The Microscope

'Sherlock, dear!'

The six years old caught up his head.

'Yes, Mummy?'

'Come here, sweetling.'

The little boy jumped up and ran to his mother. She reached out her hands and caught her son. He fall in her arms and nestled to her. She smiled on him and stroked the dark curls of his.

'Honey, what've you been doing?'

The little boy frowned on her and made a mouth.

'Come on, sweetie, tell me.' she said tenderly. The child dropped his eyes and began to play with his mother's skirt.

'You won't tell Daddy, will you?' he asked quietly. She frowned and sighed, but answered seriously.

'I won't. Promise.'

'And Mycroft. You won't tell My, either?'

'If you tell me, I promise, I won't tell anyone.' she smiled. The little boy sighed apprehensively. but began.

'There was a pigeon. I didn't want to kill it, but I hit it accidentally and it fell. I wanted to know its response time – actually, it is far longer I thought. I saw it was dead, so collected it and took My's jack-knife and dissected it. I made tissue semples from it and examined them on My's stereomicroscope.'

He looked up to meet his mother's eyes. They were wide with amaze but without surprise. She sighed.

'Sherlock, you shouldn't take your brother's things without permission, you know that. If you want a microscope too, you just have to tell.'

'Really?' his eyes lighted up.

'Yes, dear.' she smiled and kissed his head. 'Now go. And spare the pigeons.'

He nodded and ran back to the garden. The woman shookher head and laughed silently. She turned and paced back to the house. The housekeeper was cleaning the crystalls.

'Ah, Mrs. Lowbrown.' she waved her to herself.

'Yes, ma'am?'

'Please deliver a message to my husband as we need an other microscope for Sherlock, too. Get the best.'

'Yes, ma'am.' she frowned. 'Can I ask why? The lordling is just six, he can't know how to use it.'

The mother pulled her eyebrows and sighed.

'Tell it Mycroft, who'll miss his own when Sherlock's using it.'

The housekeeper opened her mouth and closed it again in amaze. The mother nodded.

'Tell him what I said, Mrs. Lowbrown.'

'Yes, ma'am.' she nodded with wide eyes. She turned and went to the phone. The viscountess did not wait for his husband's reply, she went up to her elder son's room. She knocked on the oped door silently.

'Come in.' a strong voice called out.

'Could I talk to you, Mycroft, please?' his mother stepped in smiling faintly.

'Of course, Mummy.' the fourteen years old put down the pen and turned from his book. She stepped closer and clasped her hands. He frowned as known something's wrong.

'Is it Sherlock again, Mummy?'

She smiled confused at her son's skill of reading body-language.

'Yes.' she nodded quietly.

'What's wrong with him, Mummy?'

She shook her head and sat down on the bed. She sighed.

'There's nothing wrong with him, Mycroft. You both are brilliant, my sons.' she smiled. The seams on Mycroft's brow deepened.

'You know Sherlock. His skills are great in memorizing interesting things. He had known the letters and numbers before talking fluently – for God's sake, he knows the periodic table already!' she squeezed her brow and sighed. 'Im worried for him. He can't control himself in school, his results are weak as he wouldn't learn anything, and he don't have any friends in the class. He goes to school almost for eight months, he should have friends now.'

Mycroft made a mouth and sighed.

'Mummy, Sherlock is... not average. If you want me, I shall help him with learning...'

Mycroft ment it, but his mother saw the unwillingness in his eyes. She reached for his hand and took it in hers.

'No, Mycroft.' she smiled weakly. 'I want you to go back to Eton and study whatever you want. I'll be studiing with your brother.'

She stood up and let her son's hand go.

'Go on with your book, Mycroft.'

He nodded, and she left towards the door.

'Mummy!' she heard her son's voice behind her.

'Yes dear?' she turned. Mycroft was leaned back above his book.

'Tell Sherlock not to use my microscope without permission – or clean the object-slide properly.'

