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Raising Holmes (and Holmes)

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It was already dark when Mycroft finally made his way home, dragging his feet to the house where his family lived. The boy had a knot in his stomach, being well aware that his mother wasn't pleased with him, and that he would have to face the consequences of his behaviour.

The afternoon had started quietly, with Mycroft reading in the garden and his little brother following him around. However, Sherlock's presence soon became annoying, and when the boy refused to leave like his big brother told him to do, Mycroft snapped and threw a rock at him. He hadn't meant to hit him; but unfortunately, it went straight to Sherlock's forehead and knocked him down for a few seconds, before the young boy burst into tears and ran home, saying he was going to tell Mummy.

Mycroft knew he should have gone home straight away, but instead he decided to run to the village and hide with his book, until it was finally too late to stay out. Swallowing thickly once he stood in front of the door, Mycroft eventually knocked meekly, ready to face his mother and her anger. Mrs. Holmes had been pacing in the foyer, and flung the door open the instant she heard the tentative knock.

"Mycroft!" she breathed, her relief palpable.

Mycroft felt terrible as soon as he saw his Mummy, who seemed to have been terribly worried for him. She knelt and grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and pulled him into a crushing hug. He gasped, having expected to be reprimanded straight away instead of hugged.

"Thank goodness," she murmured, almost to herself.

Sherlock stood several paces behind looking pitiful. The sight of his little brother, head bandaged and eyes puffy, tugged even more at Mycroft's heartstrings. Now he really felt guilty.

Mrs. Holmes released her hold on Mycroft and stood up, giving him a stern look. "Where have you been? Do you have any idea what time it is? It's past dinner already!"

"Sorry, Mummy," he mumbled when his mother pulled away, looking down and blushing brightly. "I just... lost track of time." He didn't really know what else to say.

"Well, you are already in a lot of trouble, young man," she said, wagging her finger in front of his face. "Sherlock told me what happened. I can't believe you would do something so dangerous as to throw a rock your little brother. You are far too old for such a childish tantrum, Mycroft! You're lucky he wasn't hurt even worse than he was. You also should have come straight home, and you know it! Do you have anything to say for yourself?" She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows.

The lecture in itself was enough of a punishment, in Mycroft's opinion. He thought himself very clever and far more mature than other children of his age, and yet he was being treated like a naughty boy. That wasn't fair.

"But I didn't mean to hit Sherlock, Mummy," Mycroft groaned, not daring to look up at Mrs. Holmes. "And he kept following me around when I told him to go away."

That wasn't a clever move, and Mycroft knew it, but Sherlock could be quite annoying when he wanted to, always asking questions and wanting to play his silly baby games.

"Sherlock follows you around, because he looks up to you," Mrs. Homles replied, exasperated by her eldest son's stubbornness. He was typically so mature and well-behaved, and only reverted to such childishness when it came to his baby brother. She desperately wanted them to get along, but thus far, Mycroft had refused. "Regardless of the reason, throwing rocks is a stupid and dangerous thing to do! Not to mention running off to hide instead of coming home to make sure your poor little brother wasn't hurt."

Deep down, Mycroft loved his baby brother to bits. Even if Sherlock was an idiot, it was still nice to have some kind of company, especially when their house was so isolated and in the middle of the country. However, Mycroft was also slightly jealous of his little brother. He was fairly sure his parents were much more lenient with Sherlock who barely landed in trouble - and when he did, he gave Mummy that stupid puppy dog eyes look and got away with a few love pats on the backside. And Sherlock always got what he wanted. No, that wasn't fair, and Mycroft wasn't going to be nice with his annoying little brother - look after him and teach him things, maybe - but not be nice.

Mrs. Holmes made a resigned sigh before grabbing Mycroft by wrist and dragging him towards the kitchen. "Come along, now. I really thought you had outgrown the need for a good smacking, but you've proved me wrong with your appalling behaviour."

Mycroft's defiant look was replaced by a panicked one when his mother took his wrist and announced that he was going to get a smacking as punishment.

"Mummy, no!" Mycroft protested, trying to pull away and ignore the fact that Sherlock was still watching, the little brat. "I am too big, and it's not my fault if Sherlock got hurt by a tiny rock!"

Mrs. Homles kept an iron grip around her son's arm as he tried to twist and squirm away, easily dragging him closer to his (or rather, his backside's) impending doom.

"The size of the rock is irrelevant, Mycroft. If you aren't too big to control your temper, then you most certainly aren't too big to be spanked. Throwing rocks is naughty behavior that will not be tolerated in this household, young man." She momentarily turned her attention to her youngest who was staring with a look of wide-eyed shock. "Go play in your room, Sherlock. Mycroft and I are going to have a discussion about why little boys shouldn't throw rocks at their brothers."

Mycroft's cheeks burned in humiliation as his mother called him a 'little boy,’ and he suddenly felt much more like one and much less like a mature and impressive eleven-year-old. And it wasn't fair that Sherlock knew he was about to be spanked: it would show that him that Mycroft could still be submitted to that treatment, that even his superior and clever big brother could be taken over their mother's knee for a good long spanking. He would certainly look much less smug after that, at least for awhile.

Sherlock scampered up the stairs, and Mrs. Holmes pulled Mycroft into the kitchen, depositing him next to the refrigerator with his nose to the corner.

"You stand there and think about what you did. I'll be back in five minutes to deal with you."

She walked slowly out of the kitchen and took several deep breaths, willing herself to calm down. Everything was going to be ok. Her sons were both home safe. Sherlock's head would heal. Mycroft, it seemed, was merely getting just a bit too big for his britches. Well, taking them down for a session across her knee would be just what the doctor ordered.

She popped briefly into the family room to update her husband on the current family drama.

"Do you need me to ..." he furrowed his brow. It was no secret Mr. Holmes preferred not to physically discipline his children, leaving it to his wife instead, but he always fully supported her decisions and would step in if need be.

"Won't be necessary, dear. I have it under control for the moment." She smiled grimly.

He nodded, frowning. "Right. Just ... let me know."

Mycroft heard his parents talking, grimacing a little at that. Mummy had always been the disciplinarian, and he had only ever received a few swats there and then from his father, who was much better when it came to comforting or spoiling his children a little. Mummy meant business, and she clearly wasn't someone you could mess with. Mycroft had learned it time and time again through the years: swearing, lying, fighting and generally misbehaving always meant ending the day with a sore and red bottom.

Standing with his nose in the corner, Mycroft started to shuffle nervously, giving small frustrated kicks against the wall after awhile. No, it wasn't fair, and he certainly wasn't about to get spanked like a little baby. He wouldn't let Mummy do that: he was going to convince her he was far too big for a smacking, and everything would be alright. However, Mycroft's cheekiness soon got the better of him, and he found himself mumbling to the wall.

''It's not even a discussion,'' Mycroft said lowly, his small hands curled into fists. He knew all the important dates of the Victorian era, understood Maths better than any fifteen years-old: he wasn't about to drop it without a fight, no matter if that made Mummy angry. ''There's not even any talking involved. And I am too old for it.''

Mrs. Homles returned to the kitchen to find Mycroft muttering and kicking at the wall. Renewed annoyance at his bratty behavior surged through her, and she quickly strode up to give him a sharp swat on the bottom.

"Behave yourself!" she chided. "You're already being punished!"

She pulled a chair well away from the table and then opened a drawer to retrieve the wooden spoon. It had been ages since she'd needed to use it, but clearly Mycroft very much needed to be reminded of its sting.

The boy jumped a little at the sharp swat, shrieking and giving his backside a quick rub. Talking whilst in the corner was never a good idea, but it seemed like today just especially wasn't Mycroft's day. In fact, Mummy opening the drawer to retrieve the terrible, horribly stingy wooden spoon only confirmed it, and all of his defiant attitude suddenly left him as he remembered how much it hurt.

Mrs. Holmes sat down on the chair with the spoon resting on her lap and beckoned her son. "Come here."

Mycroft turned around and looked meekly at her, not really daring to step up more at the sight of the dreadful implement she was holding.

''Mummy... Do you have to use that?'' He asked gingerly, his hands going behind him to shield his bottom when he thought of just how badly the spoon could hurt. ''I am sorry, really...''

"Good," she answered with the air of no-nonsense firmness. "I'm glad you're sorry, but if you think that's enough to save you from a good spanking with this spoon, then you are sorely mistaken, young man. You do not throw rocks at people and you do not run off alone and come home late. If you're going to behave like a naughty little boy, then you will be spanked like one. Now come here."

Mycroft opened his mouth to argue even more, but the look on his mother's face told him that he ought to stay quiet if he valued his bottom's well-being. Spankings from his mother always hurt, even when Mycroft tried to pretend they didn't: they left his bottom stinging and blazing, and he always cried, especially when Mummy decided that he deserved to get the spoon.

Resigned to his fate, Mycroft stepped closer and closer, trying to give his mother the puppy-dog eyes look Sherlock did so well, but apparently, nothing was going to change her mind.

Once by her side, the boy tried to think of what to do, his cheeks turning red again when he remembered that spankings had always been done on a bare bottom. It was humiliating enough to be spanked like a baby, let alone on his bare backside.

''Mummy... Can I keep my trousers on?'' Mycroft asked, biting at his lower lip. ''I am too old, really...''

The pitiful expression on Mycroft's face made Mrs. Homles torn between wanting to roll her eyes and wanting to toss the spoon away to give her son hugs and comfort. She steeled herself and forced memories of how angry she had been with him earlier that day; when Sherlock had come home bleeding and sobbing; and the worry when darkness fell and Mycroft still wasn't home.

With those thoughts in mind, she certainly had no intention of leaving her son's slacks and pants on for his spanking. Not to mention that for practicality, she needed to monitor bare skin to assure she wasn't giving too hard or too lenient a punishment.

"No, Mycroft. You've earned a good spanking, and that means on your bare behind. You're not that old, and I'm still your mother. There's nothing there I haven't seen before."

Having laid down the sentence with finality, she wasted no time in unfastening his slacks. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of his pants and tugged everything swiftly down to his knees.

Mycroft felt mortified, tugging a little at his button up and not feeling mature and grown-up at all. In fact, he rather felt like a naughty little boy that still needed to be taken over his Mummy's knee, and unfortunately it happened to be not so far from the truth. Mycroft had often thought, in the past, that he was simply too clever to be punished. Being a genius certainly meant having privileges, and doing better than everyone else. He had soon discovered that even he wasn't immune to mistakes, but that even when he did something stupid, his mother always forgave him soon enough.

