Emily J Holmes

Child prodigies

When I was born, Mycroft and Sherlock were 9 and 4.
I can't really recall anything from back then but I have one lasting memory.
I was three years old. A mere babbling toddler. My mother, who at the time was quite young for a mother of three, had organized for all three of us, Holmes children, to attend a play group at the local kindergarten. Mycroft, who was twelve, was utterly infuriated that he had to attend the group, saying that it was a waste of time and intelligence. Sherlock, a scrawny seven year old with dark chocolate curls had slammed his bedroom door in Mum's face when she told him about the group. To which she said, "what a drama queen!"
The fifteenth of December crept up on the family and suddenly it was the morning of the play group. Everyone was stressed. Mother was desperately trying to drag Sherlock down from his room. Mycroft was stabbing the end of his navy blue umbrella into the wooden floor, leaving jagged dents. And I was wailing loudly from my pram. All of a sudden, it was all too much. My mother screamed in a voice so much louder and higher than I had ever heard, bellowed- "Sherlock! Mycroft! Get yourself down these stairs before I make you!"
I remember stopping my crying immediately, shocked at the completely different tone my mother was using. Sherlocks mouth went into a wide o and he stumbled down the stairs, two at a time. Mycroft stopped stabbing his umbrella into the ground and followed Sherlock, hastily, down the stairs. Needless to say, the walk down the road to the kindergarten was brisk and silent.
The real trouble began when we got inside the building. I'm sure my mother thought she'd tamed the boys, made them smitten. She couldn't have been more wrong.
I vividly remember the look on Mycroft's face when we entered. His eyes scanned the vast room filled with tons of hyper, excited children. He looked at Mother with puppy dog eyes as if to say "please please please take me home"
When Mum didn't notice his face, he reverted to verbal puppy dog eyes. He swallowed before putting on a sugar coated accent and whispered- "please"
I saw a flicker of empathy in my mother's eyes. Then they flickered back to normal and she said- " Mycroft Holmes, be nice"
I can't exactly remember the rest but let's just say there was an awful lot of screaming, sobbing and setting stuff on fire.

We didn't return to that kindergarten.