picked up speed, his hand quickly dragging Sherlock along. “Just keep moving!” He whispered as they practically ran to their car to leave the parking lot.
The ride home was filled with lectures, scoldings, and verbal disappointment. Sherlock still didn’t think he did anything wrong, though. So, most of the lecturing fell on deaf ears.
Getting home was no different, except that now Sherlock was in a bad mood for being scolded. “Sherlock, are you getting out of the car?” Greg asked when he saw the teen hadn’t even unlocked his seatbelt.
“No, we were supposed to go get lunch, remember?” Sherlock said, crossing his arms and staring right into his eyes in clear defiance.
“After your actions this morning, do you really think you deserve a treat?” Mycroft asked.
“I didn’t do anything. I wasn’t able to, remember?” Sherlock asked. “Your intentions still count.” Greg reminded.
Sherlock groaned, getting out of the car and slamming the door behind him. "I had no idea that eating food was considered a 'treat'. You are one sick bast-" Greg cleared his throat, giving Sherlock a warning look not to finish that sentence.
Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes, stomping ahead of the men and walking up to their front doorstep. He crossed his arms, waiting and sulking as Mycroft and Greg took their time walking over to the door to unlock it.
Mycroft and Greg shared a look, nodding in agreement about what was to happen next. First, they'd hang their brand new piece of decor on the wall. Then, Sherlock's bum was toast.
Mycroft unlocked the front door, and Sherlock went stomping right inside. He made sure to stomp up every single step to his room, as well. He knew better than to slam the door behind him, not wanting to add to what he already knew was coming.
Not slamming his door didn’t mean he was compliant. Taking off his uncomfortable church clothes, he rolled them into a ball and threw them down the stairs, sure that he wasn’t going to be made to put them back on again with all those wrinkles.
Mycroft grabbed the clothes and got ready to throw them back, but Greg gently grabbed his arm. “Don’t.” Greg said softly, calming Mycroft down.
Mycroft sighed, taking the clothes to the laundry room. After properly disposing of them in the laundry basket, Mycroft took a seat on the couch and ran a tired hand over his face.
Greg took a seat next to him, taking Mycroft’s hand in his and giving it a kiss. “It’s alright, darling. You know he’s a bit theatrical.” He said.
Mycroft frowned, hating to always be the bad guy. “Why would he think that attempting to dump a bucket of water on Moriarty in the middle of the christening would be a good idea? He knows that word spreads like wildfire; we don’t need the whole town thinking he’s some rowdy, unattended child.“ Mycroft said.
Greg gently cupped Mycroft’s cheek, looking him in the eye. “Hey, look at me. You are doing an amazing job raising Sherlock, Mycroft. He’s a teenager; he’s going to do stupid things sometimes. Revenge can blind even the most mature people.” Greg pointed out.
Mycroft nodded softly. “I suppose you are right. I just hate playing…” Mycroft gave Greg a sheepish look.
Greg lifted an amused eyebrow. “Go on, then. You can say it. ‘Bad cop’, yes?” Greg asked.
Mycroft placed a kiss on Greg’s cheek. “You always get to be the ‘fun’ one, you know.” He said.
Greg wrapped his arms around the other man, giving him a much-needed hug. “I’m sorry that I am so fun, my love. I can certainly try to work on that. Perhaps I could finish one of your crossword puzzles, hm?” He asked.
Mycroft playfully swatted Greg’s thigh. “Hey, be nice to my crossword puzzles. They keep the mind sharp.” He teased.
Suddenly, the extremely loud sound of Sherlock playing the violin was heard. With a sigh, Mycroft stood to his feet. “Here we go…” He trailed off, rolling up his sleeves and walking up the steps with Greg.
When they opened the door to Sherlock’s room, they were met with an admittedly amusing sight.
Sherlock was wearing one of Mycroft’s shirts and a loose pair of Greg’s shorts that were clearly too big for him, playing his violin with noise-cancelling headphones. He was using the violin amplifier that Mycroft was certainly regretting now.
Usually, it didn’t bother either of them, but Sherlock was playing a version of Amazing Grace that was meant to make any ear bleed. His usually smooth and lovely music was replaced with something a toddler would do if given an out-of-tune violin.
Mycroft was torn between barging into the room to stop his brother before the situation escalated or continuing to stare at his annoying yet adorable brother.
Sneaking a look at Greg, his heart melted at seeing his partner secretly taking a picture of Sherlock, a look of adoration on his face. A look that became stern after said picture was taken.
Putting his phone away, Greg approached Sherlock and snatched the violin out of his hands, as well as the headphones out of his ears.
Sherlock gave both men a faux offended look, shaking his head. “Wow. Trying to silence holy music? On a Sunday? For shame.” He shook his head, placing his hands on his hips.
Greg gave Mycroft a look that said ‘good luck’ and left the room with Sherlock’s violin, effectively confiscating it for the time being while Mycroft dealt with him.