He decided to stop protesting and let his mother guide him over her lap, his bare bottom in the air and his head down facing the floor. Mycroft chewed at his lower lip, realising he had stared at that very particular ground many times before. The position was weird and uncomfortable, but the boy knew from experience that soon it would be the least of his worries.

Mrs. Holmes was pleased by Mycroft's cooperation. When he had begun to grouse about being too old for a spanking, she had worried she would need to threaten him with a switching to get him over her knee. Her own father had sometimes stung the backs of her thighs with a whippy switch, so she knew very well how persuasive it could be.

Fortunately, that hadn't been necessary. She appraised her son's small, bare backside and readied herself to deliver the paddling he was due.

"Mycroft, I never want to hear of you doing anything so foolish and dangerous as throwing a rock at anyone ever again!"

Mycroft tensed in apprehension as he felt his mother raising her arm. He remembered very well how the wooden spoon left a very intense sting and blotches of deep red, and although the little boy mentally promised himself not to cry, he knew soon enough he wasn't going to stay nearly as stoic as he wanted to.

Mrs. Holmes brought the spoon down with two loud SMACKS on each of Mycroft’s rounded cheeks, the sound echoing in the quiet kitchen. These first smacks caught Mycroft by surprise, making him jump and squeak, kicking his legs a little as to try to get rid the sting. He remembered that the spoon hurt, but this was worse than anything: it packed a truly wicked sting, quickly lighting his bottom on fire and making him yelp every time it descended.

"And if I do, you will be spanked again - just like this - over my knee with this spoon on your bare bottom."

She emphasized her words with sharp spanks before settling into a slow, steady pace, popping Mycroft's backside with stinging swats from the wooden implement.

''Ow, ow, Mummy! I am s-sorry!'' He whined, wriggling over her lap and trying to avoid the spoon - but unfortunately, it always found its way to his backside, leaving a deep and nasty sting. ''I won't do it again, ever! Please!'' Mycroft pleaded, kicking a little harder and soon trying to reach back with his hand, shielding his bottom desperately and just wanting his punishment to be over.

"I should hope not, young man," she caught his hand and pulled it into the small of his back in one fluid motion without missing a beat and continued her rhythm of steady, sharp spanks, ignoring his protests. She focused on making sure the back of the spoon always found the wriggling little target over her lap, covering the white skin with round, pink blotches.

She paused to lecture further. "No more throwing rocks." The spoon smacked hard just below his right cheek. "You will be nice to your brother." Another hard smack against the delicate skin below his left. "You will always be home before dark."

Mycroft began to sniffle a little, yelping each time the spoon descended on his already well-punished skin. The message truly sank in and left him kicking and howling at every spank, especially when his mother landed two additional good whacks at the top of his thighs.

The worst part about the spankings Mummy Holmes gave was that they always left Mycroft completely unable to predict where the implement was going to land next. Sometimes she focused on one very specific part of his backside, quickly bringing it to fire, and sometimes she peppered his small bottom everywhere.

Mycroft’s usually pale bottom was beginning to sport a flushed, ruddy glow, and, knowing she was nearing the end, Mrs. Holmes lit into him to drive her message home, paddling his backside with fast, stinging swats. When the spanking resumed even faster and harder, Mycroft couldn't take it anymore and started to wail, feeling very sorry for himself and thoroughly punished, wondering when he was going to sit down again. He lay over his mother's knee and cried, having completely forgotten about his dignity as he almost kicked his trousers and underwear off.

Soon after she felt Mycroft's body slacken across her knees, Mrs. Holmes stopped spanking, and just when Mycroft started to think his spanking was never going to end, he suddenly didn't feel the spoon going up and down on his backside anymore. He realised his mother had stopped, even though his little bottom was burning and stinging now more than ever.

The skin of Mycroft’s bum was now a deep shade of pink (almost red, really) but would not bruise. Mrs. Holmes had given him a sufficient punishment without being too harsh, although if his reactions were any indication, Mycroft was certainly feeling like his poor little bottom had been scalded by the evil wooden spoon.

"I hope you've learned your lesson, because I most certainly can and wil spank you even longer and harder than this if you can't behave yourself, Mycroft."

The threat of being spanked even longer and harder made Mycroft whine and sniffle in protest. He wasn't going to sit down for weeks after that one, and surely it couldn't be worse.

She patted his back and Mycroft didn't complain when she guided him to a sitting position on her lap, settling his punished bottom between her thighs, where it wouldn't suffer too much pressure. He immediately wrapped one arm around her neck and hugged her tightly, one hand going to rub at his scalded bottom. She gave him a tight hug and kissed the top of his head.

"You are my clever, genius son," she murmured into his hair. "And I love you, and I know you can be a good boy from now on, right?"

''I will, Mummy, promise,'' he mumbled softly. ''Sorry I was naughty, too. I won't ever hurt Sherlock again, ever.''

"Shhh," she soothed, running her fingers through his damp hair. "I know, I know."

She gave him a few minutes of snuggling to let him calm down, rocking him in her arms.

"All right. I bet you're starved after missing dinner. Go ahead and get dressed. I'll fix you something good to eat. After you finish, you can go upstairs and apologize to your brother."

Chapter Text

Sherlock was reading a chapter book at the kitchen table while his mother cooked dinner. As usual, he wasn't very hungry, and was not too excited at the prospect of forcing down whatever vegetables were being prepared. He was, however, quite interested in the cake he knew was being baked in the oven.

He barely noticed when Mummy left the room to answer the phone, but suddenly realised he was alone in the kitchen. He turned his attention to the stove and the captivating flame that was heating a pot of food.

''Yes, yes, Margaret, I'll be there on Saturday,'' Violet Holmes said, trying to contain a sigh of annoyance as she stared down at her nails; not that she didn't like Margaret, but some friends could certainly get annoying when they wanted to. ''Anyway, dear, I have something on the stove and I need to leave - I'll call you back when I can!''

Sherlock listened to be sure his mother was still talking, and then put his book down and padded closer to the fascinating sight. Sherlock knew he wasn't supposed to touch the stove; Mummy had given him a swat before just for trying and had explained why it was dangerous and that he must always stay away and never touch it.

But that was ages ago. He was much older (seven whole years now) and much smarter; surely a tiny observational experiment wouldn't hurt. He retrieved a metal fork from a drawer and, taking a deep breath, stuck the prongs into the flame beneath the pot.

Putting the phone down, Violet made her way to the kitchen where, she knew, a big pot full of vegetables was heating up on the stove. She also knew that Sherlock would be at the table reading, and would probably complain about having to eat his vegetables later on - and earn himself a swat if he got too cheeky.

What Violet Holmes didn't expect, however, was to find her little boy using a fork to touch the flame beneath the pot. She was a mathematician and knew everything about Physics, but one did not need to be such an expert to know it was an extremely foolish thing to do.

''Sherlock Holmes!'' she said, her eyes widening in panic. She quickly walked by the little boy's side and practically pushed him away from the stove, making sure the metal fork didn't stay in contact with the flame any longer. ''Are you alright?!'' Violet asked, still more worried than anything else. ''What was going on in your mind?! You know you're not allowed to touch the flame, it's far too dangerous!''

Sherlock had been so enraptured by the flame, he hadn't even heard his mother coming until she was shrieking at him and wrenching him away from the flame. He was so surprised, he dropped the fork on the ground and just stared at her in open mouthed shock for several moments.

"I ..." his quick little mind snapped back into action. "I wasn't touching the stove, Mummy! Or the flame! I was only touching the fork! I promise!"

“Yes, a fork that you had placed right into an open flame!'' Violet said sternly, crossing her arms and looking down at Sherlock. Really, couldn't she leave her little one alone without him finding some mischief?

''You know very well you are not allowed to play with the stove, Sherlock, ever! What you did was very dangerous, the fork would have gotten hot very quickly and you could have burned yourself!'' Mrs. Holmes lectured, her worry subsiding into anger and annoyance at her young boy's behaviour. ''And you are in big trouble, young man! What do you have to say for yourself?''

Sherlock frowned. Why couldn't Mummy understand that he hadn't broken the rules? Not really, at least. The rule was that he couldn't touch the stove, and he hadn't. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, trying to look confident and grown-up while he explained it to her.

"Mummy, you said I couldn't touch the stove, and I didn't touch it."

There. Now he couldn't possibly be in trouble.

''And you were touching it indirectly, and you knew very well you weren't supposed to do that,'' Violet said very sternly, crossing her own arms and looking down at the little boy. Sherlock had a certain talent for finding trouble, and for being even cheekier when he was already in deep water.

''What you did was dangerous and reckless, and that has earned you a spanking,'' Violet told him with an air of finality, then pointing at the corner of the room. ''Now stick your nose in the corner and don't move!''

She emphasized her last word with one sharp smack to Sherlock's backside.

Sherlock flushed at his mother's promise of a spanking, and blanched when she struck his bottom. It only took a second for the initial shock and fear to wear off in lieu of anger. He screwed up his face and balled his fists, stamping his foot against the floor.

"No, no, no! It's not fair! I didn't really touch the stove, so I wasn't breaking the rule!"

Deep down, he knew he shouldn't be throwing a tantrum and shouting at his mother when he was already in so much trouble, but he couldn't stop himself, feeling enraged over the injustice of it all.

"Why are you being so stupid?" he shouted, the insult rolled far too easily off his tongue, as he had heard it many times from his big brother, though he regretted saying it to his mother almost instantly.

Violet was about to open her mouth to tell Sherlock off about his little tantrum when she heard the insult, and her eyes widened in surprise. It was obvious the boy didn't mean it and had said it without thinking, but that somehow made it even worse. Sherlock really needed to control his temper, which she had told him time and time before, but apparently that lesson was going to sink in better if her hand did the talking to his bottom.

''You do not insult me or anyone, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, and you most certainly do not throw tantrums!'' Violet snapped, quickly turning Sherlock around and bending him over, wrapping an arm around his small waist and landing several stinging smacks to his bottom. ''Next time you call me, or anyone from this family, stupid, I can assure I'll wash your mouth out with soap and you'll be getting the switch, and you can just ask your brother about how much that hurts!'' she threatened, while still spanking his little backside.

