Pirates Together, Pirates Forever

Panic! At The Station-Four Days Until

Mycroft woke up promptly that morning the same way he always did. His alarm went off at seven o'clock. He got dressed and headed down to breakfast (usually a sticky bun and some eggs). A few minutes later, his parents came downstairs, bleary-eyed and in dressing gowns, to make their breakfast (always French Toast and sausage). Mycroft retrieved the morning's paper, then proceeded to read it aloud to his father and discuss the latest social and political topics. Sherlock was generally up by eight, making his breakfast (usually four or five of Mycroft's sticky buns with chocolate chips on top, for which Mycroft would scold him).

At eight-thirty, Sherlock had not come downstairs. Mycroft was sent to retrieve him from his room. He was not there.

Mycroft checked under his covers to be sure. He looked in his closet, in the bathroom, everywhere he could think of that Sherlock might hide. After a few minutes, he started to worry. He remembered the previous night's conversation-how angry Sherlock had been and how he had acted as though Mycroft was betraying him or something silly like that. He had shrugged it off at the time, but now he was certain Sherlock had done something rash.

He tried to think what on earth Sherlock would do. For heaven's sakes, the boy was nine years old. He wouldn't have the best thought out plan; of this Mycroft was sure. He would most likely go where sentiment called. A useless emotion, really, always clouding judgement. He felt certain Sherlock wouldn't have even left home without it.

Sherlock's favorite place, he thought, was probably London. He would have to get there somehow, though, and he was clever enough to know he couldn't walk. The only viable place he could leave from was the train station. He had to get there as soon as possible.

He went straight down to his father, who was still in pyjamas, and explained the situation to him. His mother had already left for work. They got into the car and made straight for the station,hoping to be there before whatever train Sherlock was trying to catch left.

When they arrived, Sherlock was nowhere to be found. In desperation, Mycroft asked the ticketseller if he'd seen a small boy with extremely dark, curly hair and perhaps a dog in the last few hours.

"Yeah, he was here around sixish this morning. Didn't have enough money for the ticket, so pulled out a violin from his backpack and he must've made twenty pounds playing it. Beautiful music, too. Made more than enough. Dunno what he did about the dog, though. Rules against taking them onboard-"

"Don't waste my time! My little brother is missing! Did he get a ticket or not?" Mycroft demanded. The ticket seller looked annoyed.

"Yeah, I said already, he took the 6:47 to London. Do you wants a ticket now or not? There's a queue behind you, if you hadn't noticed." Mycroft was having trouble not screaming at the man now. Fortunately his father stepped in.

"We'll take two tickets to London, next train, please. Now."

"That'll be twenty pounds, then. Here's your ticket. Train leaves in twenty minutes."