She shook her head and smiled.

'I already did.' she said and turned to the stairs.

I the afternoon Mycroft walked in the garden watching the birds and blooming trees. He liked spring: it ment exams were coming and teachers would deliver the curriculum more rapidly. He was bored to hear everything explained twice – one time was enough for him to understand the lessons; second time he was repeating it with the teacher as he knew it for ages. Exams would speed up things.

His little brother tore in his thoughts like a missile.

'My, My, look what I found!' he shouted. The elder sighed and turned to see his brother's finding.

'What's that?' he frowned at the tiny metal ring.

'A bird-ring. A titmouse's – Parus major.' he said excited. His brother looked commiseratively.

'Please, My, you know what it means!'

He sighed.

'No, I don't.'

The little brother rolled his eyes.

'C'mon, you are not so stupid as the others, you can find out!' he bounced around him.

'Please, Sherlock, I don't want to solve riddles.' he said annoyed. Sherlock sighed.

'Right. The ring means a bird was eaten. Eaten by a cat, to be precise, because the ring was spouted out. Cats does not swallow metal things, they hate the taste.'

'And what about if a cat ate that bird?'

'There's just one cat near Pulborough Residence and it's Mrs. Nutberg's. But that cat lives inside, Mrs. Nutberg does not let it out. It means the housekeeper let it, when she wasn't at home. When she leaves the house, she leaves to her daughter to Edinburgh, at least for six days. From the fresh bones I found near the road it can be told the cat killed the bird within a day so it means Mrs. Nutberg left in two days at least. I know it because the housekeeper doesn't let the cat out on the first day and doesn't let out on the last - I noticed it. It means Mrs. Nutberg is not at home – not till tomorrow at least. It means we can examine her sequoiadendron!'

He was so excited – and Mycroft so annoyed.

'You deduced it from a bird-ring?'

'Yes I did – are you coming or not?'

'Why would I want to examine a tree?'

'Because it's ancient! You can't know what's inside it. We could examine what it has stored along the ages.'

'And how do you want to do it?'

Mycroft used singular opposite Sherlock's plural consistently.

'I don't know – maybe pierce it?'

That was the point when Mycroft began to laugh heartily. The little brother frowned.

'What's?' he asked sulking.

'Why do you expect Mrs. Nutberg not to notice you pierced her sequoia? She's old, not stupid. She knows you are sneaking in her garden, she would know it was you.'

'How do you know she knows I'm interested in her garden?!' she asked suspiciously.

'Simple. She complained about it to Mummy. I heard it because I was there when she visited with us. Not as you, who refused to greet her.'

'She's old and boring.'

'And you are without manner and respect.'

'There's no point in being well-mannered. It's waste of time and energy.'

'Well, I got the information about her, not you, am I not?' he smiled victoriously. The little one grimaced and hummed sulkily.

'Now c'mon, it's tea-time. Mummy will expect you.'

'No.'

'Yes.'

'No.'

'Yes, you are coming.'

'No, I'm not. Leave me alone!'

'C'mon, Sherlock, you can't sulk forever.'

'Yes I can.' he shouted and turned around and paced back to the wild.

'Sherlock! You don't want me to tell Daddy you refused coming to take tea?'

This worked. Sherlock stopped and turned around. He walked back to his brother.

'You won't.'

'I cannot hold out on him as he will be there.' he pulled his eyebrows. The little's face went anxious.

'Daddy's at home?'

'Yes he is. He arrived at three. You missed it.'

'I was looking up the birdring on the birdlife.com.' he said alarmed.

'It's alright. He did not seemed to expect you to greet him, but he will now. Come on, I'll explain yourself.'

The little boy swallowed har and nodded.

'Thank you, My.'

Sherlock took Mycroft's reaching hand and followed him towards the house.

In the large room Mr. and Mrs. Holmes was silently argueing about their sons – as ever. In Pulborough Residence there wasn't heard any loud word, not from anyone except Sherlock. However, it was him, who was the silent arguments mostly about.

