Sherlock Oneshots and Drabbles

Goldfish- Mycroft x Child!Reader

"Mother, you can't be serious," Mycroft voices, face void of any emotion beside slight fear and disgust. The said woman rolled her eyes, handing her son a bag.

"I am, Mycroft. Watch her for the day," she demands. Mycroft looks down at the young girl in his stretched out arms. He was holding the dirty thing as far away from his as he could. I mean, come on. Who knew where this thing had been? His lips curl in disgust, while the five year old blankly stares at him.

"Why am I watching this thing anyways?" Mycroft snaps.  Once again, the man's mother exasperatedly rolls her eyes with a sigh. She turns back to him, hand on her hip.

"I already told you," she states, "I told the neighbors I would watch her, but Catharine is having an emergency at home, so I have to go help her out." Mycroft sets the child down gently, despite his annoyance. He crosses his arms and squares his feet, tilting his chin up. All the signs showed he was about to fight back.

"And before you ask, you have to because I told you to," his mother states as she throws on her coat. She meets his gaze levelly, daring him to make a snide remark. The man wavers in his stance. He sighs through his nose, and straightens his back once more.

"I'm a head of the British Government, and you believe you can tell me what to do?" he glares. The older woman raises a brow at her son's defiance.

"I'm your mother."

And with that, the older woman took her leave, the door swinging close behind her. Mycroft groans, uncrossing his arms. As much as he hated to admit, she was correct. That was a valid reason to listen to her, whether he liked it or not. Momma's boy, he mocks himself. Looking down at the child who still sat on the floor, he wondered what she was thinking. That was one of the things he hated about children. Since he grew up rather quickly, he hardly remembered what it was like to be a regular child. He didn't understand how they thought, they didn't have a thinking process he could follow because they were still developing.

"How hard can this be?" he asks himself, "It's simply a goldfish."

At that word, the girl's head shot up.

"Gowldfish?" she asks in excitement. He quirks a brow at her excitement. What was so amazing about goldfish? They were boring, and that's all they'll ever be.

"I want some gowldfish!" the girl smiles. Mycroft had never been more confused. Why would a young girl want goldfish?

"What?" Mycroft asks, attempting to understand her.

"I said I want some gowldfish!" she says, clearly exasperated. She pointed to the bag his mother had given him, still in his grasp. Giving the child a worried look, he slowly opened the bag. It had clothes, pajamas, a few plastic cups, a blanket, a stuffed bear, a book, and a couple snacks. There were fruit snacks, a package of cookies, and a plastic bag. Inside the bag were tiny fish shaped crackers in various colors. He pulls it out of the bag, examining them product.

"Gowldfish!" she shouts as if seeing them were a victory. The moment he realized, Mycroft felt very stupid. Food, she was talking about food. Not the actual creature. He didn't like children. They made him feel idiotic, when he was in fact, not.  The girl sat in a chair at the table, staring at him expectantly. He stares back at her, confused.

"You want to eat these?" he asks. She nods, eyeing the bag. Mycroft eyes the bag as well. Looking back at the child, he decides if he were going to babysit, he'd do it right. It was most 12:30 in the afternoon.

"Well, did you have lunch?" he asks. The girl shakes her head in response, still watching the bag of goldfish.

"Then you'll eat lunch first. After you have a healthy meal, you can have this as a snack," he states.

"Okay," she replies. He stands, waiting for the girl to leave. After a couple of moments of them both waiting in confusion, Mycroft decides to speak up.

"Well? Go on, then. Go make your lunch," he demands.

The girl looks up to the older man, "I don't know how." Mycroft doesn't reply, but instead stares at the child blankly. She couldn't be serious. He could make his lunch when he was three, how could she not make her own when she was five? Mycroft closes his eyes, counting to ten. He really wasn't made to work with children, even though the people he did work with were quite similar. Marching to the kitchen, he makes her a sandwich. The child follows after him, not liking being alone in an unfamiliar place. She watches as he cut the sandwich in half.

"I hate goldfish," he mutters to himself.

"Gowldfish?" she asks behind him. Not noticing she was behind him at first, he jumps. After realizing there was no danger, he rubs his temples with his fingers.

"No, not those kind of goldfish," he explains.

The girl tilts her head in confusion, "Then the pet kind?"

Mycroft sighs once more, an action that seemed redundant today.

"No," he says shortly. The child's eye brows furrow. What other kind of goldfish were there?

"Then what kind?" she asks. Mycroft walks away, placing the plate on the dining room table.

"The human kind," he states. The girl places herself in the chair, and watched Mycroft. Human goldfish? Those were a thing?

"Human gowldfish?" she asks, confused. Mycroft closes his eyes, clearly already tired of dealing with a child.

"No, no, no. Not human goldfish! I'm comparing humans told goldfish because they're simplistic, boring, redundant, thoughtless!" he explains in a flurry.

The girl was slightly frightened by his outburst. She sat silently, munching on her sandwich. It was quite good, she noted.

"...I don't know what those words mean..." she says.  At this, Mycroft lays his head on the table.

"Of course you don't."

This was going to be a long day.