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31 July 2013 @ 10:30 pm
FIC: Growing Pains  
Title: Growing Pains
Author: joonscribble
Fandom: Skyfall & Sherlock (BBC)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Nothing really.
Disclaimer: I don't own a single person who appears or is even mentioned in this.
Summary: Sherlock mostly hated his little brother. Mostly.
Author's Note: This story is dedicated to awanderingbard who is the Supreme Master of stories involving kids. She is also my Naming Guru. I wrote this pretty quickly in celebration of me being done at my clinic until September. It isn't made explicit who the third Holmes brother is but if you note what fandom I've crossed Sherlock with, you can pretty much deduce who it is.


London – 1986

There was never any real fuss in the Holmes household when it came to birthdays. In general fanfare was saved for actual achievements and the idea that one managed to survive yet another year of being alive didn’t seem much of a challenge to any Holmes, including the children. However, tradition warranted the dispensing of gifts, which the parents did with a loving, if brief, “Happy birthday, dear.”

Sherlock had gone through the tradition 11 times now (though he didn’t really remember the first two times) and largely found it an opportunity to hone his skill in figuring out what his present would be before opening the boxes. The ones from his parents often went undisguised and were therefore simple with the exception of his 9th birthday present that his mother had been extremely clever about. His older brother, Mycroft had grown less and less game about these types of things and largely refused to provide a challenge which Sherlock found annoying. His younger brother, Oriabiaus seemed more intent on giving Sherlock something he’d actually want and would thus ask him what he would like every year, leaving no challenge whatsoever. Something Sherlock found the most annoying.

But while a receiver of gifts, Sherlock rarely felt the need to put much thought into giving them. Or at least putting much thought into selecting them. His parents didn’t really believe in getting presents for their birthdays which only left Mycroft and Oriabiaus. Ever since Mycroft had turned 14, Sherlock always bestowed him with a box of truffles every year, much to Mycroft’s conflicted chagrin. And Oriabiaus was simple as Sherlock never gave him anything.

If Sherlock had been the dramatic type, he would have described January 26th, 1980 as Black Saturday. He’d spent 5 very content years (though again he didn’t really remember the first two) as the youngest in his family, having to only deal with whatever machinations Mycroft, 9 years his senior, felt the need to inflict. But then arrived a new addition that caused his parents to make odd noises and who made Mycroft even more insufferable, having graduated himself from ‘older’ to ‘oldest’ like that meant something.

Granted as the years went on, Oriabiaus had proven himself to be useful in various ways, mostly as a very willing test subject for Sherlock. But every year when January 26th rolled around, Sherlock refused to commemorate the day with any sort of present or special treatment. This seemed fine to Oriabiaus who continued to insist that Sherlock was his Favorite Person, despite the latter’s best efforts.

“Can I play treasure hunt with you, Sherlock? Please?”

“No, you’re too young.”

“But I wasn’t too young last week.”

“The rules have changed, Ouroboros.”

“Okay. Can I play chess with you?”

“No, I’m busy.”

“I can help. I can hold the copper wires.”

“...Fine.”

And so it went.

This year, the year Oriabiaus turned 6, his parents gifted him with a present to end all presents. At least in Oriabiaus’ young eyes. Their father would be upgrading his personal computer and thus gave over his Atari ST. Oriabiaus had nearly dropped the books Mycroft had sent him from university out of shock when the device had been unveiled with the same casual “Happy Birthday, dear” as 5 years previous.

Sherlock, who had deduced two hours ago what was underneath the sheet only glowered and played 'Danse Macabre' on his violin as violently as possible.

**

“Do you think I’ll like primary school, Sherlock?”

“No. The other boys will be stupid and will steal your money and hit you.”

That had largely been Sherlock’s experience before he’d stolen Mycroft’s chemistry set to exact some memorable revenge.

Oriabiaus was a Holmes which meant he had a natural superior intelligence above most in his age group as well as a name that was prone to mocking. Sherlock knew he didn’t stand a chance. So when he accompanied his mother who picked him up first before going to Oriabiaus’ school, he wasn’t exactly surprised when he saw his brother with his clothes dirtied and partly torn, his glasses a lost cause. But he was surprised at his own reaction to it.

Normally Sherlock loved being right, even when it came to the small matters (“You’re right, Sherlock. It didn’t rain today.” “Ha!”). But seeing Oriabiaus looking unusually tiny next to a teacher holding the ice pack to his cheek, Sherlock didn’t feel his usual spark of glee at being proven correct. Instead his chest felt weirdly heavy like his heart had taken on an extra half stone.