'You should not courage him in those “experiments”, till he does not want to study his own curriculum.'

'He knows much more than any boys in that school. You know that.'

'Maybe – but he does not know what they ask from him.'

'Maybe he's just bored in school.'

'Everyone is bored in school, but everyone knows how to spell words, because they learn it in first class.'

'He will learn it.'

'Unless he learns he does not get that bloody microscope.'

'George...' she whispered.

'If he can't study he won't get it. I'm done.'

He stood up and went to the bar. He filled a glass of brandy and sipped.

'He just needs maintenance.'

'He just needs a psychoterapist.' he slapped back.

She swallowed hard. It was a trying topic.

When the two children stepped in, the glass was empty. The parents were sitting on the wide edge of the sofa.

'Ah, Mycroft, my son!' he greeted his elder 'You are late, but I expect it is because your brother, isn't it? Dear little Sherlock. Where have you been when I got home?' his voice was low but full with sarcasm and anger.

'I am sorry Daddy, it's my fault.' said Mycroft apologizing.

'In what exactly would it be your fault?'

'I asked Sherlock to look up something for me on the internet and forget to inform him about your coming. I am sorry.'

'You shan't be. But why couldn't it tell Sherlock himself? Did the catty took his tounge?'

The little boy hided behind his brother's back.

'Sherlock, your father asked you.' her mother said in smooth voice. 'Don't hide, he doesn't want to hurt you.' This time, just because I'm here, she thought. Sherlock stepped for from his brother's shadow and swallowed hard.

'I'm here, Daddy.' His voice was weak and afraid.

'Ah, the hiding one. So, what were you doing when I arrived?' his father leaned back in the sofa and clasped his hands.

'I looked up something on the internet.'

'Yes, yes, your brother said it. I don't doubt him. However, he did not mention what exactly you were looking for.'

'The number of a birdring.'

'Birdring?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'I found it.'

'Where?'

'Near the road.'

'So it wasn't for Mycroft, was it?'

The little Sherlock swallowed again.

'No.'

'You lied to me.' his voice was low but menaceful.

'I did not.' Sherlock protested.

'You made you brother lie for you – yes, you are right. That's worse than lieing yourself.'

'Daddy, he did not made me.'

'You wanted good, but he – he wanted to lie to me but was beyond courage.' he leaned forward to cant his elbow on his knees.

'You are shame on me, Sherlock.'

'George, stop it.' the mother' voice was crisp.

'You're right, Violet, there's no point in talking to him, he won't ever understand what honor is.'

'Please, George.' her voice was pleasing, and Sherlock saw the rue in her eyes. He didn't want that. He stepped forward. I do it for Mummy, he thought.

'I apologize, Daddy, it won't happen again. Can I leave now?'

The father pulled up his eyebrows.

'Leave? You just arrived. No. Sit down and drink you tea – and learn some manner, if you are able fot it.'

Violet squeezed her eyes in pain. He doesn't love him. She always knew her husband wasn't with good opinion about his younger son, but she always thought it could change if Sherlock behaves himself. His apologize was unexpected, but pleasing. But it seemed it did not reach her husband's ears, not at all. If he didn't want to see Sherlock's try. He did not want to see it, clearly.

The tea was hot but not the athmosphere. The father asked Mycroft about his studies, and Violet and Sherlock sat silently at their seats. When they reached to Mycroft's biology studies, the boy carefully talked about his brother's experiments.

'Sherlock found something very interesting in a semple he made from an animal's lung.'

'Oh really?' George's voice got full with sarcasm.

'Yes. He found fat tissue in the bird's lung.'

Sherlock's eyes went wide.

'How do you know?!' he whispered.

'You did not clean the object-slide properly. It's curriculum of the eighth class – the question is, how did you know?'

'I looked up in your book.' Sherlock shrugged. Mycroft turned to his father.

