Little Mycroft Holmes, three years old, sat on the rug reading a copy of The Illiad. He was dressed in a little white suit with a white waistcoat and a blue plaid bow tie. Mr Holmes entered the room having just parked the car. He smiled down at the boy.

"The Illiad? My, my, the boy is ambitious. Most children can't even read at three, and he's starting in on the Illiad. Indeed, Mycroft is a clever boy."

"Indeed," Mummy Holmes echoed frowning down at him.

Mr Holmes looked from his wife to the boy, and then back to his wife again. "You're troubled. Why? Mycroft was wonderful at the photographers. He sat perfectly still when asked, and he didn't spill any of his apple juice on his suit even though you insisted on him wearing the white one. He's well behaved, incredibly intelligent, and our son. For a first attempt, I think that we did pretty well at the genetic lottery. So why are you staring at him with such...calculation in your eyes?"

"Mycroft isn't just intelligent. He's a genius. I'm having enough trouble with this mothering thing as it is. I don't know if I am up to raising a genius."

"Of course you can, dear. He's a genius, you're a genius. It shouldn't be a problem."

"I'm not a genius, dear, although I like to pretend that I am. I am just very, very, good at Mathematics. Being skilled in one area does not a genius make."

Mr Holmes hugged his wife's shoulders and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Don't worry dear. Everyone thinks that they will be a bad parent, but the kids turn out alright in the end. "

"I'm sure that's what Mr. Hitler said to his wife."

"You're over reacting, my dear!"

"He's a genius. Our child is an actual genius. How long will it be before he realizes that he can outsmart us? How long before he starts down the road of deception that will ultimately lead to him trying to take over the world."

"He's not going to take over the world. If I had known that you would react this way, I would never have taken you to see that Bond film. Being a genius doesn't mean that he will become a super villain."

"How do you know?"

Mr Holmes gave a great sigh. "He is our son, and we love him. That should be enough to make him grow up right."

"But what if it's not?"

"Relax. Mycroft will turn out fine. For all we know, this early reading might just be a stage that he's going through. Besides, we might be mistaken. He might not really be a genius."

Mrs Holmes shook her head, her lips pinched into a frown.

"Well, it's time for him to take his nap don't you think? I'm sure that he's ready to get out of that uncomfortable suit. Come here son." Mr Holmes bent down and put out his arms. Mycroft stared up at him for a moment before rising to his feet, his book clasped against his chest. Mr Holmes picked up the boy. "How did you like the book, Mycroft?"

"I liked the part where everybody ate the flowers. Is that what happens when you eat flowers, Daddy? Mummy won't let me eat them, so I don't know."

"No son, most flowers don't do anything to you when you eat them. Even so, you should listen to your mother. If you ate the pretty flowers, she wouldn't have them to look at."

Mr Holmes took the book and handed it to his wife before he took Mycroft to his room and laid him down for a nap. When he returned, his wife was sitting in her chair, with the book on her lap. Her frown was even greater than before.

"What is it now?" he asked.

In reply she simply held the book out to him. He picked it up and glanced at the pages before looking up at her with surprise in his eyes. The words were all in Greek.

2.
The problem of raising a genius child was one that Mrs Holmes tackled with abandon. She bought piles of parenting books, reading each one and taking notes to cross check for facts. She looked through newspapers for accounts of genius children and traced their lives and careers. Her studies only made her more agitated.

Mr Holmes made her a cup of tea one evening as she sat in her arm chair so exasperated at the book that she had been reading that she flung it across the room. "Thank you, dear," she said as she took a cautious sip. Her eyes closing in relief.

"So," Mr Holmes asked, "How are the parenting studies going?"

"Horrible!" she said, "Couldn't you tell by the trajectory of that last book that I threw? The authors all contradict each other. The advice tends to come in waves, with periods of disciplinarian teachings followed by liberalism: Spank them, don't spank them, give them gifts, never give them gifts, it makes no logical sense. Also, the genius children that I have followed have no consistent methods by which they were raised. Some had parents who were attentive to their every whim. Some ignored them completely. The one thing that I could resolve, was that in eighty eight percent of the cases the genius children turned out completely unsociable and marginally insane. Most distressing is that a genius child is forty percent more likely to die and a young age, and eighty percent more likely than the general populace to make an attempt on their own life. What are we going to do?"

