A microstory I wrote two winters hence. And a photo to go with. Enjoy, my chosen family of Sherlockians.
~ Mycroft’s Snow Angel ~
The first snow of November came to Newbury in generous proportions. A blanket of fresh white covered everything in sight, piling up several feet in depth and silencing the world beneath into perfect stillness. School would be canceled today, Mycroft knew.
His mind went to Sherlock, as it always did now days. This would be the boys first conscious experience of snow. Last winter Sherlock had been far too young to be outside for even a second in the cold winter air. He was ten months now. Perhaps mummy would allow it this time.
Mycroft came away from the crystallized window, and hurried to dress in his warmest clothes. He entered the nursery and found the nanny there, feeding Sherlock. Mycroft fed him on weekends but on weekdays there was no time for him to do so with school obligations. The nanny was a replacement after the wet nurse, and with that came mashed food for Sherlock instead of milk.
Mycroft decided he approved of the wet nurse more than this nanny. She acted like she knew everything that was good for Sherlock. She didn’t.
“I won’t be going to school today.” Mycroft informed the nanny.”
Sherlock squealed in delight when he heard his big brother. “My!” One of his first and few attempts at vocabulary.
The warmest feeling filled Mycroft. “May I take over, please?”
The nanny got up from her chair, and placed Sherlock in his brothers arms. “He is almost finished eating. But you will have to check with your mother if your planning on taking him outside in this.” She gestured disdainfully to the window.
Mycroft raised a judgmental eye brow as she left the room. Who on earth didn’t appreciate a good snow? His attention turned back to the little bundle in his arms. Sherlock had been growing so much since January. He bounced him sweetly and kissed his face.
“Mummy will let us. Just wait and see.” Mycroft walked to the chair and sat Sherlock down. “Let’s get this food in you first.”
Mycroft caught the smell of mashed carrots and peas. He gave a face, and then extended an arm for Sherlock to eat.
Sherlock had been watching as he always did, and didn’t open his mouth.
Mycroft tilted his head. “What? You don’t want it?”
Sherlock only cooed.
“Here.” Mycroft placed the spoon against the babies mouth. “Eat it, so we can go play in the snow together.”
Remarkably, Sherlock gave the same face that he just saw Mycroft make.
Mycroft gasped. Sherlock was imitating him. “Sherlock please eat?” He asked sweetly.
With an inward groan, Mycroft put the spoon in his own mouth. It was quite intolerable, but he smiled anyway, faking enthusiasm. Just pretend it’s blackberry cobbler, he thought.
“Mm, yummy!” He said when he was done, and scooped up more. “Your turn.”
Sherlock opened his mouth.
With a relieved sigh, Mycroft fed him. Sherlock had no problem eating after Mycroft set the example, and he was sure not to make any more dissatisfied looks while feeding him.
“All gone.” Mycroft showed the toddler the empty bowl. He took the bib off him and used it to wipe carefully at Sherlock’s mouth.
“Ah gone.” Sherlock repeated his brother.
Mycroft picked him up and went to the changing table. He had to use a foot stool to be able to reach the top, and laid Sherlock across it. Sherlock kept looking at the window curiously, Mycroft noted. The baby could see the difference in how bright it was outside as opposed to other days.
“There is snow outside, little brother. That’s why it’s so bright.”
“No.” Sherlock repeated, to interested in the strange brightness to care that Mycroft was changing his nappy. Sometimes he pitched fits.
“Snow.” Mycroft repeated, and made a pronunciation on the ‘Sn’ sound.
“No.” Was all Sherlock could say, and Mycroft gave up for the time being.
Mycroft secured the fresh nappy and patted his bum. “Very good. Come on.” He picked him up and carefully stepped down from the step. “Let’s get you dressed.” He adorned Sherlock in the warmest clothes he had, taking every precaution to make sure the little one didn’t get too cold outside.
When he was finished, Mycroft took Sherlock along on his hip, and went downstairs for his own quick breakfast of eggs and toast.
