The Consulting Detective and his Little Brother (For Bobby)
 

Sherlock had always been an unruly child, Mycroft thought to himself, hearing his brother dash into the library, undoubtedly looking for him. He was always 'investigating' something, often forgetting that it was his older brother who was the detective, not himself. Sherlock had always been the light of Mycroft's life and it was a year past that he had become the only light in his life. His parents had been killed in an uprising in India, leaving Mycroft as Sherlock's only guardian.

The news had broken them both; Sherlock had descended into even worse behaviour than was usual and Mycroft had found that the only way to stop them was to take him over his knee. It wasn't a pleasant job and it had never been his responsibility before now. But, as the months went by, Sherlock's behaviour had improved, though there were times he still needed some brotherly discipline. His reverie was broken as his brother practically charged at him.

"Sherlock!"

Mycroft sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and raise his eyebrows at his little brother, "First, Sherlock, we do not run about the house like a pack of elephants, nor do we slam doors. Try to act civilised, little brother.. And you will not be getting my pipe for a very long time I dare say," he folded up the times and placed it on his desk, "Now, what is happening at number 26A?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, "Sherlock, why on earth would that mean foul play? I know Miss and Miss Hollander keep to themselves but we do not know if they have any acquaintances. Never theorise until have you have all the data, little brother," Mycroft took out his pocket watch, "it is a mere twenty minutes until tea time Sherlock. And what have I told you about eating sweets before tea time?" He asked, looking down sternly at his little brother.

Mycroft leaned back in his chair, his face hiding his curiosity, "Really? And how did you find this out? You couldn't have possibly gone to Whitby to collect the sample yourself," but then Mycroft remembered that he owned mud samples from all over London. His face darkened, "Have you been in my laboratory, Sherlock?"

Mycroft sighed. His brother knew that he should never, under any circumstances, go into his laboratory. Mycroft shuddered to think of what would happen should Sherlock be involved in an accident with acid or his Bunsen burner.

"Sherlock Holmes," he gritted out, "your safety is paramount to any and all investigations you may conduct, do you understand that? There are dangerous chemicals in there that could kill you, Sherlock!" He sighed, "Come here, little brother."

Mycroft looked at Sherlock and sighed. He didn't want to do this, really he didn't. He loved the little boy dearly, but that was why he had to. He would much rather hurt him over he lap then have him hurt in his lab.

"Sherlock," he said in a measured voice, "take off your trousers."

"Well, isn't it fortunate then that you won't have to be standing long then?" Mycroft asked in a voice that brooked no argument, "trousers. Now."

Mycroft patted his lap, "Climb on," he said, not unkindly.

Mycroft lifted the boy and placed him over his lap. He had never had to spank his brother before, and he couldn't help feeling slightly nervous. But he would feel ten times worse if his only remaining family member wound up dead because he didn't take appropriate action.

"Sherlock," he said, his voice steady, "please tell me why I'm going to spank you."

Mycroft let out a deep breath, trying to maintain self control. "As this is your first trip over my knee I thought I would do you the favour of allowing you to keep your undergarments on. But that swearword just lost you that privilege."

Swiftly, Mycroft pulled down Sherlock's underwear and gave a swift smack to his rear.