When they got home Sherlock decided to go with his usual routine to break up the odd feeling and went to his room. He decided to try and finish his experiment on the new after shave his father had taken to wearing these days, completely out of character. He was about fifteen minutes in when he noticed his brother wasn’t pestering him as per his usual routine. After five more minutes without any knocking at his door and that feeling in his chest no lighter, Sherlock went across the hall.

Oriabiaus was sitting at his desk in front of the Atari, quietly typing away. On his left was a mug of cinnamon sprinkled warm milk which was the usual comfort drink their mother would make for them. Sherlock remembered drinking several of those in the late afternoon when he had started attending primary school. By the time Sherlock reached his side and grabbed an arm, Oriabiaus stopped his typing and silently gave way to his brother’s examination.

While he’d been cleaned up as soon as he’d gotten home, Sherlock could still see the angry bruise on his cheek and the scratches left over on his arms. It was by comparison pretty tame when one considered that Oriabiaus’ life had been endangered on a few occasions thanks to one of Sherlock’s experiments. But there was something Not Good about this. From the bruises and scratches as well as a glance at the halfway torn bag that sat on the floor, Sherlock could recreate rather clearly how the fight had gone down. There had to have been at least three boys, bigger than his brother though that was hardly a challenge. One had definitely had blond hair. One had the initials HG. The heavy feeling in Sherlock’s chest expanded but in doing so became more recognizable as anger.

“You were right,” Oriabiaus said, softly. When Sherlock looked up from the bruises on his brother’s wrist to his face, he could see the morose expression and the still lingering aftermath of tears from earlier. The anger gave way to fury. “They did hit me.”

“And they’re stupid. Don’t forget stupid,” Sherlock snapped. He let go of his brother’s wrist. “The same thing happened to me. I made a drink that made their hair go white. I can show you.”

Oriabiaus stared at him, his eyes wide. “Really?”

As Sherlock rarely offered anything by choice, his proposal surprised even himself. He wasn’t sure he liked all these recent surprises. But it made his chest feel less heavy anyway. “Think of it as a late birthday present.”

“But you never give me birthday presents.”

Sherlock crossed his arms. “Well, bon anniversaire, Aurora Borealis,” he said impatiently.

Oriabiaus beamed. While the smile was a little lopsided due to the swelling under his eye, the sight of if lessened the heaviness in Sherlock’s chest even more. “Okay! Let me just turn this off.”

It was then Sherlock noticed what was on the screen. “What is that?”

“I was exploring.”

It looked a lot like the school record of someone named Gilbraith, Henry. As Sherlock read what was on the screen, Oriabiaus quickly turned off the monitor.

“I was just looking,” he insisted.

Sherlock grinned at his little brother. “I’ll teach you the white hair drink anyway.”

THE END

 
 
 
The Writer They Call Tay: SHERLOCK: Sherlock cameoawanderingbard on August 1st, 2013 02:43 am (UTC)
Eek! Yay and double yay! This is lovely. I love tiny sociopathic Sherlock, who doesn't care but knows when things are Not Good, and tiny genius Oriabiaus, who is enthusiastically his little brother anyway. Very sweet and bittersweet, and lovely. Thanks so much for letting me pester you and dedicating such an awesome story to me.

Sherlock crossed his arms. “Well, bon anniversaire, Aurora Borealis,” he said impatiently.

Oriabiaus beamed. While the smile was a little lopsided due to the swelling under his eye, the sight of if lessened the heaviness in Sherlock’s chest even more. “Okay! Let me just turn this off.”


^_^
formerly lifeinsomniac: SherlockChaseScenejoonscribble on August 1st, 2013 02:55 am (UTC)
I love tiny sociopathic Sherlock

He was quite cute to write with his little sociopathic ways.

I'm glad you liked the story. And thanks for pestering me! It finally gave me the push to actually write down at least one of the stories bouncing around in my head. Strangely, this wasn't even the angsty story.
The Writer They Call Tayawanderingbard on August 1st, 2013 03:05 am (UTC)
Don't know if I'm.pleased this isn't the angsty story or nervous that this isn't the angsty story. Still, I'm pleased my pestering is of use! Feel free to call on it whenever it is needed.

Also, I rather like the title of Naming Guru, and I have decided that is what my fictional career will be.
formerly lifeinsomniac: HalDominosjoonscribble on August 1st, 2013 03:09 am (UTC)
Don't know if I'm.pleased this isn't the angsty story or nervous that this isn't the angsty story.

The angsty one involves more people so I have to figure out what sort of characters the Holmes Parents are before I venture into that one.

Also, I rather like the title of Naming Guru, and I have decided that is what my fictional career will be.