Sherlock lay on his tummy on a soft rug and baby blanket. His observant eyes found interest in everything he looked at. He babbled to himself as he played with the toys that mummy laid out for him.
“Mummy said your only aloud out for twenty minutes.” Mycroft said when it was time to go play. He put his coat, scarf and gloves on, and did the same for Sherlock.
Mummy was watching from the window as Mycroft took Sherlock out onto the terrace, being mindful of any slick spots.
He refused to fall while caring his brother.
“This is snow.” Mycroft scoped a gloved hand full of white powder from the terrace ledge, and presented it to the baby in his arms.
Sherlock’s eyes were alive with child like wonder. He scanned the white, squinting at the brightness of it. He placed a hand in his brothers, in the snow.
“Snow.” Sherlock said, cheeks rosy.
Mycroft gasped in wonder. “Yes! Well done Sherlock.” He kissed his little head.
Sherlock face planted into Mycroft’s palm. He wanted to eat the snow now that he discovered it.
Mycroft wiped off his hand and secured Sherlock against his side before walking down the steps, holing the rail with the opposite hand. “You are such a smart little boy.” Mycroft told him. Sherlock’s curls bounced as they stepped down to the snowy ground. “Not as smart as I am. But still smarter than everyone else.” Mycroft trudged through a few feet of snow, creating a long path.
Sherlock watched in awe, looking at everything.
Snow covered the branches that stretched out from the tall trees. It dissolved the gravel paths once there, and hid the flower beds completely. Even the roof above was stacked with a foot of snow. Hazy clouds circled elegantly in the white blue sky, creating spirals like stretched cotton.
Mycroft sat down at the edge of the path and let the baby sit in his lap. The snow walls Mycroft built came up on either side of Sherlock, nearly as tall as he was.
Sherlock babbled in delight, curls swishing from side to side, not sure which wall of snow to dive into first first. He reach for one and might have fallen from Mycroft’s lap if he wasn’t holding him.
“Snow.” Sherlock repeated.
Mycroft couldn’t keep the pride from his face. Most babies didn’t start talking until a year. Sherlock had a head start by forming small words. The baby was truly remarkable.
“One day, we’ll be able to have a snow ball fight, or build a snow man.” He promised Sherlock.
“My My My.” Sherlock babbled, and tried to wiggle free of his brothers arms, prying at his bigger hands with his tiny ones.
“You’ll get cold.” Mycroft warned. When Sherlock persisted to struggle he let him go.
Sherlock crawled onto the paved snow path, delighted at his escape. “Snow!” He squealed.
Mycroft watched him, rather amused.
Sherlock huffed a cry of delight and laid down, rolling onto his back. There was snow in his hair now, and if not for his gloves he would be crying from the cold. “My.” Sherlock seemed to relax, staring at something that interested him.
Mycroft looked up at the clouds that had caught Sherlock’s attention. “Yes, the sky is very fascinating isn’t it?”
Sherlock grew bored, and began moving his arms mindlessly, watching as snow trickled and sparkled all around him.
Mycroft breathed out a puff of smoke. Sherlock’s blue eyes glimmered in the light above. This baby was truly his greatest gift. He had been such a lonely little boy before Sherlock.
“Mycroft!” Violet Holmes yelled from the window. “It’s time to come in now, darling. We don’t want him to get too cold.”
Sherlock glanced up from where he lay, trying to see his mummy without sitting up. All he could see was snow. “Mummy.”
“Yes, mummy!” Mycroft yelled back. He looked down at the baby.
Sherlock’s eyes found Mycroft, wondering what they were going to do next.
“Time to go inside. I’ll make us something yummy to drink.” Mycroft tickled his brothers tummy.
Sherlock giggled, and put his arms up for Mycroft to take him in his arms. “Luh.”
Mycroft picked up his brother and gave him a kiss against his cold, rosy nose. “I love you too. My little snow angel.”
The End