Mycroft had only been switched once, and had behaved for an extended period of time after the experience. Violet knew the boys tended to talk to each other about their punishments, and she had no doubts Sherlock had heard about how much the switch hurt. Sherlock knew he was doomed when he heard his full name, and his deduction was proved correct when he found himself bent over and felt his mother's hand make sharp, stinging contact with his backside. He yelped and felt the burn of frustrated tears welling in his eyes.

"Wah! No, Mummy! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

He was very much regretting insulting his mother at the moment, and he certainly didn't like the sound of soap in his mouth or a switch on his behind - not one bit. He had overheard Mycroft being switched before (and on his bare bottom, too!), and his brother's shrieks had sounded rather frightening indeed.

''Good!'' Violet simply replied, determined to teach Sherlock a lesson or two about manners and not doing dangerous experiments. She knew she could be lenient with her youngest - probably because the boy could be just so awfully cute when he wanted to - but Sherlock's behaviour had only earned him one thing, and that was a thorough spanking with the stingy wooden spoon. Maybe his first meeting - or rather, his behind's - with the implement would teach him.

Violet landed six more smacks, crisp and firm, on Sherlock's clothed backside before putting him back on the ground and looking down at him sternly.

''Corner, Sherlock, now. And then you'll see what happens if you ever insult me again!''

Sherlock gave her an imploring look and sniffed pathetically, putting on his best sad puppy dog eyes, wet and shiny with the beginnings of tears. He quickly realised she was having none of it and was not willing to comfort him at the moment, so with a final tremble from a pouty lip, he turned and scampered to the corner.

Seeing the beginning of tears in Sherlock's eyes and the expression across his face was hard, but Violet stayed firm, crossing her arms with an expectant expression until her little one finally made his way to the dreaded corner. It was nothing more than reinforced boredom, but it did a good job at helping her children understand exactly why they were being punished.

He stood waiting, nervous about what was going to happen. Had Mummy said that ‘you will see what happens'? Hadn't she already punished him? Surely she wouldn't spank him more than she already had! His bottom felt warm and tingly from the swats she had just given him over his trousers. It wasn't long before boredom overcame his nerves, and he began to fidget, hoping that his punishment would just end already.

Violet was grimly resolute. That was it, then. Sherlock was about to get his first spanking with the wooden spoon, and that certainly didn't please her. She presumed it was some sort of milestone, but it was one she would have gladly not reached with either of her children. Opening the drawer, Mrs Holmes took out the familiar wooden spoon with its slightly curved business end and sat down with it, watching as Sherlock began to fidget in the corner.

''Stand still, Sherlock. You've got four more minutes to go.''

"But I'm boooored," he whined, craning his neck around to give her a pitiful look. "I've learned my lesson, I promise. I'm sorry, Mummy."

His eyes widened when he caught sight of the wooden spoon in her hand. The dreaded implement had yet to meet his bottom, but he knew Mycroft was plenty familiar with its sting. She couldn't possibly mean to use that on him! He was her precious baby, wasn't he? Didn't she love him? How could she be so mean?

''You are supposed to be bored in the corner, Sherlock,'' Violet sighed, trying hard not to roll her eyes. ''Think on exactly what got you in trouble in the first place.''

He scrunched up his face and gave his bottom lip a quiver, whimpering softly as he worked up what he thought were some very convincing crocodile tears. "Please don't spank me anymore, Mummy! I'll be good!"

The way Sherlock widened his eyes at the sight of the wooden spoon meant he was scared of it, and that tugged at Violet's heartstrings. She really didn't want to punish her boys, but it was necessary, and the thought of Sherlock burning himself with the flame did a good job at reminding her why they were doing this.

''You need to have your bottom thoroughly paddled after what you've done, Sherlock Holmes, and that's exactly what I am going to do,'' Violet replied sternly. ''Now stare back at the wall, unless you want to stand there for ten more minutes.''

Sherlock's whining went up in pitch and volume at his mother's words, and he gave his foot a frustrated little stamp before thinking better of starting another tantrum and quickly turning back to face the corner.

With his fate sealed and the prospect of a paddling with the spoon mere minutes away, his nerves returned in full. Without thinking, he reached back and absently rubbed and clutched at his bottom, unable to fathom how much the spoon would sting. It always made his brother howl and cry, and Mycroft was so much older and bigger and smarter! How was Sherlock going to survive it? He sniffled as a few real tears ran down his cheeks.

Violet had learned to tell the difference between crocodile tears and real tears, and the little muffled sniffles that came from Sherlock definitely weren't fake. It made her reconsider the spoon for a moment, but she thought of what could have happened if she hadn't come back to kitchen in time, and that made Violet shiver. No, Sherlock definitely deserved it.

Three minutes later, Violet silently sighed when she realised it was time to call Sherlock out of the corner and begin his spanking.

''Sherlock, come here,'' she called, her voice more gentle than stern. ''Corner time is over.''

Sherlock wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and dragged his feet as he walked reluctantly over to his mother. He shuffled and fidgeted before making one last attempt at evoking mercy.

Giving her what he considered his best sad, wounded look, he bit his bottom lip and whined, "Please don't! I don't want a spanking! I promise I'll never do it again!"

"You know very well why I am doing this, Sherlock. It was very foolish and dangerous to play with fire, and you deserve what is coming to you," Mrs. Holmes replied.

She then took her son's wrist and guided him over her lap, leaving the small legs up in the air and his bottom propped up on her right thigh. Not saying one single word, Violet tugged Sherlock's trousers and pants down, revealing an already slightly pink backside. Sherlock wailed when his mother began to pull down his bottoms, and he reached back in a fruitless attempt to grab at them to keep them up.

"Nooo! No! Please!"

His pleas fell on deaf ears, and he was soon bare from the top of his bottom down to his knees. He reached back and covered as much of his exposed backside as he could with his palms face up, fingers splayed. He kicked his legs frantically and squirmed, begging and pleading all the while, and making generally a huge fuss. He clung desperately to the hope that although he was already face down over Mummy's knee with his bare behind in perfect spanking range, he might still be able to convince her to grant a last minute reprieve.

''Sherlock, stop fussing,'' Violet said sternly, pinning his small hands to his back so the target area was presented. ''Naughty boys get spanked on their bare backside, you know that really well. Fussing that way will only earn you more spanks.''

That didn't prevent the boy from kicking and squirming, but she kept an iron grip on him, making sure he wasn't going to slide off her lap. Sherlock was going to get a spanking, no matter how much fussing he was going to pull.

Taking a deep breath, Violet took the spoon and tapped it lightly on the boy's backside, as a sign that his punishment was about to begin. His skin looked already tender from the slaps he had received before, but Sherlock deserved a thorough punishment and he was going to get it. Raising the spoon high up in the air, Violet brought it down sharply - not too hard - but still producing a good whack.

It was Sherlock's very first spank from the wooden spoon, and the sharp sting came as a shock. He gasped and stiffened, before going momentarily still and silent in his initial surprise. It was so much worse than his Mummy's hand, and he suddenly understood why Mycroft had always carried on so much while being paddled. There was no way he would survive it.

Violet did feel a bit bad for her boy when she felt his body stiffen in surprise, but it was a necessary lesson. She knew from experience wooden spoons carried a very strong sting, and only a few spanks with them were needed to set the skin on fire.

Raising it again, Mrs. Holmes started to bring the spoon down at a regular pace, peppering it all over Sherlock's small bottom and focusing on his sensitive sit spots.

''You do not play with fire, Sherlock Holmes,'' she lectured, giving him two good whacks at the emphasized words. ''And you do not insult me, or anyone else.''

Once the spanking started in earnest, the spoon rising and smacking again and again against his bare, vulnerable backside, Sherlock resumed carrying on, kicking his little feet and bucking his hips in a futile attempt to escape from his mother's lap. However, she easily kept him pinned in place, and he could only twist, shake, and clench his bottom as he tried in vain to avoid the relentless sting.

He wailed and howled and begged, "Noooo! It hurts, Mummy! Please!"

Honestly, at this moment, he wasn't giving much thought to touching the stove, or playing with fire, or even insulting his mother. The only thought in Sherlock's young mind was that getting a bare bottom paddling over Mummy's knee with the wooden spoon was the absolute worst thing that could ever happen to him, and that he would never ever do anything that would land him in this awful position again.

In the future, he would consider the consequences more clearly and equate such naughty behavior with a very sore behind. It would even make him avoid the stove at all costs and watch his mouth around his parents. In the distant future, he might even grimly appreciate the irony that playing with the fire on the stove did result in him getting burned, just like Mummy said, only the burn that resulted was concentrated on the tender skin of his chubby buttocks.

All those considerations would come later, though, and he would even one day feel lucky his mother cared so much to discipline him. For now, he focused only on crying as his bottom was spanked and spanked by the meanest Mummy in the whole world.

It had always been much easier to judge Mycroft's reactions than Sherlock's. During a spanking, the elder brother always tried to stay stoic for as long as possible, biting his lower lip and trying his hardest not to cry. When the floodgates eventually opened, Violet knew the lesson was sinking in and that they were reaching the end of the punishment.

Sherlock, however... to be fully honest, Sherlock was kind of a cry baby. Not that Violet would ever blame him for that, but he had burst into tears before for only a few spanks, and had a certain talent for dramatics, especially during punishments. She didn't doubt the wooden spoon bloody hurt, judging by how the skin was slowly getting redder and redder and started to look almost scalded: but they weren't nearly done. After all, Sherlock had broken a rule and insulted her, and Violet was quite determined to teach him that he was never, ever to do that again.

''You follow the rules, Sherlock Holmes,'' Violet lectured, still bringing the spoon down on what certainly was an already smarting bottom. ''And you respect your parents. If you ever do that again, I'll spank you even harder. And while we're at it, you're not getting any desert tonight, and you are going straight to bed after dinner.''

Each emphasised word came with a matching smack, before Violet quickened her pace, again paying a particular attention to the punished boy's sit spots.

Sherlock's wailing reached a crescendo at the prospect of no dessert and being sent to bed early in addition to being spanked. He had been so looking forward to eating that delicious cake, too! He truly did have the cruelest Mummy in the entire world! However, he would certainly agree to never eat cake again if it only meant the paddling would come to an end.

