"My?"

"My?"

"My?"

Mycroft sighed, rolling over in his bed to face the wall, trying to block out his younger brother's calls. Being in year 7 was very stressful, and he needed as much sleep as possible.

However, sleep was next to /impossible/ when your brother was-

"My, I want to thow you something. Look ath me, look ath me!"

Mycroft groaned and sat up in bed.

"Sherlock, you do know it's six O'clock in the bloody morning." He said, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. His four-year-old brother was standing on his tip-toes, head resting on his hands, which were propped up on the edge Mycroft's bedframe. His bright silver eyes were darting around, observing, taking everything in, as usual. Well, one of them was.

"What...watcha got on your eye?" Mycroft said, still groggy. Sherlock scoffed, adjusting the black piece of felt lacquered across his face by duck tape.

"It'th an eye pacth. I'm a pirate, obviously" He replied matter of factly, his lisp mangling his words to an almost ridiculous extent. Mycroft nodded blearily, too out of it to tease his brother.

"That's wonderful Sherlock. Now go away, I need to sleep."

Sherlock climbed over the bedframe and onto the end of Mycroft's bed.

"You slepth for nine hourths lasth nighth. You don'th need anymore."

Mycroft's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"...How do you know that?"

Sherlock shrugged, absentmindedly examining his tiny plastic sword he had tucked into his pajama pants.

"I dunno. I watchthed you go to bed. thath wasth Nine hourth ago." Without warning he swung the sword out in front of him, nearly stabbing Mycroft in the throat. He quickly snatched it away.

"Jesus, Sherlock, you're going to hurt someone with that."

Sherlock's eyes lit up.

"Yeah! Liketh Captain Hook!" He made a grab for the sword. Mycroft held it above his head, out of his reach. Sherlock pouted, jumping up and down on his brother's bed.

"Give it bacth!"

Mycroft smirked, waving it still higher as Sherlock danced and jumped for it.

"C'mon My, give it bacth!"

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"No."

"Pleath? Pleath?" Sherlock fell to his tiny knees, his dark hair flopping in his eyes. Mycroft shook his head, pulling the sword to his chest and lying back down.

"Piss off."

There was a pause. Then Sherlock climbed across the bed and sat on his brother's chest. Mycroft's eyes flew open as he gasped for air.

"Get...off me... you...psycho..." He squeaked. Sherlock kept reaching for his sword.

"Play with me or I'll thell Mummy how you keepth sthealing her money to buy that magithine with the girlths on it!"

Mycroft froze. Slowly, he lifted his brother off his torso and placed him in the floor next to his bed. He gave a nervous look, not unlike the face of someone who has witnessed a terrible trainwreck.

"Seriously, how the hell do you know about those?"

Sherlock was still trying to grab his sword.

"I can hear the money jingling in your pockeths, and I thee the magthines under your mattress. Thee?" He looked back at his brother, gesturing vaguely at the edge of a Playboy peeking out from under the bed. "When you have magithines, you don'th have money. Tho that meanth you're usthing the money buying them." He rattled off. He cocked his head to the side, looking mildly curious. "Why do you even wanth them?"

Mycroft turned bright red. Sherlock snatched the forgotten sword from Mycroft's sheets and started swinging it wildly again.

"Play with me My!" He whined again.

Mycroftweighed his options. He knew his mother would kill him if she found out about the ten...or eleven or fifteen magazines under his bed. Then again, did he really want to get up? It was 6:15 for God's sake. The old people were still in bed. He glanced at Sherlock, who was still looking up at him, his eye covered in duct tape and his green pajama bottoms too big, flopping on the floor past his feet. He looked so pathetic and innocent, Mycroft almost felt bad for him.

Then again, he was probably the only preschooler in history to blackmail someone.

Mycroft let out a sigh of defeat and got out of bed.

"OK, ten minutes, OK? We can be pirates for ten minutes."

Sherlock broke into a wide smile, running and hugging his brother around the leg.

"You're the besth brother ever." He said happily. Mycroft felt an unexpected surge of happiness at his words. He shook it off. He was in middle school, after all. Everything was lame. And ridiculous. Lame and ridiculous and not at all sweet.

"OK, you take the sword and we can chase down the alligators..."