'Daddy, I think Sherlock needs an own microscope. I don't want to leave mine here at home when I go back to Eton, but I know he would built one from whatever he founds if he wouldn't have it.'

'And you won't leave it home. You take our microscope with yourself and Sherlock start to attend to his own studies. I'm done.' and with that he finished his tea and stood.

'See: now, you can leave.' he slapped on Sherlock and paced towards his room. The boy followed him with his eyes till he disappeared and then put down his tea cup. His hands were shaking.

'Oh, sweetling.' his mother reached for his little hands.

'Hey, Sherlock, you should not be afraid, it's just Daddy.' his brother patted his shoulder.

'I'm not afraid, My. It's just my body. It's afraid, not me.'

His mother sighed desperately and stood to pace to him and sat down beside him and hugged him gently.

'My brave Sherlock.' she carressed his hair while tears came to her eyes.

'I'm alright, Mummy, let me go.'

His mother furthered a bit. Her little son never told her to let him go.

'Sherlock...' she said thunderstricken.

'Mummy, let him be.' waved Mycroft.

'fcourse...' she whispered. She let her son go and the boy stood.

'Mycroft, can I use your microscope?' he said without expression.

'Yes. Just clean the object-slides.'

The little one nodded. He walked to the stairs and up to his brother's room. The remained ones followed him with their eyes. When she was out of sight, his mother sighed agonized. She looked at Mycroft with despair. The boy sighed and cleaned his troath.

'He's alright. He won't be over it with crying and shaking, Mummy. He has just learned how to handle abasement.' He tried to sound kind, but the words came with unconcern. His mother stared at him with disbelief.

'He's just six, God be good!'

'The sooner he learns the better. Look, Mummy, he's not like other children, he'll get on with it.'

She looked away on him and gazed into nothingness. After a pause she hummed.

'Yes... Maybe you're right... The sooner the better...'

She stood up and with weak steps headed to her room. Mycroft sipped the last drops of his cold tea and ringed the housekeeper. She was there in a second.

'Yes, my lord?' she hurried to Mycroft.

'Please clean the table, Mrs. Lowbrown, and make the small library ready for me. I'll need a quiet place to study my civil duty compendiary.'

'Yes, m'lord.' she nodded and collected the cups and pots. Mycroft sat back on the sofa. He wondered how old he was when learned how to handle people. He could not be more than five, he was sure. But Sherlock... Sherlock will be always the thrall of his emotions, he thought. But what emotions?... Mycroft asked himself. He sighed, and arose of the sofa. He uncreased his shirt and headed to his room. He knew he will find his little brother there, playing with his microscope. He paced slowly, with measured steps, along the corridor, up the stairs. He stepped to his own door and knocked on it. When there was no answer, he knocked again and called out.

'Sherlock, give me permission to enter my room, please.' he said calmly. A small voice piped out.

'Why do you need my permission? It's your room.' It sounded more sad than sulking. The elder sighed and pressed the handle. The door opened without sound. He saw Sherlock sitting on his legs on his chair and looking into the binocular. Mycroft smiled a bit and closed the door behind him.

'Because you were in the room alone, door closed, no matter who's room or door was it. It's the convention.' He leaned against the closed door and watched his brother examining something on the slide.

'Convention matters little.'

'It does to our family.' Mycroft sighed.

'It is not for me. It's rubbish.'

Mycroft rolled his eyes and stepped behind his little brother.

'Daddy did not mean.' he said in a soft voice. Sherlock pulled his head over from the binocular and frowned and turned on the chair.

'How would've he not ment?' he tipped his head. His brother pulled her eyebrows .

'Well...' he began 'Maybe he ment. But he's not right. You did have courage.' he smiled on the little one. He dropped his eyes and began to play with his pullover's sleeve.

'I wanted to be brave, but I couldn't.'

'Yes you were brave. It is difficult to stand Daddy's mood but you did well. You deserve something precious. Not from he, he should not know about it.' he pulled a long face. 'You should not tell him, not accidentally, do you understand me?'