He shrieked and yelped when the spoon came in contact with the skin between his bottom and thighs, unable to believe the increased level of sting on those tender spots. Sherlock kicked his legs so hard, his trousers and pants slipped down to his ankles, one leg already about to slide off the end of one foot.

The spanking was never going to end. His mother was going to spank the skin right off of his bottom. He became convinced that she must have replaced the spoon with a hot iron rod, and he sobbed hard, tears and snot running down his red face.

Mrs. Holmes wasn't actually spanking hard - though it probably didn't feel that way from Sherlock's perspective - but she did flick her wrist to increase the sting, and made sure every inch of the boy's bottom was properly punished and burning.

Landing three more good whacks, Violet quickly set the spoon aside and started to rub Sherlock's back, signaling the end of the punishment. The boy's bottom was crimson, now, and felt to Sherlock like a hot, throbbing ball of pain. Sighing in sympathy, Violet rubbed his back soothingly, letting Sherlock cry it all out.

''It's over, now, love, all over... Sssh, it's alright, my baby, it's all okay. Mummy gave you a good spanking because you were naughty, but now it's all over and dealt with, alright? All forgiven. Oh, love, just cry it all out, okay? Sssh...''

It took several moments for Sherlock to realize the spanking had finally stopped. He had somehow managed to kick his trousers and pants right off while his attention was fully focused on the spoon smacking his bare backside, but modesty was the least of his concerns at the moment. His bottom burned and throbbed. He lay limp across his mummy's knees, crying softly and feeling thoroughly punished and repentant. He swore to himself that he would never misbehave again. If the current sting in his bottom was the fate of naughty little boys, then he would be a perfect angel from now on. He was also starting to feel guilty for worrying his mother and for being rude and bratty.

Once Sherlock's sobs had subdued to sniffles, Mrs Holmes slowly picked him up and hugged him tightly, standing up and rocking him in her arms. She pressed a kiss at the top of his head and kept rubbing his back, holding her boy tenderly.

Sherlock buried his face in her neck and sniffled, mumbling apologies and promises. "'M'sorry, mummy. I didn't mean it - I promise! You're not stupid. I'll be a good boy! I won’t play with the stove! I promise..."

He rubbed at his sore bottom, and was almost surprised to find that, besides feeling a bit warm to his hand, the skin appeared to all be intact. Nonetheless, he still wasn't looking forward to eating dinner on a sore behind, and was secretly hoping his mother would allow him some dessert after all.

''I know you are sorry, dear, and it's all forgiven. I know you'll behave from now on,'' Violet whispered softly, still holding him close and ignoring the discarded trousers and pants that lay on the kitchen floor.

She held him tightly and kept rubbing his back, making sure Sherlock was getting as much comfort as needed. It was hard to know that she was the source of his tears and sore bottom, but Violet would rather see her boy with a tender behind for a few hours than seeing him injured and at the hospital. Punishing one of her sons was always hard, but she knew her fantastic boys would thank her later for taking care of their discipline.

''Let's get you upstairs and in your pyjamas, alright?'' She said with a little smile, kissing Sherlock's cheek and walking to his bedroom with him in her arms. ''Daddy and Mycroft should be home soon, and we'll have dinner then.'' Her son and husband had been in town to the library, and she had no doubt Sherlock wasn't too eager for them to discover he had been spanked.

Sherlock gladly allowed himself to be carried and coddled by his mother, feeling extra small and sensitive after being punished.

Once in Sherlock's bedroom, Violet helped him take off his shirt and put on his pyjamas, making sure the bottoms didn't irritate his sore bum too much. While she was helping him change clothes, he caught sight of his red bottom in the mirror. His eyes widened in awe at the crimson color of his cheeks. He'd never had such a thorough spanking, and he swore again to himself that he would behave and avoid that wicked wooden spoon at all costs. Though his mother was careful, he winced when she pulled the pajama bottoms up over his tender skin.

He clung to her hand as she lead him back to the kitchen for dinner. He blushed a little, remembering that Mycroft and his father would be home soon and undoubtedly find out that he had just been soundly spanked. Mummy would tell father, of course, and Mycroft would surely deduce it. He hoped his brother wouldn't tease him too much, but he knew Mycroft would probably be thrilled that Sherlock's bottom finally met with the spoon.

Violet smiled as Sherlock clung to her hand, pressing another kiss at the top of his head. It was impressive how a simple spanking could make a little boy pliant, calm and drowsy, and she had to admit it was particularly refreshing to see Sherlock that way. She loved the fact that he was a bundle of energy, but seeing him so tranquil also felt good.

Once they reached the kitchen, Violet picked up the pants and trousers from the floor and went straight to the laundry room to toss them in the basket, before taking Sherlock in her arms once again and hugging him close. She cuddled him for several minutes until she heard the front door opening, signaling her husband and son's arrival. Setting Sherlock on the floor, Violet stood to meet her husband and quickly pulled Siger aside, explaining the situation to him.

Mycroft, meanwhile, stared at his little brother with wide eyes. It was easy to deduce he had gotten spanked, from his red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks, and the boy couldn't help but smile a little.

''Hurts to sit down, little brother?'' Mycroft asked teasingly.

Sherlock blushed deep red, hands flying unconsciously to rub at his sore backside. He scowled. His instinct was to shout at Mycroft to shut up, or to call him names, but the warmth still radiated from his bottom and his mother's promise of more spankings if he were to insult anyone echoed in his ears, so he kept his mouth tightly shut. He merely averted his eyes and shrugged before moving to take his seat at the dinner table.

He only barely suppressed a wince when he planted his sore bum on the hard, wooden chair, but quickly managed to compose himself, not wanting to give Mycroft too much satisfaction over his paddling. He grit his teeth as his bottom throbbed gently under his weight.

Dinner went on normally, excepted for Sherlock squirming on his chair and his father giving him small, sympathetic smiles and trying to chat with him to cheer him up. Violet suspected her husband was very glad she had played disciplinarian, considering how soft and lenient he had always been with the boys. He was the one giving them snacks before dinner and coddling them as much as he could, so it wasn't surprising he preferred to leave the unpleasant part of the job to his wife.

''Are you sure you don't want a pillow, Sherlock?'' Mycroft suddenly asked smugly as his little brother squirmed again on his hard chair, earning himself a scowl from his mother.

''Mycroft, you stop it right this instant, unless you want to sit uncomfortably, as well,'' Violet threatened sternly, not wanting another row to start between her boys.

It was Mycroft's turn to blush and stay quiet, going back to eating his potatoes in complete silence. Sherlock managed to ignore Myroft's teasing, smiling a bit to himself when Mummy threatened his brother with a spanking. It was nice to know that his big, smart, mature brother wasn't safe from his mother's spoon either.

Sherlock was an angel through dinner. He politely answered his father's questions without any hint of sass or attitude, he used his napkin the correct way, he said please and thank you, and he even managed to eat almost all his vegetables. Every time he even thought about doing something that wouldn't be his best behavior, the sting in his bum reminded him of the consequences of being naughty, and he would squirm and be good.

When everyone had finished eating, Sherlock sat patiently, keeping quiet, and trying to look as sweet and innocent as possible, hoping that mummy would relent on sending him to bed early without dessert. The cake was sitting on the counter, looking delicious, and he eyed it hopefully.

Although Sherlock's behaviour had been so good during dinner, and Violet was very, very tempted to just give in and give him some cake, she eventually decided against it. She had told Sherlock what his sentence would be, and she wouldn’t just go back on her decision. Sighing a little, she put her napkin aside and gave her little boy a small smile.

''Alright, Sherlock, time to go to bed,'' she said gently, really hoping the boy wasn't going to react too badly now that she wasn't going to relent on her punishment. ''Say goodnight to Daddy and Mycroft.''

Sherlock's heart sank at his mother's words, and he sighed sadly, disappointed, but not surprised.. He pouted a bit, but was sure not to argue. He mumbled a quick goodnight to his father and brother and permitted Mummy to take him upstairs to an early bedtime. Once Siger had kissed Sherlock goodnight, she took his hand and started to lead him upstairs, back to his bedroom and to his bed.

''You were so good during dinner, Sherlock. I am so proud of you,'' Violet whispered as she laid Sherlock on his belly and tucked him in. ''I'll see you tomorrow morning, alright? Nighty night, my love.'' She pressed small kisses on Sherlock's face, running a hand through his curly hair.

He felt a surge of pride at her praise and snuggled into the bed. After she had turned out the light and left him alone, he soon discovered that sleeping with a freshly spanked bottom was no easy task.

He finally gave up trying to get comfortable in what felt like scratchy sandpaper trousers rubbing against his tender bum, and threw off the blankets to wriggle out of his pyjama bottoms, tossing them onto the floor next to his bed. He rolled over on his belly, not bothering to pull the covers back up, and sighed contentedly as the cool night air soothed his bare reddened cheeks.

 

Mycroft couldn’t help but feel that ending dinner without Sherlock was slightly odd, even if the cake was as delicious as ever. Mycroft chatted quietly with his mother and father, having not missed the fact that Mummy looked particularly tired - probably from a long day of dealing with Sherlock.

''Alright, Mickey. You do the dishes tonight, and I am off to bed,'' Violet eventually said, just wanting to relax with a book. ''Goodnight, love.'' She planted the usual kiss at the top of his head and left to her bedroom.

Mycroft grumbled as he started to clean the dishes, and just as he was finishing the last plate, a little idea popped into his mind. Slicing a piece of cake, he silently made his way upstairs to Sherlock's bedroom, opening the door softly.

''Sherlock?'' He called, his voice as quiet as possible. ''I brought you some cake.''

Sherlock was close to sleep, and almost didn't believe he was really hearing his brother's voice offering him cake.

"Hmm?" he murmured sleepily, raising his head.

He blinked his eyes, fully waking up and focusing his eyes on Mycroft coming in through the door. He suddenly remembered that he was lying with his red bottom exposed and he sat up quickly, tugging his nightshirt down and holding it between his legs.

''It's fine,'' Mycroft said when Sherlock practically jumped in an attempt to cover his bottom. ''I do the exact same thing,'' he admitted, blushing slightly. It wasn't their fault if Mummy was such a skilled spanker that even pyjama bottoms felt like too much after a session over her knee.

''You were practically eating it with your eyes, so I brought you a slice, little brother,'' Mycroft explained. ''How is your backside feeling? First time with the spoon, mmh? It's a sign that you're growing up,'' he said with a little smirk.

