Author's Note: Ok so this is my second ever childhood scene of Mycroft and Sherlock. It's linked to the previous one but in no way does Of Treetops and Umbrellas need to be read to enjoy this. I wanted to write something for Easter and I figured a cute Holmsian family fic was in order. I hope you guys like it, I certainly had fun planning it. Read, review, and most importantly, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Clearly I don't own Sherlock. The show is the baby of Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, while Sherlock Holmes itself is the creation of Arthur Conan Doyle.

The Easter Treasure Hunt

"It's not fair." Fourteen year old Mycroft heard the whine of his seven year old brother in his room. Steel blue eyes peered over his book, which he was reading on his bed in the so called privacy of his own room, to latch onto bright blue eyes. A roll of the eyes and a deep breath Mycroft went back to the book he was reading. Sherlock didn't require his whole attention, particularly if the boy thought he could just waltz into Mycroft's room and demand attention.

"What's not fair this time, Sherlock?" He asked with a sigh, not truly paying attention but rather placating his little brother. The mess of curls and scraped knees jumped up and sat on the edge of the bed, probably leaving dirt on the sheet Mummy had changed only a few days ago. If Mycroft got blamed he was going to have Sherlock's head.

"Everything. Easter Sunday tomorrow! How come I have to run around the house and the garden looking for my Easter eggs and you just get yours handed to you like the lazy git you are."

"Language, Sherlock." Mycroft sighed in a singsong voice as he turned the page of his book. Sherlock huffed, lying down on his back and looking backwards. Mycroft looked over the book to watch his little brother staring up at his roof with such a pouty expression.

"But it's not a swear word!" The little boy whined, his pout growing.

"You know how Mummy feels about it." A moment of silence past as Sherlock brooded and Mycroft pretended to ignore they boy's presence. The moment past as quickly as it came before the little boy was back onto whatever was bothering him.

"But why do I have to do the Easter bunny charade and you don't!" Mycroft placed the book open on his lap, placing his hands on top of it and watched his little brother. Younger siblings, why do they want to grow up at the same speed as the older ones? It doesn't help that the Holmes boys weren't like the other children. Instead of shooing the child away Mycroft decided to give him an answer.

"It's because I'm fourteen, Sherlock." The boy jumped up to sit on his knees, his dirty shoes now also on the clean bed. Mycroft fought the urge to roll his eyes and click his tongue, it would only lead to Sherlock sticking his tongue out at his older brother.

"What has that got to do with anything, Myc?" His lower lip was jutting out now. Mycroft pursed his lips, thinking how best to respond to a seven year old.

"Well you see, Sherlock, the general consensus is that when you become a teenager – at that stage of adolescence you are believed to be treated in some regards as more of an adult and still like a child in others. For example, I don't have to participate in the Easter Bunny farce but I still have to go to Grandmother's for dinner." A shake of the head from Mycroft and a shiver of disdain from both boys. That mean dealing with the cousins. Those stupid children who squawked and screamed and giggled. Sherlock scowled.

"That's stupid." He said, face still scrunched up. Mycroft raised his eyebrows and nodded.

"Well, some people are. Unfortunately, brother mine, you're stuck with it until you're twelve or thirteen." Sherlock jumped of the bed and stomped away.

"Well, it's stupid and I hate it." Mycroft watched his brother leave, a dark storm cloud following in his wake, before his eyes trailed back to his bed. Yup, dirt marks on the duvet cover, fantastic. Even Redbeard didn't leave footprints and marks like this when he jumped up on the bed. Mycroft was going to have to have a talk with Mummy and Father tonight, first of all about Sherlock waltzing into his room and making a mess of everything, secondly about this Easter egg hunt thing.

As expected, when the boys came down stairs in the morning Mycroft's Easter eggs were waiting on the kitchen counter, Sherlock's nowhere to be seen. The little boy sighed loudly as he scanned the kitchen for the first obviously placed egg and yet not finding anything. How strange, there was usually an obvious pattern. If you could find where the first one was placed – usually in the kitchen – it was always easy to find where the others were by following the steps and train of thought.

"Happy Easter, boys!" Mummy beamed, pulling the boys into an unwilling group hug. Mycroft, after managing to squirm out of it, sat down at the kitchen counter and began taking a wrapper off one of the tin foil covered eggs. He scowled as he did so, being the unwilling participant of another parental sign of kindness, having his hair ruffled by his father as if he were Redbeard.

"Yes, thank you Mummy, Father." Mycroft sighed, speaking as politely as he could after being woken up so early and being forced to be around the entire family at an ungodly time. "Happy Easter and all." He handed his father a note.

