Son of Holmes

A Meal With Mycroft

Slade was surprised at how nice the kitchen was (not that anything in his uncle's house wasn't nice). There were granite counters and white pristine cupboards and walls. The fridge and dishwasher were all made of metal, and tiles coated the floor.

"Is there anything specific you wish to eat?"

Slade looked up at Mycroft with wide eyes. He was alowed to choose? That never happened before. He'd swear that his life was now perfect, if he knew what the expression meant. "Um. No, you c'n choose."

"Okay. How does pasta sound?"

"Good!" Slade smiled. It was infectious.

Uncle Mycroft reached up and took a metal pot out from one of the higher cupboards. He filled it with water and placed it on the cooker and turned the heat up half way. He took out a smaller sauce pan and placed it on the cooker with the heat off. He then went to a closet in the corner of the room and took out a fold out chair, placing it near the stove, Mycroft gestured Slade towards it. As Slade scrambled up Mycroft opened the fridge and took out some red sauce and dried spaghetti noodles from a cupboard.

"Do you want to add the sauce to the pan?"

Slade nodded, "Yes, please."

Mycroft gave a half smile and opened the small jar for him. "Only put in half of the jar. Understand?"

"Yes!" Slade eagerly grabbed the sauce, and slowly poured it out into the sauce pan. "I've never had pasghetti before."

"Really?" Mycroft gave a breath of laughter at the pronunciation mistake, he couldn't say he was surprised though. There were likely many foods he hadn't tried yet.

"Nope. It looks yummy though." Slade placed the jar on the counter and licked a finger that had some of the sauce spilt on it. He smiled and nodded.

While Mycroft turned on the heat for the cooker under the sauce pan, he noticed that the water in the pot had begun boiling and he turned it off. "When you add the pasta you want to only grab a handful of the noodles and hold them like so." Slade took a small handful of the pasta noodles and copied what his uncle was doing.

"Next you slowly break the lot in half by bending it above the pot and placing them spread out so they don't stick together." Mycroft did it in clear view of his nephew and gave an example. "Your turn." He moved out of the way.

Slade put on a concentrated face and slowly broke the noodles. "Can't we jus' put them in whole?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "We can, but they'd be too long for you to safely eat. This seemed to be the easiest solution."

"Oh. Okay." Slade got another small handfull of the pasta and broke it over the pot. When they were half way through the bag Mycroft sealed it and placed it back in the cupboard while Slade put the sause back to where he saw Mycroft take it out.

"It'll be done in roughly ten minutes." Mycroft began to walk out of the kitchen.

"Okay." Slade raced after him and into the sitting room.

Mycroft sat on the piano bench and motioned for Slade to sit next to him. "Do you think you could sit next to me?"

Slade looked very nervous but slowly nodded his head. He climbed up onto the seat, but there was about half a metre in between them, as they were both on opposite ends of the bench.

"I won't ever touch you, but you are always alowed to if you feel like it. Okay?" Mycroft looked down at him anxiously.

Slade was silent for a moment, thinking about it in his head. Finaly, "Okay."

Mycroft smiled at him, and Slade returned it. This is good progress. "Now, do you want me to teach you a little bit about the piano while we wait for dinner?"

The boy sat up straighter. "Yes, please!"

They carried on for a few minutes, Mycroft telling him the names of the notes and the sharp/flat keys. Slade was able to tell him the names of each key after told which one was which, and Mycroft stored it in a room of his Mind Fortress. The eldest Holmes realized that the ten minute mark had reached them and remarked about it to Slade. The two set the table in the dining room and placed the pasta and sauce in bowls at the centre of the table.

After the two sat down (Mycroft at the head of the table, Slade to his right) they dug in. Slade found that he liked pasta and said so to Mycroft. "That's just as well- it's good to know the kinds of food you like, Sherlock would know what to buy when he gets food for the both of you."

They ate in silence for another minute or two, before Mycroft pressed on. "What do you think of him? Your new... father...?" He was never going to get used to this, was he?

Slade finished chewing his bite (Aunt Petunia always told him to be polite no matter what). "He's really nice t' me. He asks me questi'ns 'nd likes it when I answer. He never gets cross 'nd answers when I ask him questi'ns. No 'ne's done tha' before."

Mycroft nodded, taking the new information. Sherlock was never willingly kind or considerate. Not since...

Now that he thought about it, it made sense that he was so compationate towards Slade. I'm glad that Sherlock found him when he did. Who knows where Slade'd be right now if the Detective Inspector hadn't called him.

He was drawn out of his stupor when he heard Slade place his silverware on his plate, indicating that he was done eating. Mycroft stood up and picked up both his and the boy's plates as well as the empty bowls. He led the both of them to the sink, where Mycroft rinsed off the dishes while Slade place them in the dishwasher to his uncle's instruction. By the time they were finished, Slade was struggling not to yawn.

Mycroft smiled with amusement, the boy never ceased to amaze him. "Alright. Time for bed."

Slade tried to respond, but whatever he was going to say was drowned out by the yawn he had been holding in, so he simply nodded instead. Mycroft led him to his room where Slade searched through his drawers for pajamas. He quickly changed and got into his large bed. It was even more comfortable than he had imagined.

"Goodnight, Slade." Mycroft stood in the doorway with his hand on the lightswitch.

"G'night, Uncle Myc'oft." Slade said sleepily. Mycroft smiled as he turned off the light, leaving the door only slightly open.

Mycroft sighed. It had been a long day, and he still wouldn't be done for a few more hours. He walked across the sitting room and into his office. There was work to be done.