"It was awful!" Sherlock exclaimed, eyes wide. "How do you stand it? I thought I would die!" He eyed the cake and bit his lip. "Is it ok to eat it?" he rubbed his bottom. "I don't want to be spanked again!"

''Mummy is sleeping, she was quite tired before,'' Mycroft said, slightly impressed by Sherlock actually pondering whether or not doing something was allowed. Normally, his little brother would have already been eating the cake, but a sore bottom was a wonderful deterrent. ''So yes, do eat it.''

He sighed at Sherlock's initial question, running a hand through his hair. ''I don't stand it, little brother, it's simply awful,'' Mycroft explained, grimacing at the thought. ''And you haven't met her hairbrush yet... hurts even more!''

Sherlock groaned at the prospect of something worse than the paddling he had just gotten with that nasty wooden spoon, but he eagerly started in on the cake at Mycroft's urging, smiling after the first bite and licking crumbs from his lips. He was suddenly very thankful for his big brother, although it still kind of surprised him that such a smart, older boy could still be taken over Mummy's knee. It was one thing for Sherlock to get spanked – he was still a little boy! But Mycroft was practically a grown up! Maybe that’s why Mycroft was far more stoic during spankings than Sherlock had been, though. He had a newfound respect and awe for his big brother who had already lived through many, many more spankings.

"Will you play with me tomorrow?" He asked. It had been awhile since they had taken the time from bickering to spend quality time together. "I mean ... If you want to ... and have time ..." He looked down, half expecting rejection.

Mycroft had missed spending time with his brother, too. He worked a lot for school and spent most of his free time reading books, which meant he mostly talked to Sherlock to argue or tease him; which was a shame, really. He loved his little brother to bits, even if he didn't show it much, and bringing him some cake to cheer him up had definitely been a good idea, if it meant seeing him smile.

"Of course I will, Sherlock," Mycroft said, feeling a sudden warm sensation in his chest at the thought of spending some quality time with his little brother, even if that meant playing silly games or talking about pirates for hour. "Whatever you want. After all, you did get spanked with the spoon, so it must mean you are old enough to play with me," Mycroft added with a little grin.

Sherlock beamed at Mycroft. Somehow, it made getting the spoon seem just a little bit less terrible if it meant he was now in the same league as his big brother. He finished up the cake and set the plate on the nightstand, feeling much happier having eaten something so delicious and looking very much forward to tomorrow.

He yawned, consumed with sleepiness after his punishment ordeal. He initially went to lie down on his back, trying to maintain some sense of modesty in front of Mycroft, but found he was still quite sore. Realising his brother wasn't going to tease him anymore, he went ahead and flipped over onto his stomach, ignoring the fact that he might be showing off a well-spanked bare bum, and snuggled against the pillow.

"Will it ever stop hurting?" he murmured.

Mycroft wasn't bothered at all by the fact that Sherlock was naked from the waist down. After all, he was his baby brother, and he didn't have anything he hadn't seen before. The shade of his bottom was quite impressive, Mycroft had to admit: he had seen worse - on himself - but the crimson skin did look quite sore, and left no doubt that Mummy had been thorough on Sherlock. A part of him felt sorry for his little brother, but he was also relieved to know that Sherlock wasn't that spoiled, and that he could be taken across Mummy's knee if needed, as well.

''It will, I promise. Sooner than you think,'' Mycroft said quietly, starting to rub Sherlock's back soothingly to bring him to sleep. ''You'll sleep on your stomach for a few days, but most of the sting is going to fade soon enough. And considering it was your first time with the spoon, Mummy will probably coddle you for a few days, too.''

Sherlock relaxed under Mycroft's gentle touch.

"Mmmk..." he mumbled, drifting off into sleep feeling loved and cared for, and very lucky.

Chapter Text

Mycroft Holmes had only just turned fourteen, and yet he couldn't wait to leave this bloody house. Being cleverer than any other boy of his age was hard enough as it was, but having to share a house with parents that had decided to impose every rule they could on him and an idiotic little brother was even worse. Not that he didn't love them, but they could be so, so annoying. HIs parents got so easily offended when he was just telling them to relax a little – especially Mummy. Mycroft had no idea why, but she had been even more annoying than usual lately; trying to impose a curfew on him and to stop him from watching as much television as he wanted on week nights.

Mycroft was reading quietly in his bedroom when he heard the familiar footsteps, and rolled his eyes once again. What did she want him to do this time? What was she going to tell him? He was far too mature and grown to be treated like a child, and all he wanted was more independence.

''Whatever you are going to ask me, the answer is ‘no,’'' Mycroft said as Violet was about to knock, his eyes never leaving his book. “As for my homework – no, I haven't done it, and yes, I'll do it later. Schoolwork is of little use anyway.”

Violet Holmes had only just raised her fist to knock on her eldest son's door when she froze in shock at his insolent comments. Her mouth gaped. Quite frankly, she had had it up to here with Mycroft's attitude lately. More often than not, he was rude and haughty – not to mention his constant grousing over helping with household chores and even the occasional outright refusal to do as he was told.

Apparently, he was fully embracing the role of ‘sullen teenager,’ regardless of how clever or ‘above it all’ he may think he was. Honestly, if he were just a bit younger, he would be well on his way to earning a good spanking. Violet sighed. She hadn't expected motherhood to get even more difficult as her children grew older.

“That cheeky little brat,” she muttered under her breath before calling out in a firm voice, "Mycroft, I told you two hours ago that you needed to finish the dishes, and yet the dishes are still dirty in the sink. You will come downstairs right now and do them. Or else."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and ignored his mother's comment, focusing on the book. In his mind, he was far too old to earn himself any kind of punishment, especially a spanking. It was Sherlock's turn to be terrified of that wicked wooden spoon or that stingy hairbrush. Mycroft was almost an adult now, and his mother really ought to understand that. Besides, considering his current grades and ambitions, Mycroft was fairly sure he would have a very well-paying job when he grew up and therefore someone to do household chores for him. There was no need for him to focus on doing such pointless things if they would prove to be useless in the future.

“We have more than enough money to hire a cleaner, Mother. I don't understand why we don't just do that,'' Mycroft said, having exchanged the childish 'Mummy' for something more mature and suitable for a young man of his age. ''I am far too busy to waste time on chores.''

Violet saw red. How dare he speak to her like that? Mycroft obviously didn't understand a thing about money and responsibilities, and he very clearly thought himself immune to discipline. 'Too big for his britches' didn't even begin to cover it. Well, perhaps he wasn't too old for a sore bottom after all. Maybe she had let him go too long without a strong reminder to respect his parents. It seemed Mycroft was not as clever as he may think since he had just sassed his way into a sound thrashing.

She steeled herself and threw the door open, marching straight up to where her son was sitting on the bed. She wrenched the book from his hands and tossed it to the floor where it landed with a loud thud.

"Young man, I have had more than enough of your cheek. You seem to have forgotten yourself. I've apparently been too lenient with you lately. Well, you have just earned yourself a spanking, you disrespectful little brat!"

Mycroft's eyes widened in surprise as his beloved book was taken away from him and tossed on the floor. He had only seen their mother lose her temper a few times, and it was definitely happening right now. Really, though, why was she so angry at him?

The promise of a spanking made his cheeks turn bright red, and Mycroft just stared at her in shock. Oh, that was absolutely out of question. He was fourteen and far, far too old and mature to be spanked like a little boy, or called a 'disrespectful little brat'. He had no idea with his mother was behaving like this today, and he was starting to get quite annoyed by it.

“Oh, don't be ridiculous,'' Mycroft snorted, picking his book back up from the floor and staring defiantly at her. “That is not going to happen, and you ought to just leave me alone. Just piss off, Mother!”

Mycroft himself was shocked at the words that had just left his mouth, and he suddenly realize that perhaps he had taken things too far.

“Mycroft!" Violet gasped, scandalized that he would be so defiant and dare to curse at her like that. Oh, he was most certainly well overdo for a serious spanking, and there was simply no way he was going to make it through the rest of that day without a very sore bottom.

Mycroft felt his stomach twist at the look of anger on his mother's face. He suddenly started to feel slightly guilty for cursing at her and upsetting her that way: after all, he loved her deeply, and he certainly wasn't behaving properly at the moment. Wanting to force him to do household chores was certainly extremely silly, but she didn't deserved to be treated that way.

Violet clenched her fists and closed her eyes, letting out a deep breath and slowly counting backwards from five. She needed to calm down, because she was very close to giving Mycroft a smack in the mouth for his impudence. But no, that wouldn't do. Besides, little boys – oh he may think himself very adult, but at this moment he was behaving like a naughty little boy indeed – little boys had perfectly plump, tender backsides just made for smacking.

However, Mycroft might not have been wrong about being too big for a traditional spanking. He was nearly as tall as Violet herself and had matured quite a bit physically over the past year. It would prove difficult to turn him over her knee for a lengthy session with the hairbrush or spoon. He also really deserved a harsh lesson – something that would really nip in the bud all this disrespectful attitude.

Perhaps it was time to up the ante on his punishments. She had threatened a switching before, but never followed through, but she knew from her own childhood experiences that the intense sting of the switch was a great motivator for good behaviour.

Mycroft bit his lip as he watched his mother taking a deep breath and trying to calm down, and he reached one hand back to rub at his backside. It wasn't sore, but Mycroft was clever enough to know that he was living his last moments of having a pale behind. Judging by the look on his mother's face, he was going to end up sleeping on his stomach for quite awhile.

"Mycroft," she began, voice dangerously calm and dripping with fury. "I will not tolerate this behavior anymore. Today, you are going to be switched, and I sincerely hope it will teach you to behave yourself. You wait right here, while I go fetch a switch. If you aren't here waiting with a more cooperative attitude when I return, I promise you will regret it."

She left the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Mycroft's eyes widened in terror as he learned that he was going to be switched, and he regretted even more his attitude. Oh, it was going to hurt more than any other implement, he was sure of that, and he was also convinced he was going to cry like a little child. He watched silently as she left the room and sat on the bed with a sigh, waiting nervously for her return.

Sherlock was busy reading downstairs when he suddenly saw his Mummy walking to the garden, holding a knife in her hand and approaching their apple tree. Curious, the young boy followed her quietly, wondering what she was up to.