I hear it pays well in the fictional world with high job satisfaction.
The Writer They Call Tayawanderingbard on August 1st, 2013 03:18 am (UTC)
I have a very clear image of my Holmes parents, but the general fandom opinion seems to be that they were abusive assholes. I sort of think that Sherlock wouldn't be as comfortable with himself as he is if there wasn't someone there encouraging him to be himself, though. But, to each his own. I just have a Thing with how many terrible childhoods there are in most fandoms. There has to be someone out there who grew up in a happy home. I think I go too far the other way to compensate, and most of my characters have happy and loving families.

I hear it pays well in the fictional world with high job satisfaction.

Excellent. And I have my degree already!
formerly lifeinsomniacjoonscribble on August 1st, 2013 03:22 am (UTC)
I feel like too many people have watched Dexter and have given Sherlock and Mycroft crappy parents.

I sort of think that Sherlock wouldn't be as comfortable with himself as he is if there wasn't someone there encouraging him to be himself, though.

Word. I'm under the impression that while not exactly doting parents, the Holmes Parents would only support and encourage their children to be who they are and to embrace their eccentricities.

There has to be someone out there who grew up in a happy home. I think I go too far the other way to compensate, and most of my characters have happy and loving families.

I once ended up creating a whole superfluous OC with a very happy, normal childhood to compensate for everyone else's awful ones that I seem to constantly write.

But yeah, in my mind, Sherlock and Mycroft had loving parents. Kind of like how I imagine the original Sherlock Holmes had a family who loved him.
The Writer They Call Tayawanderingbard on August 1st, 2013 03:30 am (UTC)
Word. I'm under the impression that while not exactly doting parents, the Holmes Parents would only support and encourage their children to be who they are and to embrace their eccentricities.

My mummy Holmes tends to be a combination of Fun Mom and Voice of Reason when they are little, and just Voice of Reason when they get older. And my Father is slightly cold and absent but ultimately caring, and a very deadpan snarker. And looks like Jeremy Northam, for some reason. It might be the nose.

I once ended up creating a whole superfluous OC with a very happy, normal childhood to compensate for everyone else's awful ones that I seem to constantly write.

My most messed up character is probably John, and his parents were more Too British to Communicate Well than anything else.
formerly lifeinsomniacjoonscribble on August 1st, 2013 03:32 am (UTC)
I've so far broadly gone with the idea that Mrs. Holmes is where the observational skills came from and Mr. Holmes is where the We Express Feelings Through Action Not Words came from.

And looks like Jeremy Northam, for some reason. It might be the nose.

Yup, can totally see it.
The Writer They Call Tayawanderingbard on August 1st, 2013 03:41 am (UTC)
Yes! This is exactly the same as me. Mummy's side is the creative, observational genius one and the Holmes side is the cold, calculating, badass genius one.
formerly lifeinsomniacjoonscribble on August 1st, 2013 03:45 am (UTC)
Mummy's side is the creative, observational genius one and the Holmes side is the cold, calculating, badass genius one.

I would really like to know how they met and fell in love. I feel like it would have been something like Future Mrs. Holmes surprising Mr. Holmes with her spot-on observations and so he went into this "I want to study her for science!" that gave way to "I want to spend all my time with her. I guess that's love, yes?"
The Writer They Call Tayawanderingbard on August 1st, 2013 04:12 am (UTC)
Aww! Yes. Fascination=love, definitely.

Crap, now I want to write this....

Curse you!
formerly lifeinsomniacjoonscribble on August 1st, 2013 04:13 am (UTC)
Crap, now I want to write this....

Curse you!


WHEEEE!!!!!
The Writer They Call Tayawanderingbard on August 1st, 2013 09:06 pm (UTC)
It's 90% written.

I hate you.
formerly lifeinsomniacjoonscribble on August 1st, 2013 09:46 pm (UTC)
:D
The Writer They Call Tayawanderingbard on August 1st, 2013 09:54 pm (UTC)
I hope you're happy with your role as enabler.
formerly lifeinsomniacjoonscribble on August 1st, 2013 09:55 pm (UTC)
You should talk. I wrote kidfic because of you.
The Writer They Call Tayawanderingbard on August 1st, 2013 10:02 pm (UTC)
...touché.
shadowfireflame: Sherlockshadowfireflame on August 23rd, 2013 04:17 am (UTC)
Oh my God, how adorable! I love Sherlock's deliberately teasing names for Oriabiaus. And this line was so Sherlock:

“No. The other boys will be stupid and will steal your money and hit you.”

To the point and a little painful, but true, even if he ended up getting no satisfaction from the fact. And that "weirdly heavy" feeling Sherlock got...just so adorable. I love their brotherly love.

Great story!
formerly lifeinsomniacjoonscribble on August 26th, 2013 01:05 am (UTC)
Thank you! I'm so glad you enjoyed it. Kid!fics are a bit out of my area of comfort so I'm glad this one read well.