Sherlock followed the man out of the room, ignoring his brother’s stern look. “Sherlock, get back here! Right now!” Greg exclaimed.
Sherlock proceeded to follow Greg, getting halfway down the stairs before Greg turned back to look at him.
“You’re already in enough trouble, darling. You need to go and face the music, no pun intended.” Greg said, nodding towards Sherlock’s bedroom door.
“Ha ha, very funny. I see why my brother finds you so endearing.” Sherlock said sarcastically, going past him on their way down. Greg rolled his eyes, wondering if he really wanted to get more involved in this.
Acknowledging that he was already deeply involved, given that he was co-raising the teen, he followed him all the way downstairs, almost crashing into him outside the kitchen. Sherlock stood frozen, eyes wide open, staring at the wall. Greg chuckled once he saw what the kid was looking at.
“What is that doing here? Sherlock asked, offended.
“What? Don’t you like our new home decor? We thought the house could use a little more warming.
“You think you’re hilarious, right? That,” Sherlock pointed at the brand new paddle that was hanging from a hook in the kitchen wall, “Is child abuse.”
Greg held in a chuckle at the boy’s cheekiness, shaking his head at him fondly. “Mycroft is very close to using it on you, poppet. Please, just go upstairs. Don’t make it worse.” Greg said, gently ruffling his hair.
Sherlock pondered it for a moment. “Hmm… no, thank you.” He said with a smile, getting ready to turn and have a seat on the couch.
“Gregory, could you be a dear and hand Sherlock the paddle to give to me?” Mycroft called from upstairs, his patience clearly run out. Sherlock’s eyes widened, shaking his head in desperate refusal.
Greg sighed, giving Sherlock a remorseful look. He tried. “Yes, love.” He replied, grabbing the paddle and handing it to Sherlock.
“Go on, then. It’s best to get it over with. You’ll be alright, lad. You know Mycroft’s got a soft side deep down when it comes to you.” Greg said.
“Please, don’t.” Sherlock whispered, voice breaking a little. “Sorry, sweetheart, you’ve been asking for this since you woke up.” Greg said.
“It’s not my fault neither one of you has a sense of humor. Why should I pay for your disadvantages?” Sherlock asked.
“Sherlock,” Greg sighed, “This isn’t helping.”
“But you could. I … I don’t want a, you know, that. Especially not with that.” Sherlock said, gesturing to the paddle Greg was still extending to him.
“Well, next time maybe think about it before doing all the things you did today.” Greg suggested.
“How was I supposed to know that my brother was suddenly going to develop a taste for BDSM?” Sherlock asked sarcastically.
“Sherlock, that’s enough.” Greg’s voice became stern. “Go back to your brother and face the consequences of your actions.” Taking Sherlock’s hand and placing the paddle in it, he guided the boy upstairs to be delivered to an awaiting Mycroft.
Mycroft tapped his foot, waiting for the boy to bring him the paddle. When Sherlock slowly held it out to him, Mycroft took it and tapped it against his palm. “Thank you, Gregory. We will be down for lunch in a bit.” Mycroft said.
When he took Sherlock by the hand, the lad hissed at him once again. Mycroft narrowed his eyes at him, lifting the paddle threateningly. He would pop him on the bum if he tried to bite.
“Easy, lad. Be nice and listen to Mycroft. I’m going to get started on lunch. Behave, please.” Greg practically begged the boy.
Sherlock glared at his brother, ready to pounce. Mycroft closed the door behind Greg and immediately whisked Sherlock away over to the bed.
Wasting no time in sitting down, he stood the boy in between his legs and made quick work of tugging Greg’s shorts down, baring Sherlock’s behind and smacking the paddle across his bum.
“Ow!” Sherlock shouted. The thing hurt more than he expected. He was planning on laughing it off, see if that helped dissuade his brother from ever using it again, but the paddle smacked his plan out of his body with the first swat.
Sherlock tried to rub the sting out of his bum, but his brother prevented it by bending him over his left knee, leaving his torso on the bed. Sherlock tried to prevent it, squirming and trying to push up, but the position allowed his brother to have a firm hold on him and a better angle to his buttocks.
Mycroft swatted the paddle down sharply, Sherlock’s loud wailing accompanying the sound. “OWWW! OUCH!! Stop it! AAH! R-RIGHT THIS INSTANT!!” Sherlock wailed.
Mycroft ignored him, proceeding to pop the paddle across Sherlock’s sensitive behind. “You are not in charge here, William.” Mycroft said firmly.
SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK!
“I’m telling you to STOP! Damn it, Mycroft, it HURTS!” He cried. “I’ve had enough!”
“I’m the adult here, Sherlock. I’ll decide when it’s enough.” He lowered his aim, making his brother sob. “I’m tired of you doing whatever you want with disregard for those around you. One day, you’ll end up in trouble with someone who’s not Greg or me.” He lectured, emphasizing some words with harder smacks.