"Darling, I know this distresses you, but we'll just have to do our best."

"And if our best isn't good enough? What then?"

"You're not going to find an answer from strangers on how to raise our child. We'll have to find our own way."

"Mrs Holmes looked up at him then and raised her eyebrows. You're right. These aren't the books that I should be reading." She rose to her feet, walked over to the bookshelves and pulled out a book on Ancient Greek philosophy."

"What are you doing?"

"Going to a source that I do trust. Why did I imagine that contemporary authors would have any idea of how people work? I should return to the classics. Give me a few weeks dear and I'll have solved this problem."

"He's a child, not a mathematical theorem, dear."

She turned away from him and continued reading.

3.
Mycroft was in his high chair eating chicken and carrots. Mycroft enjoyed eating. He ate carefully so that he didn't spill his food, a skill that his father always praised him for. When he had finished, his father took up his empty plate and handed him a small cake with banana icing. The boy smiled up at him, and he smiled back. They both turned at the sound of Mummy Holmes banging open the door.

"I've got it!" she said.
"Got what?"
"The answer to how to raise Mycroft."
"Oh that again? Alright, tell us the plan."
"Well first that will have to go," she said snatching the cake out of Mycroft's hands.
"What are you doing, dear? Mycroft has been good. He deserves a treat."
"Are you undermining my authority? This plan won't work unless we are both on board with it."
"What plan? You'd best fill me in on this, completely."
"Well, we can't talk in front of him. Take him to his room first."
Mr Holmes sighed and then he unstrapped the boy before carrying him out of the room.
"Can I have the cake now?" Mycroft asked.
"I don't know dear. I think...no. Maybe another time."
"But it was banana, my favorite."
"I know, dear. Now be a good boy and play in your room while Mummy and I talk about things."
He placed the boy on the floor of his room and closed the door. Mycroft stood looking around at his toys and his books, but he couldn't forget the cake. He wanted the cake. He quietly opened the door and walked back toward the kitchen, hoping that they wouldn't see him. When he reached the kitchen, the door was ajar. He was just about to push it open when he heard his parent's voices. So, he sat down beside the door and waited for them to leave.

"What's all this about finding the answer, and why didn't you let Mycroft have his cake? He's been looking forward to it all day."

"Well, we wouldn't want to raise a glutton."

"A glutton? He's a child!"

"And where do you think bad habits start? No, it's all right here in this book. You were right that I should look to classics for the answer. I found it in Plato's Republic."

"I don't remember telling you that two thousand year old books would tell us how to raise our child."

"Hush, listen! It says, 'The philosopher will have the quality of gentleness. And this, also, when too much is indulged will turn to softness, but if educated rightly will be gentle and moderate.' "

"So, my dear, let me get this right. Are you planning on educating our son as a philosopher?"

"Yes, it is the best way to help him understand how to properly use his intellect. And the instructions are all laid out here in detail. It will need a bit of updating. I would rather have him take dancing lessons than gymnastics, but the music training. That we can start right away."

"Music lessons sound like a good idea, but I still don't see why he can't have his cake."

"We mustn't encourage overindulgence. Besides, Homer never mentioned sweets."

"There's such a thing as going too far, you know."

"Do you have a better idea? Of course, you don't. Let me read through it again, and then I'll write up the plan for his education."

"But... is this a good idea?"

"Of course it is. Ninety percent of the time when a man goes bad they blame his parents for not being attentive enough in his education. I will dedicate my life to making sure that my child is raised to be a proper citizen."

"But those aren't instructions for raising a citizen. Those are the instructions for raising a ruler."

"And why shouldn't my son be raised like a ruler? Plenty of those in power are idiots with no idea how to rule correctly. I see nothing wrong with raising our son as a philosopher king. I'm going to my study. I have a lot to think about. And you need to get to work."

"To work? Doing what?"

"Getting rid of the sweets in the house for one. It's simplicity and discipline for Mycroft from now on. Oh yes, and throw out all of your Ian Fleming books."

"What? I like those books!"

"Darling!"

"Okay, okay." Mr Holmes sighed, and then opened the cabinet to fish out the cakes and put them in a bag.

Mycroft rose to his feet and hid behind the window curtains as his mother past. Then he returned to the kitchen door and watched as his father gathered up all of the puddings and sweets in the house and took them away.