Author's Note: The prompt for this one was Children. Unbeta'd.
Not Your Fault
It seemed so sudden. It wasn't, he knew that. Pregnancy took nine month - that's what the book said anyhow. He hadn't known that then. His parents simply figured he would figure it out like he had many other things. "Mycroft is intelligent! He'll be fine."
However, he hadn't known. Mummy was just getting bigger around the middle, surely. Too many biscuits, she told him.
However, a couple of months later, they sent him to live with Grandmummy for a while. He had been away for three whole months, doing fun things like learning how to ride horseback, dancing, and there were books everywhere.
But he eventually had to return home.
And then they informed him he had a little brother.
And he was... he didn't know how to feel. Not excitement, but perhaps, disdain? Not for the child (Sherlock, he was named), because the baby had done nothing wrong, but for his Mother.
After the initial meeting, Mycroft would often sit with Sherlock, ignoring his mother. He would pet the soft, dark locks. The fair strands would curl against his fingers.
Of course he understood.
He understood that Mummy and Daddy needed a break and two children were a lot to handle. He understood that. Sherlock was new, after all - exciting. He smiled down at little Sherlock as the child gripped his fingers tighter. He worried for Sherlock.
What if his mother got bored? Would Sherlock be resentful?
He was, a little bit. He couldn't help it. He pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock's head when his mother came into the nursery and pulled away from his brother.
He vowed he would do all he could for his little brother - to keep him safe and as happy as possible, but either way he knew he would worry constantly.