Coping

Chapter 3

Alone in his bedroom, Sherlock stood at his desk. He brushed his fingers over his microscope, knowing that he'd never be able to use it again. Redbeard stood firmly by his side, ready for anything. Sherlock, with his hands held out in front of him, made his way over to a bookcase and pulled out a familiar volume. He had read The Mysterious Benedict Society countless times when he was younger. The book that it was was obvious; It had the plastic covering on it from the library. This was the only book he had ever checked out from the small library near their Ireland home. He had never returned it - not because he forgot, or because he felt the need to thieve at such a young age, but because Mycroft had told him every day since he had checked it out that he needed to return it as soon as he finished it. So he read the book again. And again. And again. And then when it was time to go home, he placed it on the shelf with the rest of his books, feeling good about outsmarting Mycroft.

A quiet huff came from behind him. Sherlock whipped around and reached out his hand to feel the familiar short hair and long nose. "You should return that," voiced Mycroft.

"And you should f-"

"Language, Sherlock, language. Auntie Carol and Uncle Jeff are coming over to see you." Sherlock flopped onto his bed.

"Ugh," he groaned. "Why do they want to see me?"

"I don't know. Something to do with your current condition." Mycroft sat down on the bed. Redbeard hopped up as well. "They'll be here in two hours. We could go somewhere, if you like." Sherlock stayed on his back, his eyes facing the ceiling.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" He asked.

"Mummy bribed me," said Mycroft.

"Mycroft. Why are you being nice to me?" Sherlock asked again.

"I don't know."

"Hm. Well I don't want to go anywhere."

"Actually, brother mine, it's not a choice. Mummy told me to take you and leave. She needs the house empty." Mycroft stood up.

"Why?" Snapped Sherlock.

"I don't know."

"Fine. Let's go to the park. I want you to do something for me," Sherlock said, standing up and shrugging on his lightweight jacket. He picked up his book and took hold of Redbeard's leash.

"What is it?" Asked Mycroft, but Sherlock was already making his way out of the house.

---

The brothers sat down at a bench in the park, and Sherlock handed Mycroft The Mysterious Benedict Society. Mycroft looked at it for a moment before speaking. "What do you want me to do with it?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I want you to read it to me."

"I... Really?"

"Yes."

Mycroft sighed. "Fine. Okay. I'll read." Sherlock smirked as Mycroft began the first chapter.

They were nearly one hundred pages into the book when Mycroft stopped suddenly. "What?" Sherlock asked harshly. "What is it? Why did you stop?"

Mycroft looked at his watch and jumped up. "We have to go," he said quickly.

"What? Why? We just got here," said Sherlock, not moving.

"No, we sat down an hour and a half ago. Get up, we're leaving."

"But-"

"Sherlock, we don't have time to argue. Come," Mycroft said sternly. Sherlock hated it when his brother treated him like this, but he stood up nonetheless.