Sherlock, on his part, was losing it fast. He was used to being spanked with just a hand. He’d had a couple of licks with a belt as a warning, but never a full spanking with an implement.
He couldn’t even think straight. His mind was foggy, trying to process the pain and embarrassment of the position. The swats came so fast that he couldn’t even process them before the next one landed.
Sherlock threw a hand back, but it was quickly pinned to the small of his back. Mycroft didn’t miss a beat, his swats painful and loud. “You won’t like it if this paddle hits your hand.” Mycroft said.
Sherlock turned back to glare at his brother. “I don’t like it while it’s hitting my arse either!” He shouted.
Mycroft responded by giving his sit spots a dose of smacks. “Well, you should have thought about that before acting up.” He said.
Sherlock wailed, crying out in response. He was stubborn, but Mycroft had a lot of experience with spanking him. So, the man knew exactly how much he could take, and Sherlock hated that because it meant he couldn’t get out of spankings as easily. Fuck Mycroft and his paying attention to his needs. Arsehole…
He wanted to reply, but his brain could only focus on the fire in his bum. Knowing that he had already lost the battle, he sobbed his heart out, apologizing and promising to do better.
Mycroft hardened his heart to finish the punishment and threw the paddle on the bed once he was sure his brother would remember the lesson for at least a couple of days before his brilliant brain came up with something else.
Rubbing a hand on the back of the kid's back, he murmured soothing nothings, waiting for the sobs to subside. He fixed Greg’s shorts, thankful that they were so big on the kid, that it didn’t hurt that much when he pulled them back up. After a minute or two, he pulled his brother up and embraced him in his arms.
Sherlock immediately hung onto him, throwing his arms around his neck and burying his face in the crook of his neck, his sobs getting louder for a moment from both the pain of the movement and the comfort of his brother’s arms.
Mycroft gently stroked the lad’s hair. “Shhhh…” He cooed. Sherlock’s tears soaked Mycroft’s shirt, but he didn’t mind. They needed to do laundry, anyway.
Sherlock didn’t want to admit it, but Mycroft’s snuggles were amazing.
He always made him feel so safe in his arms.
“You’re alright, poppet. It’s okay.” Mycroft whispered into Sherlock’s hair.
After Sherlock’s sobs had died down to sniffles, Mycroft used his handkerchief to gently wipe the boy’s face and held it to his nose. “Blow.” He said.
Sherlock glared at Mycroft at being treated like such a child.
Mycroft gave him a pointed look, so Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave in.
After his face was clean, Mycroft just held Sherlock in his arms for a moment. “I didn’t like having to do that, but I will do it again if I have to. You need to learn how to listen and stay out of trouble, love.” Mycroft whispered.
“You’re going to be the death of me, brother.” Sherlock whimpered. “You? Brother dear, I got my first grey hair at 20!” Mycroft exclaimed.
“Premature aging is no joke. You should get it checked out.” Sherlock quipped. Mycroft lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve heard that a good paddling helps with the base problem. Nips it right from the bud.” He said.
“You think you’re funny, brother, but you’re not.” Sherlock said dryly, laying his head on his brother's shoulder.
“Jokes aside,” Mycroft said, resuming his play with Sherlock’s hair. “You need to think more before you act. You have a brilliant mind, Sherlock; use it for good. Getting in trouble with me is not the worst thing that can happen.” He said in a calm tone, not wanting to get into another fight. Sherlock let out a big sigh. “I know.”
“Then if you know, why do you keep pushing? You’re not a little kid anymore; consequences are bound to reach you anytime.” Mycroft pointed out. “It’s just… so boring.” Sherlock whined.
“That’s no excuse, dear. You say you want to be treated like a grown-up; well, part of being a grown-up is to go to boring stuff and sit through them, and I swear it's a hundred times easier when you’re not sporting a sore bum.”
Sherlock sighed, but nodded. He knew his brother was right. “…I’m keeping the shirt, still.” He said with a sullen pout.
Mycroft chuckled. “Yeah? Well, you may want to give Greg his shorts back. They don’t fit you at all.” He teased.
Just then, Greg walked into the room. “Lunch is ready, boys! I made some sandwiches! Come along, then. We don’t want your food getting cold.” He said.
“Cold sandwiches are ideal, Gregory,” Sherlock said sarcastically, laughing despite himself as Mycroft gently tickled him. “Hey! Stop that!” Sherlock cackled.
Moriarty sighed in relief, happy to finally be out of the boring church building. When he got outside, he noticed people gathered around a sign in the front yard of the church grounds.
Lifting an eyebrow, he curiously walked over to see what all of the fuss was about. Suddenly, the color drained from his eyes as he saw the message on the sign.
He narrowed his eyes at the sign, already knowing who had to be behind this. “That bloody bastard...” He growled under his breath to himself. He hated when Sherlock got the last laugh!