''What are you doing, Mummy?'' He asked out of sheer curiosity. Apparently she wanted to cut some sort of branch, but he had no idea why.

"Nothing, Sherlock!" she snapped at her youngest when he practically bumped into the back of her legs.

She didn't want him underfoot while she was using a knife; however, she almost instantly regretted letting her temper affect her so much when she saw Sherlock's eyes widen and his lip quiver. Sherlock's didn't understanding exactly why Mummy was suddenly so unhappy at him.

“Oh, I'm sorry for snarling at you, baby," she bent over to give him a quick hug and a peck on the head. "Mummy's just very cross with Mycroft right now. I need you to go in the house and watch some telly downstairs. Be a good boy, ok?"

Sherlock relaxed, giving a small nod at her explanation. Mycroft was in trouble, then. Good. Sherlock had noticed his big brother hadn't been nice at all recently, always calling him a baby and rolling his eyes every time he tried to speak to him. He gave his mother a small smile and nodded, going to the living room and turning the television on on some sort of Science program.

After sending the young boy on his way, Violet set to the task of finding a suitable switch. Having been made to cut her own many times as a child, it was a simple task, and she found the perfect branch in no time, cutting it from the tree and stripping the leaves and twigs. With a flick of her wrist she gave it a practice swing. It was thin and whippy and whistled through the air, but it was also sturdy enough to survive a thorough thrashing of a naughty boy's bottom. Perfect. Mycroft might not appreciate the perfection when it was stinging his bare bum, though.

Mycroft's stomach was almost hurting from being so nervous. He was slightly annoyed he couldn't see the garden from his window. He wanted to see what his mother was up to; if she was really going to cut a switch and use it on him. It was ridiculous, really. He knew he had spoken out of turn, but he just couldn't be punished like a child anymore. They could talk about this, as adults, and maybe decide something more suitable for him to do. Mycroft wouldn't mind writing her an apology letter if he needed to, but the whole switching idea was just silly. Maybe once she had calmed down, she would see reason.

When Violet returned to Mycroft’s room, she was relieved to find her son waiting, seemingly ready to accept his punishment. She hoped he was finished with his show of defiance, because she couldn't think of a young boy more deserving of a fire in his seat than her son in that moment.

"Ok, Mycroft. This is going to work a bit differently than you're used to!” She grabbed a pillow and set it on the foot of the bed. "Come over here and take down your trousers and pants and bend over the end of the bed propped over this pillow."

Taking a deep breath, Mycroft straightened his back and listened to her, not moving an inch and trying to appear as mature as possible.

“Mother, please,'' Mycroft said, his voice serious and, he hoped, rather diplomatic. ''I have thought about it, and while I apologise for speaking to you as I did, I do not think getting … this type of punishment is appropriate. However, I thought I might write you an apology letter instead, and look at the house's spendings. I am sure we can afford a cleaner to do the dishes – I have calculated it, and it would solve all of our problems.''

Violet let out a short, humourless laugh at his attempt to cleverly talk his way of being punished. The time for reasonable talking had passed. No, the only way he was really going to learn a lesson today was through his soon to be stinging rear end. And from the way Mycroft was talking, he was clearly still missing the point.

“Mycroft, Mycroft, Mycroft ..." she sighed heavily and shook her head. "The household finances aren't the point, and are not really your concern. It doesn't matter if we can afford a housekeeper. We don't need one. Your father and I manage the money in this house, and we will decide how it is spent. Even if you're going to grow up to be rich and famous with a hundred housekeepers, you need to learn how to take care of things on your own and to be responsible. I won't have my sons growing up to be spoiled brats, and unfortunately, your appalling behavior has me worried that you are heading exactly that way. You are due a good thrashing, Mycroft, and there will be no getting out of it. I know you aren't little anymore, so if you won't cooperate with me now, then I'll just have to wait until your father gets home, and then you'll be getting a spanking from us both and then a switching!” She raised her eyebrows at him, "Now, please do as I asked. Trousers and pants down, bent over the end of the bed."

It wasn't fair! Mycroft was only trying to be reasonable and talk about things calmly, and his mother wasn't even taking that into consideration. What would his classmates, who were so impressed by his intelligence, think if they knew he was still getting this type of punishment from his mother? Mycroft blushed brightly at the thought, suddenly very glad that no one outside of his family would ever know. And his father … well, his father was calm most the time, but if he knew the way he had talked to his mother, then Mycroft had no doubt he would certainly get a lecture from him and a maybe even a spanking to remind him to never, ever do it again. Mycroft definitely wanted to avoid that.

The threat of getting spanked by both of his parents was enough to finally make him move, and Mycroft was next to the bed in a few quick strides. He eyed the switch warily, having no doubt it was going to sting like Hell on his backside. Taking a deep breath, Mycroft quickly pulled his trousers down before looking down at his pants and hesitating.

“Mummy … can I keep these on? Please, I am not arguing, I promise,'' Mycroft said, suddenly feeling very much exposed. ''It will hurt even with my underwear on, you know that.”

'Mummy' now was it? A part of Violet was pleased that she had clearly already taken him down a peg from his previously haughty attitude. She very briefly considered, and almost relented until she realized just how important it was to teach Mycroft a strong lesson. He was obviously embarrassed, but if a little embarrassment would save her from four more years of stroppy cheek and disobedience, then she would just have to force him to swallow his pride. She wanted to remind him that she was still his mother, she was still the boss, and if he misbehaved like a little brat, then she would not hesitate to bare his backside before tanning it.

"No, Mycroft. Pants down. Spankings are always on the bare bottom in this house – you know that. If you don't like it, then you can just watch your attitude and behave yourself."

Sucking another deep breath, Mycroft quickly lowered his pants and immediately bent over the bed, trying to protect his modesty as much as he could by placing the pillow under his body. He had forgotten how embarrassing it was; how cool the air of the room felt against his bare backside, and he let out a pathetic whimper of apprehension as he rested his head against the bed. It was obvious the switch was going to scald his behind, to leave long and deep welts, and Mycroft suddenly very much regretted being rude to his mother.

''Mummy … I am sorry, really,'' he whispered, wanting his mother to at least acknowledge that. ''I don't know why I said that. It was so stupid.''

“I know, dear," she replied, "I just hope this will help you remember to check your attitude in the future."

She walked up behind his left side and placed a hand on his back, giving him an encouraging little push.

"Scootch forward a bit," she watched him wriggle into a more acceptable position in which his bottom was tilted upwards, perfectly perched and upturned for her purpose.

Mycroft had closed his eyes and waited for the switching to begin, his whole body tensed in apprehension. He knew that tensing would only make it worse, but he couldn't stop himself from doing it. The thought of the switch hitting his bare skin was enough to scare him, and his only consolation was that a spanking with an intense implement would actually be shorter than a hand spanking. A few swats of the switch surely would be enough to set his poor bottom on fire, but it would be over in a matter of minutes. Very, very long minutes – especially if his mother decided to lecture – but still shorter than a spanking with the spoon.

Violet appraised his pale, quivering buttocks which had rounded out quite a bit since the last time she needed to spank him, and, making a snap decision, raised her right hand and brought it down with a crisp smack against his chubby left cheek.

She followed the first spank up with several more, alternating between each cheek as they flattened and jiggled at the attention. She had surely taken Mycroft by surprise, who, while reluctant, was ready to accept the more 'grown-up' switching, but certainly did not want to be subjected to a baby hand spanking.

Violet really wanted to give him the message that even though he was fourteen now and may feel very mature and smart, he still lived under her rules, and so she could still give him a stinging bare bottom spanking with her hand if she decided he needed it. She also knew that giving a little warm-up spanking before the switching would actually alleviate some of the harshness, but she figured Mycroft wouldn't thank her for it.

Mycroft jumped in surprise when, instead of the switch, his mother's very familiar palm landed with a sound smack on his backside. Despite the initial shock, the teen soon blushed brightly at the thought that he was receiving a little baby spanking, for some reason, and he whined in indignation. His mother's hand still bloody stung and Mycroft started to squirm at the fifth spank, twisting his hips and letting out a yelp.

She finished up the hand spanking (which had only been about a dozen or so smacks) with two final sharp swats, leaving his rounded globes a light pink color.

The spanking left his bottom slightly stinging and warm, and Mycroft gave a small kick against the floor. He felt like a baby, being punished that way. Even Sherlock got more spanks than that, and it just served as a reminder of all the times he had earned himself a spanking from his Mummy. The time he had played with a ball in the living room and knocked down a vase; the time he had sassed his parents so much during dinner his mother had taken him over her knee for a quick but effective spanking. They were not pleasant memories, and Mycroft let out a small sigh, biting at his lower lip.

“How many with the switch, Mummy?'' He asked softly, wanting to mentally prepare himself.

Violet felt vindicated in her decision to start with a hand spanking when the meek little question came from her eldest son's mouth. He was clearly learning a very valuable lesson in humility. Earlier, when her anger had been fresh and she was still furious with him, she had imagined being very harsh, giving him at least a dozen stinging cuts with the switch, but now that she had calmed down, she reconsidered.

She recalled that the switch truly did sting terribly, and Mycroft, pink bare bum turned up in the air, was already well on his way to learning a good lesson.

“Eight," she decided. "Five slow ones and three fast." She picked up the switch and raised it in the air. "Get ready now."

Mycroft nodded. Eight, then. It couldn't be that terrible. It would sting – probably quite harshly for a few seconds – but it would fade. It would be superficial, too, he tried to assure himself. Maybe if he convinced himself that the punishment wasn't actually that terrible, it would work. Maybe.

Violet brought the stick downwards with a flick of her wrist, and it cut through the air with a whistle before snapping sharply right across the center of Mycroft's buttocks, stinging both sides at once and leaving a light pink stripe.

Mycroft heard the whistle before he felt anything. After just a second of nothing, a deep sting blossomed against his backside, stronger than anything he had expected. It was a deep burn that stung so badly that he just wanted to reach back and try to rub it away. It gave the impression that the switch wasn't made of wood but of hot iron, and that it had just scalded and snapped his skin in two.

After the initial shock, Mycroft let out a pained whimper and kicked harshly against the floor, tossing his hips from side to side in an attempt to lessen the sting. It was hard, really hard, to keep his hands in place and not just grab his buttocks and try to soothe them as much as he could. What has his poor backside done to deserve such fate?