"Hey Sherlock," Father called. The little boy with the bright blue eyes looked over to his father. "It looks like the Easter Bunny has done things a little differently this year. He's left you a note." Father held out the folded piece of paper out in the direction of his youngest son. Suspiciously Sherlock walked over slowly and took the note. The paper was from one of the notepads Father had brought home from work, you could see that from how the edge was torn off, though whoever had done it was a lot more careful than Mummy or Father were. Sherlock opened the note. That was Myc's handwriting, he hadn't even tried to cover it up. Curious, what could Mycie have done with Mummy and Father that Sherlock had not known about? Since he'd become a teenager Myc was becoming super secretive and super moody. Right, back to the note, Sherlock had years to study Mycroft's behaviour.

I'm afraid it's not going to be as easy as searching in the garden this year, little Holmes. I understand that you like treasure hunts. If you want your eggs you're going to have to solve the clues. Don't worry, I've made this extremely simple for you.

The first mate's favourite food.

Secrets are kept here, from code cyphers, to school secrets. Even the occasional treat.

While Mummy and Mycroft do maths homework, Father would rather take Sherlock to a faraway land.

The crow's nest. Simple.

Contraband and ill-gotten weather shielding devices are kept here.

I believe the saying is "X marks the spot".

From clothes to chemistry sets, all sorts of items get stored here. Whether permanently or briefly depends on the item itself.

Is this too hard for you? Perhaps you'd rather dig around in the rose bushes.

Good luck.

Sherlock's bright blue eyes shot up to look at his brother sitting at the bench. Mycroft, eyebrows raised in faint amusement didn't even look Sherlock's way. Mummy bent down and read the note over Sherlock's shoulder.

"Sherly, looks like the Easter Bunny has set up a treasure hunt for you. He must think you're really special." She said as she rubbed his arm. Mycroft scoffed.

"Special could be a word for it, yes." The elder Holmes son muttered. Father laughed and shook his head.

"Don't talk like that Myc." He said despite the laugh. He looked down at Sherlock, blue eyes to match shining. "How quickly do you think you can do it Sherly? Let's start with an easy one." Sherlock pouted, taking a deep breath as his eyes scanned the list. Reading it over and over again. What was an easy one?

"I don't know." He sighed, face furrowing into a frown. Mycroft scoffed again. Mummy, still bent over, patted her son's arm.

"What about this one, sweetie?" Her voice was light and eager to help.

"X marks the spot?" Sherlock asked, eyes flickering from the paper to his Mummy.

"What does it mark the spot to, Sherly?" Sherlock shrugged.

"A treasure chest." He pouted. Suddenly bright blue eyes light up and the young boy bolted up the stairs, leaving the rest of the family behind in the dust. His toy box was a chest. It was so painfully obvious! He bolted into his room, the door slamming against the wall, and all but leaped into his toy box. Pulling the lid open he was rewarded with a shiny red egg sitting right on top, resting on a teddy bear. Grinning like the boy he was, he ran back into the kitchen, holding it over his head. "Look, look, I was right!" his parents laughed and celebrated with him, Mummy taking it and starting Sherlock's own pile for him on the kitchen counter. Mycroft put down his chocolate wandered upstairs.

"I'm just getting my book." He muttered as he left the kitchen.

"Do you need some more help, Sherlock?" Father asked. Sherlock shook his head as he scanned over the list.

"I've got it." Sherlock's determined little voice came. Mummy and Father shared a knowing smile as Mycroft wandered back into the kitchen and sat down at his previous seat to read his book.

Completely focused, Sherlock decided to continue his luck with the obviously pirate themed searches. The crow's nest had been easy. Sherlock had always used the tree in the back yard as his crow's nest when playing pirates. He'd found the green covered egg sitting in the first split between branches. Of course Mycroft hadn't bothered to climb the tree, he'd just walked outside and placed it at a height he could reach. The first mate's favourite food had been a harder one to work out. Sherlock really had to think over this one. He tried to wrack his brain for what he knew pirates ate. It wasn't really documented in the stories what they ate, he just knew they drunk a lot of rum. Sherlock had started to wonder over to the wine cupboard when he heard Mycroft cough as he passed his older brother at the kitchen counter. That was a no then. A first mate's favourite food. Well, who was Sherlock's first mate? Redbeard. Oh. Sherlock wondered back into the kitchen, walking past Mycroft and over to the kitchen pantry.

"The pantry, brother mine?" Myc's sigh filled stupid teenaged voice was heard over the creak of the door and the turning of a page.

"Redbeard's favourite food. We keep the dog food at the bottom of the pantry… Ahuh!" He held out the silver egg in triumph, sticking his tongue out at the boy twice his age. Mycroft rolled his eyes as he held his hand out to take the silver egg and place it with the rest of Sherlock's growing collection.

