The Luckiest

Birthday

Rosie, five
Daisy, four
Grace, two

"Uncle Mycroft!" Daisy exclaims happily.

"Oft!" Grace is already reaching for him from her perch in Sherlock's arms.

"Children," Mycroft says, smiling. He pats their heads and looks genuinely pleased to greet them. "Happy birthday, Daisy darling. Enjoying your day?"

"No." Daisy says, ever blunt for a three year old.

Slipping into defensive uncle mode, Mycroft scowls, ready to solve any and all problems his young niece may be facing. "Whyever not?"

"Gracie broke my torch," she frowns, her eyes flickering to her offending sister, who is quite happy alternating between making grabby motions at her uncle and using her father as a personal climbing frame. "I only got it today."

"Well that certainly wasn't very kind of her," Mycroft says. "But I am sure it was an accident. She is still young. What happened?"

"She bit it."

Mycroft glances towards his brother with a raised eyebrow. "Bit it, did you say?"

Daisy looks plaintively up at him, her lip wavering. Brilliant play, Sherlock thinks. "I only wanted to see her uvula. Just a bit."

"She's only little," Alice tells her eldest daughter, entering the front room from the kitchen, a plate of biscuits in one hand and a tumbler of whisky in the other. "And you shouldn't have been trying to see inside her mouth. We'll buy a replacement."

Sherlock pinches a gingernut from the plate as she sets it on the coffee table. His eyes widening as she hands off his glass of whisky to his brother. "Oi!" he grouses with a mouthful. "Thought that was for me?"

"If I'm not drinking, you're not drinking. I need all hands on deck once everyone gets here."

"Hardly fair. You can't drink."

"Don't test me, Sherlock Holmes. You're the reason I'm in this state."

"This was a planned pregnancy," he scowls. "Therefore it was a joint effort, you were just as involved."

Mycroft cringes, swigging back the alcohol a bit too quickly. "Cease this conversation immediately."

"Not happy," Daisy throws herself into the armchair. "Stupid baby."

Alice and Sherlock share a concerned glance. "Daisy doo," Sherlock starts, hesitant. "Gracie didn't mean to break your torch. Mummy's right, you shouldn't have tried to get in her mouth–"

"Not that baby," she huffs. "The other baby. In Mummy's tummy."

Sherlock blinks, surprised. This is a more than unexpected development. Daisy has been thrilled throughout the pregnancy so far, talking to her mother's stomach, reading stories to the life growing inside. The last thing he imagined was for her to become frustrated at the idea. "You are unhappy about having a new sibling?"

"Rosie doesn't have any siblings," Daisy says quietly, fiddling her little fingers in her lap. "She gets her Mummy and Daddy all to herself. And now I've got two."

Mycroft holds his hand up subtly to Sherlock, indicating in his way that he'll deal with it, squatting down in front of his niece, leaning his umbrella against the chair arm. "Daisy, let me tell you something," he pats her hand. "When I found out Granny was giving me a sibling, I didn't like the idea either."

She looks at him curiously. "You didn't?"

"No, I did not. I was much older than you, though, so I had even longer with my parents before I had to share, which made it even more daunting. But do you know what I did?"