Mycroft's reaction the first swat made Violet's heart twist. She knew just how much of a wicked sting the switch could inflict on a bare backside, and she almost regretted the need to dole out seven more strokes, but Mycroft had earned it. Hopefully, it would be a lesson she never had to repeat.

She tapped the switch lightly against Mycroft's bum, just below the first stripe, to assure her aim and brought it back with a flip and struck him again, painting another line just below the first. Assuming that she most definitely had her son's full attention at the moment, she began to lecture.

“From now on, Mycroft, you will obey me when I tell you do something, whether it is your homework, the dishes, or any other household chore.”

She snapped the switch across his bottom a third time, lining up another pink stripe low across his buttocks.

"You will speak to both me and your father and every other adult in a polite manner. No more sass. No more backtalk. No more insults. No eyerolling."

She gave him another stroke, this time landing the thin, whippy switch right across the delicate crease just below his cheeks with a loud snap.

Mycroft listened to what his mother was saying, even though the sharp sting against his backside took most of his attention. It bloody hurt, like nothing else: more than the spoon and the hairbrush combined, more than any long hand spanking. It was excruciating, horribly painful, and Mycroft mentally promised himself that he was going to be an absolute angel for the next four years of his life if that meant never, ever getting the switch again.

''Yes, yes, Mummy, I'll be good! Ow!'' Mycroft promised, tears already burning the corner of his eyes.

He was kicking even faster, his trousers and pants now tangled around his ankles, and he did not care about his modesty anymore, but twisted his hips and wriggled around in the hope that he might avoid the switch. There was something more dignifying about being spanked over the bed, rather than over his mother's knee: but at the same time, the teenager had a feeling it hurt even more.

When the switch snapped against his sit spots Mycroft wailed. Unable to stop himself, both of his hands flew to his backside and he started to rub furiously at it, and the boy started to cry miserably as he straightened up and tried desperately to make that horrid sting go away, still kicking against the floor and almost doing a little dance to stop the burn.

Usually, Mrs. Holmes would scold for reaching back and rubbing, but she understood that Mycroft's poor bottom was undoubtedly on fire at the moment. They also hadn't established any rules about staying in position during this new brand of punishment, so she let it slide. Additionally, she felt a grim satisfaction in how all his gusto and modesty had clearly flown out the window after only a few stinging strokes from the switch on his bare bottom. It seemed that sometimes, no matter how old he may be, a naughty just needed a sore bum in order to remember his place. She allowed him a moment of rubbing before being stern.

"That's enough, Mycroft. Back in position. We aren't finished yet."

Mycroft rubbed furiously at his scalded backside for as long as he could. Getting a small pause in the midst of a punishment was an unexpected chance, and he wasn't going to waste it. He almost kneaded his sore behind, trying everything he could to make the sting go away while knowing it wasn't going to do anything. He was going to end the afternoon with a sore backside, whether he wanted it or not.

Mycroft also took some time to wipe at his eyes and tear-strained cheeks, having barely noticed how much he had actually cried. He wanted to stay stoic during the entire punishment, to keep a stiff upper lip, but the switch was too much for him. Besides, he didn't really mind if his mother saw him cry: she had seen him in worse positions, and he knew she wasn't going to make fun of him.

Whining when he was told to resume his position, Mycroft bent over again and clung to the sheet, determined to keep his hands firmly in place.

''Mummy, I am sorry, really! I am really sorry,'' he mumbled, looking over his shoulder and sniffing. He really wanted to be forgiven by her, more than anything else in the whole world. ''I won't ever talk to you that way again, I promise.''

When Mycroft looked back at her with that sweet, imploring tear-stained face, Violet almost wanted to stop the punishment then and there. In that moment, he reminded her again of her precious baby boy that he used to be, crying for Mummy when he got a boo-boo or tearfully begging forgiveness after a spanking across her knee. His poor, chubby bum sported four pink lines across both flushed cheeks, and her heart went out for his little scalded tail.

However, she swallowed down the lump forming in her throat and steeled herself, trying to remember what a spoiled, insufferable, rude brat he had been just less than an hour ago. At least she (or perhaps the switch!) was making an impression on him.

"I know, Mikey," she said softly, patting him on the back. "We're almost finished. Be brave."

She stepped back and raised the switch again, bringing it down sharply across the tippy tops of his thighs, knowing full well the excruciating sting Mycroft would feel as it cut into the sensitive skin.

Mycroft yelped when the switch landed, setting his thighs on fire with just one stroke. He was properly crying now, tears and snot running down his face as he managed to completely dispose of his trousers and pants with one harsh kick. Modesty was the last thing he had in mind at the moment; when his poor rear end was on fire, throbbing and blazing. He wondered if the punishment was ever going to stop, if that bloody switch would finally break or at least stop hitting his poor skin. Mycroft knew it had only left welts, but he felt like it had cut his skin and left deep burns everywhere.

Relieved to be finished with the slower portion, Mrs. Holmes took a deep breath. "Almost there, Myc. I certainly hope you've learned your lesson, because if you haven't there are plenty more trees full of switches to be cut in the yard."

''No! I've learnt, Mummy! I'll be so good,'' he promised, whining at the threat of more switching to come if he didn't behave. Oh, he was going to be an absolute role model. He wasn't going to roll his eyes in front of his mother anymore. He was going to do all of his household chores before anyone would ask him.

Violet brought the switch back and whipped his bottom three times in rapid succession, the implement making little thwick thwick thwick sounds as it quickly made contact with the bare skin. She delivered these final strokes at random, criss-crossing over the previous stripes, setting his backside ablaze.

These last three strokes came as another shock, making Mycroft sob as soon as they landed on his already punished skin. It felt even worse than before and the teen burst into tears, clutching the duvet and crying loudly, kicking his poor legs and barely noticing the eight strokes had been duly delivered. His backside was a burning Hell, stinging and scalding, and the punishment had made Mycroft a sobbing mess, bawling his eyes out and muttering apologies over and over again.

There was no doubt in Violet Holmes's mind that she had been plenty thorough with her son. His tears were definitely genuine, and she was sure his promises to be good were, as well; she only hoped that the sincerity would last. She had a good notion he would remember this lesson for a long while, though. His poor backside was in a sorry state – glowing pink and decorated with eight nasty stripes that undoubtedly stung like a thousand bees. Mycroft would probably suffer from the sore welts for several days. At least she could be guaranteed his best behavior for that long.

She rubbed his back and hushed him. "Good boy. I know you're sorry, but if you ever curse like that at me again, you'll get more of the same, but with a yucky bar of soap in your mouth."

When he was little, she always cuddled him after a spanking, but she figured he was probably too old now, and might not want it. Once he calmed down, he would certainly remember his embarrassment at being bare from the waist down in front of his mother and would probably want privacy to sort out his pants and trousers that lay in a twisted, crumpled heap on the ground. She just gave him a few more comforting pats on his shoulders before walking towards the door.

"I'll give you some time alone, Mikey. Come down when you're ready, ok? You can do the dishes and then we can watch some telly with Sherlock."

Mycroft was glad his mother hadn't decided to take him in her arms, like she used to do when he was small. He had already been humiliated enough by the punishment, and cuddling him wouldn't have been comforting; just more distressing and shaming. He nodded slowly at her words, starting to rub at his backside and to sniff forlornly. Mycroft decided to crawl on the bed and hug his pillow so he could calm down quietly, crying it all out and giving his bottom a few rubs to take the worse of the sting out. Maybe he would take some lotion and rub it on his skin. He could feel the angry welts very easily under his fingers, where the skin throbbed and was swollen.

 

Sherlock might have been all the way downstairs, but he had certainly heard muffled yelps coming from his brother's bedroom. He wondered what Mycroft had done to earn such a punishment, and a part of him was almost worried something bad had happened. Mycroft never yelped that way, even when he got the nasty hairbrush. The little boy suddenly heard Mummy coming and ran to her, looking up at her with big and slightly worried eyes.

''Mummy … did Mycroft get a big spanking?'' The seven-year-old asked, just wanting to make sure his older brother was alright. ''I heard him cry out! Was he really naughty?''

"Yes, Sherlock, your big brother was very naughty and got a switching. It hurt a lot, but everything's forgiven now. Try not to bother him too much, darling, and no teasing! Or else!"

Sherlock felt like Mycroft deserved such a harsh punishment, because his older brother had been surprisingly naughty for a long time. Even so, the little boy still winced in sympathy and rubbed his own bottom at the thought of the switching his brother had just received. Poor him!

Mrs. Holmes ruffled the curls atop her younger son’s head and went to phone her husband who was spending the Saturday at work. She quickly filled him in on the gory details, and, for once, he seemed vehemently in favor of such a harsh punishment, commenting that Mycroft had been a ‘right little terror’ for far too long.

Violet settled into the rocker in the family room and switched the telly to a programme she knew both Sherlock and Mycroft would enjoy and waited for her eldest to compose himself and come downstairs to complete his chore. At least he'd be standing for the dishes. She told Sherlock to sit in the floor by her side and purposely left the sofa open for Mycroft to lie down on once he joined them, figuring he might not be up for long periods of sitting on his sore bottom just yet.

Mycroft, meanwhile, had headed to the bathroom to clean his face. He had put his trousers and pants back on and wasn't surprised to see how terrible he looked, his cheeks still tear-strained and his eyes red-rimmed. He caught sight of the large mirror and couldn't help but take a peek at his bottom, gasping when he did so. It was covered in eight thin and angry red welts, and Mycroft understood suddenly why it hurt so much.

Once downstairs, he did a quick job at cleaning the dishes, making sure each plate was spotless. Just to please his mother, Mycroft also cleaned the table and the counter.

Wincing as he walked to the sitting room, he gave a shy smile to his mother and stood next to her, biting down at his lower lip. He still felt slightly guilty, and wanted to say sorry properly.

"Mummy … I really want to apologise again for before," Mycroft told her, genuinely sorry. "I should have never spoken to you that way. It was unacceptable and it won't happen again, ever. I am also sorry for not being … particularly nice, lately. I promise I'll watch my language!"

Mrs. Holmes's heart swelled with pride at Mycroft's heartfelt apology. She took his hand in hers and gave it a loving squeeze. It truly felt like a turning point, and she believed that her son's behavior was about to change for the better.