The little one nodded curiously.

'Alright.' Mycroft smiled. 'I do not need my microscope anymore, there's plenty of it at Eton. And, it does not make much use in learning law. Do you want to keep it?'

Sherlock's face went pale. His mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide.

'Do you mean it?' he asked stameringly.

'Yes, I do.' his brother smiled kindly. The little boy looked at the precious thing and then back to Mycroft.

'Really really?'

'Really really.' he chocked.

'Thank you, My.' the little one said disbelievingly.

'But be careful with it, and clean the object-slides. No one will buy you new ones, no slides and no coverslips, so take care of them. And don't tell anyone.' he remembered him.

'Promise.' On the small face appeared a small smile.

'Right. Now give me my compendiary and go on with whatever you were doing.'

'What's that?' Sherlock frowned.

'It's there on my desk. Just give it to me.'

'No, I know what you are asking for, but explain me what a compendiary is.' the little one reached for the book. The elder sighed.

'Compendiary is a shorter version of a long long text and includes only the important things of it.' he said slowly. Sherlock frowned.

'So it does not includes convention?' he asked seriously. Mycroft could not help but laughed.

'No, but it does not mean convention is not important.' he massed his brother's hair.

'It's not a good deduction.' he made a mouth.

'Yes it is. Now let me and go back to your experiment.' He stood.

'Do you want to know what I am examining?' the boy looked up to him.

'No. Just do it. You'll tell when you are done.' he turned to the door.

'But it's interesting!' the little one called out after him.

'I don't mind, I have my civil duty for me.' he paced out of the room not looking back.

'I could show you...' a desperate voice shouted after him.

'I'm sure.' he said and exited towards the stairs. The little one made a disappointed face and turned back to the microscope.

'At least he gave me his microscope.' he hummed to himself.

That evening, after a cold dinner Sherlock paced up the stairs, and knocked at his brother's door.

'My, are you there?' he called out in a whispering voice.

'Yes, come in!' Mycroft's voice was heard clearly. The little one opened the door and stepped in.

'What can I do for you, little brother?' the elder asked smiling politely. Sherlock shrugged.

'It's only the microscope. You told me I could tell you what I was examinng when I was done.' he paced to the desk. Mycroft frowned.

'I guess I did.' he searched in his memories. Sherlock stepped beside his chair and looked up at him.

'I'm done.' he facted. Mycroft sighed and closed his book.

'Right then, show me whan you found.' he stood up to give the place to his brother.

'It was an experiment on the dead pigeon's glandula cells. I wanted to know what time they work after death.' he looked into the binocular.

'And what did you found out?' the elder frowned. Sherlock shrugged.

'Nothing special. They work for an hour or so, but just in proper nutriant solution, which is hard to find. Well, an isotonic salt-solution did not work, so I added some other elements, like Kalium and Calcium, and Natrium in ionized form.'

'How did you got to all of these chemicals?' Mycroft frowned harder.

'It's not hard to find them in a household. I took Daddy's vitamin pills.' he grinned. Mycroft sighed andd rolled his eyes.

'Go to bed.' he could only say. 'And stop pilfering Daddy's things, he'll be very annoyed if it turns out you messing up with his properties.'

Sherlock made a mouth, but got off the chair.

'Right.' he said resentfully. Mycroft sighed again.

'Don't be sulky, your experiment went well.' he told the leaving child. He just murmured something and walked out on the door. Mycroft wagged his head, and looked into the binocular. Blue and purple little circles... How could it be interesting? he thought, and switched off the microscope. At least Sherlock loves it. Something he loves to do, at last. Something which he'll have when I'm gone back to Eton. Mycroft wagged his head again, and put down the book. I wish one time he'd get something real to hold on to, not just silly science things. That would go on everybody's mind, he thouht. And he did not know how right he'd got to be.