Now as far as where the secrets were kept – that one was already so obvious to Sherlock. Mycroft was so moody and so weird it had to do with him. Sherlock had been told it was a teenager thing but he knew part of it had to do with Mycie being Mycie. Sherlock and Myc both watched things carefully but while Sherlock would happily tell people his keep observations Myc liked to store them away for use later. Store them away like secrets. Sherlock snuck into his brother's room, tiptoeing over to the desk. Slowly and carefully he pulled open the second draw to Myc's desk. A gold egg sat there with a note under it. Sherlock picked up the egg with a grin and looked back down to read the note.

This was a one off, do not let yourself into my desk again.

Sherlock scrunched up his nose, shut the draw, and wondered back downstairs to add to the collection.

Sherlock beamed broadly to himself when the answer to number seven suddenly became painfully obvious to him. Why wasn't it the first one he solved? He was too wrapped up in the mystery of it all to see clearly. How could he be so blind? Clothes and chemistry sets! Mummy's closet where she and father stash the birthday and Christmas presents. Of course! He'd ripped the closet open as hard as he'd opened his own door earlier to see a pink Easter egg in the exact place he'd seen a chemistry set sitting a week before his seventh birthday. Number seven where he'd seen his seventh birthday present, how very clever of you, Mycroft.

While Mummy and Mycroft do maths homework, Father would rather take Sherlock to a faraway land.

Sherlock lied on the floor, face in his hands, staring at the note with two clues not crossed out. This was a hard one. Sherlock knew Mummy often gave Myc harder maths work to do, just as Father often gave him difficult books to read. But what did Sherlock do during this time? Sherlock had to do maths stuff and the reading stuff too, his just took less time because he wasn't as advanced yet. What did he do, or used to do, when Mummy and Myc were working on harder maths stuff? He huffed, staring at the notes. A faraway land, was that supposed to be the real big hint? What had faraway lands have to do with the extra work from Mummy? If Mummy was working with Mycroft, when Sherlock was younger that meant Father would be looking after him. That much Sherlock could deduce. A faraway land. What did that mean? Father wouldn't take Sherlock anywhere, particularly some place far away. They'd just read. Ah yes. Sherlock ran into the lounge room where Father and Mummy's favourite books were kept in the bookshelf in there. Standing on the arm of the couch Sherlock got up to the higher shelf to reach Treasure Island. Sure enough, sitting on top of the book was a blue egg. Success. Sherlock proudly wandered into the kitchen.

"Faraway land because books take you on imaginary adventures. That's not so clever." He said as he held out the egg to Mycroft. The older boy rolled his eyes and took the egg without looking down to his brother.

"One more, brother mine."

Contraband and ill-gotten weather shielding devices are kept here.

What? What was Mycroft, or "the Easter bunny", even trying to say here? Contraband and ill-gotten weather shielding devices? Oh now he was trying to show off. Stupid Myc, thinks he's so smart. Taking a deep breath Sherlock slowed down and tried to take the clue one word at a time.

Okay. So, contraband, Mummy had said that was items that were against the law. Ill-gotten meant gotten in a bad way, so like stolen or borrowed and never given back. Okay, so far so good. Weather shielding devices. So what? Like an umbrella? So a borrowed umbrella. Hang on. What happened to that umbrella Sherlock had borrowed from that old couple at the park when Mycroft had broken his leg? Myc had asked Father to get rid of it. Sherlock had come inside with Father while Mummy fussed over Mycroft when they got home from the hospital. Father had picked up the umbrella and put it in the garden shed. YES!

"I did it!" Sherlock came running into the kitchen where the three other members of the family currently sat, warm drinks in their hands, holding the final pink egg above his head. "I solved all the clues to the treasure hunt! I win! Yes!" He jumped up and down. Mummy laughed as she got up, scooped Sherlock up in a hug. As she held onto him she took the egg from him and placed it in his collection.

"Will you look at that, Sherly? You found all the eggs. I'm so proud of you!" She gave Sherlock a kiss on the forehead, the boy grimaced but couldn't stop his giggle.

"Did you have fun today, Sherlock?" Father asked, a gentle and very natural smile on his face. Sherlock, after being placed down by his mother, nodded eagerly and proudly.

"I did, Father. I won." He was grinning from ear to ear. Father laughed.

"That's great, son. I think you owe the Easter bunny a big thank you for making Easter more fun for you." Sherlock, admitting to give credit where credit was due, looked up at his big brother with big smile.

"Thank you, Mycroft." He said. Mycroft sighed and eyed his brother over his book.

"You're welcome, Sherlock." A turn of the page. "It certainly kept you from bugging me for a while."

Author's Note: So what do you think of my little Easter gift? I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews do make me extremely happy and encourage me to write more stories like this and I do respond to every one of them. Hope you have a lovely Easter and if you don't celebrate it than you have a fantastic long weekend. Thanks for reading!