"I know, sweetheart," she smiled at both her sons, feeling extremely proud of them both. She and her husband had created such beautiful little geniuses, even if they were naughty sometimes! "Stay with Sherlock and I for a bit, won't you? Go ahead and have a lie-down on the sofa."

Sherlock watched with wide eyes as Mycroft apologised. Only a few hours ago, it would have been completely unimaginable to see his big brother being so polite, with his smug and superior attitude. Sherlock had never received a switching, but it had to hurt quite a lot if it could change attitudes like that.

Mycroft let out another sniffle at his mother, giving her hand another squeeze in return. "I will, Mummy," he said, hissing as the fabric of his trousers pressed against his fresh welts. He'd never sported such a sore backside, and it was definitely something he was going to avoid in the future!

Lying down on the sofa, one hand busy rubbing at his bum, Mycroft let out a content sigh and rested his head against a pillow, closing his eyes. However, after a few minutes of silence, he opened them again to look at his mother.

"Mummy, will you tell Daddy about this?" Mycroft asked nervously. He didn't mind his father knowing about his punishment, but was scared he might decide to lecture him, or give him an additional punishment.

Violet gave him a sympathetic look. "He already knows, dear, but don't worry. You've already been punished and forgiven. Your father wasn't any more pleased with your behavior than I was, but he isn't going to give your poor bottom anymore thrashing. Unless ..." She gave her son a warning look, "you can't manage to behave in the future, of course."

Mycroft swallowed thickly at that, nodding quickly and blushing, looking away shyly.

"I won't, Mummy. I'll behave."

The rest of the day was a quiet affair, Mycroft still on his best behaviour. His father didn't realoy talk about the incident, but warned Mycroft that if he ever spoke to his mother that way again, he was going to taste the sting of his belt. After watching a film with both of his parents, Mycroft made his way upstairs and to bed, falling asleep surprisingly quickly considering his sore behind.


Sherlock crept quietly into his brother's darkened room. He padded up to the side of the bed and appraised Mycroft's sleeping face, his brother's mouth emitting little snores.

"Pssst... Mycroft?" He whispered.

When his brother failed to respond he reached forward and poked him in the nose.

Mycroft groaned, trying to slap whatever was poking him away. When it persisted, he stirred and opened one eye. He scowled, wondering why his little brother was standing there.

"Sherlock, what are you doing here? It's two in the morning," Mycroft mumbled, sitting up and wincing as he remembered how sore his bottom was. He lay back down on his stomach again, sighing.

"I need to see," Sherlock said matter-of-factly, flipping on the lamp and making Mycroft squint.

He hadn't been able to sleep, thinking about just how horrible a punishment must have been inflicted on Mycroft. So harsh that it made his big brother cry so much and act so politely after. A part of him was merely curious, but another was worried about his own bottom suffering a similar fate one day!

"Please, Mycroft! I need to see how bad it looks."

Mycroft blushed brightly, one hand going to rub at his sore bottom as he thought about how terrible his punishment had been. And it had happened here, too, right at the end of his bed.

"Sherlock, I’m not going to let you see my bottom," Mycroft huffed, feeling terribly embarrassed at the thought. "It looks bad. It's red, it hurts and that's all you need to know. Just be very careful around Mummy, because that was simply awful. Seeing how you cry because of her hand, I doubt you would survive it!”

Sherlock's lip trembled into a little pout. "But, Mycroft! I can't understand if I don't observe! You taught me that. Please? I promise I won't tease. I need to see!"

He was getting quite worked up, the beginnings of tears welling in his eyes.

Oh, for God's sake. Sherlock was seven, but he could be such a baby. He would start crying any time something didn't go the way he wanted. It was really quite annoying.

Rolling his eyes, Mycroft quickly tugged at his pyjama bottoms to reveal his striped backside, grimacing as he did so.

"There you go. Happy?" Mycroft asked, feeling slightly ashamed his little brother was seeing the marks of his punishment.

Sherlock gasped when he saw the state of his brother's rump.

"Wow," he leaned in for a closer look. "Eight times? I thought maybe it had been more from how much you were shouting up here. Did it hurt really bad?"

“They were very hard eight strokes, alright?'' Mycroft clarified, not wanting his little brother to think he had done so much shouting for nothing. “And it hurt more than bad. It was awful. I thought Mummy was using an iron rod! It’s worse than anything, little brother. Worse than the hairbrush and the wooden spoon combined. And she gave me a hand spanking before we even began.''

Sherlock's eyes widened at that. Mummy had spanked a big boy like Mycroft with her hand, too.”

"On your bare bum?"

“Yes,'' Mycroft admitted, sighing at that. And it certainly hadn't been pleasant. Not that painful, to be honest, but humbling and quite embarrassing. It was something that he wouldn't forget any time soon; that he wasn't too old to receive a hand spanking from his mother. ''But I deserved it. My behaviour was atrocious, and I suggest you never behave the way I did,'' Mycroft said, this time looking at his brother seriously. ''At least if you value your backside.''

"Wow," Sherlock was a bit shocked that his brother was still subjected to any kind of spankings, much less a baby hand spanking! He had wrongly assumed that Mycroft was too old and now immune to such punishment. He quickly realized that this meant that he had many, many more years of spankings to come. Mycroft was so much older - Sherlock was going to be spanked forever.

He was still a bit worried about the whole switching thing, too. What if Mummy decided that switchings were so effective that she would use them all the time; even on Sherlock? He didn't think that would happen - Mycroft had been especially naughty - but he just had to ask, to be sure, hoping his brother would give him some reassurance.

"M-Mycroft? Do you think ... do you think Mummy will use a switch on me the next time I'm naughty? I mean – if I'm naughty again?" He bit his bottom lip and gave the angry stripes on Mycroft's bottom another nervous look.

Mycroft was almost tempted to tease his little brother a little and tell him that yes, his mother had indeed planned to only use the switch as a method of discipline. He almost wanted to tell Sherlock that from now on, there would be no more warnings and that Mummy would just punish immediately. It would have been fun to see his little brother gasping in shock and try to behave as much as possible; until, of course, he would inevitably tell their mother and Mycroft would get into even more trouble. And besides, it wasn't so nice to scare his little brother.

''Sherlock,'' Mycroft sighed, giving him a little smile and shaking his head. ''Mummy barely uses the spoon on you, and she wouldn't even think of using the switch when giving you a spanking. She only chose that because I am fourteen, and I got into a whole lot of trouble. Trust me, you are her precious baby. I am fairly sure you'll never get the switch. However, considering your age, you’ll probably get a taste of the wooden spoon very soon.''

Sherlock shook his head hard. "No way! I'm going to be good - forever! I don't want any more spankings."

He was relieved by Mycroft's assurances that he would probably never get the switch, but that didn't make him like the wooden spoon or even Mummy's hand against his bare backside any better. He always planned on behaving, but sometimes that just didn't work out. Each time he found himself sobbing and rubbing a sore, red bottom after a spanking, he mentally promised that he would never, ever be naughty again, but somehow he kept ending up over Mummy's knee anyhow. To be fair, he wasn't really spanked all that often, but every time was too much in his opinion!

He was starting to feel rather sleepy, but was really enjoying how nice Mycroft was being at the moment – deven if his brother's change in attitude was just a result of the fire in his bottom. He stifled a yawn. Suddenly, he didn't feel like walking all the way back to his room by himself in the dark.

"Can I sleep here tonight? With you?" he gave Mycroft his best puppy eyes.

Mycroft grinned at Sherlock's little promise. 'Being good forever' was certainly something their mother must have heard dozens of times when one of them was over her knee with his bottom getting soundly smacked. They always ended up promising to be angels for the rest of their lives. Of course, in reality, that never happened. They always ended up punished again in some way, and Mycroft had to admit they both had a certain gift for finding trouble.

''Of course,'' Mycroft nodded, unable to say no to these puppy eyes.

He quickly tugged his pyjama bottoms back up, wincing at the contact before scooting over and patting the spot next to him. Mummy wouldn't mind if Sherlock spent the night in his room, she never did. Wrapping an arm around Sherlock, Mycroft made sure his brother was comfortable being pulling the covers over them, flipping off the lamp, and closing his eyes and yawning.

Sherlock wriggled down between the sheets and blankets, snuggling his curly-haired head against his big brother's chest.

""Night," he murmured, voice muffled against Mycroft's shirt before drifting quickly off to sleep.


Violet Holmes opened the door to her eldest son's room to peek in. It was only just after dawn. Sherlock had been missing from his room when she went to check on him, but she had a good notion where she might find him. She smiled when she was proved right, seeing his dark, curly hair peeking over the top of the blankets snuggled next to Mycroft's auburn head.

Her sons were good boys, really. She hated having to punish them, but sometimes they just needed it. Although it always broke her heart to do so, if inflicting a temporarily sore bottom would keep her children safe and assure they grew up to be successful, good people, then she would do it.

She watched the boys sleeping for a few moments, cherishing the sight, knowing that she only had a few short more years with Mycroft until he went off to University and that Sherlock would also grow up in the blink of an eye. She sighed contentedly before closing the door and leaving them to sleep for a little bit longer.

Chapter Text

Sherlock had always been a curious boy. Being six, the world around him was still brand new and very interesting; full of things to discover and learn. Thankfully, he had a big brother and parents to teach him about things, to buy him books and explain complicated words to him, to watch television with him, and to make sure he understood everything.

Today, however, Sherlock had stumbled on a new word, and he did not quite understand what it meant. He had heard it on the street while he was shopping with Mummy, and his mother had looked shocked, covering his ears and ushering him away. What did that word mean, and why did she not want him to hear it?

Going to the sitting room where his mother was reading, Sherlock tugged at her arm and looked up at her, his eyes wide and curious.

''Mummy, what does 'shit' mean? The word the people in the street were saying?'' Sherlock asked, cocking his head to the side. He really wanted to know.

Violet's eyes widened.

"Sherlock! That is a very naughty word that adults sometimes say when they are being rude. It's a bad, dirty way of describing feces, but usually it's just a mean curse word. You know you mustn't ever curse, right?" She wagged her finger in his face. "I never want to hear you saying that word again. It's not a nice word at all - especially for little boys!"

She gave him a warning look. Goodness, she knew Sherlock was curious, but what would he blurt out next?

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his mother's words. He had heard the 'no cussing' rule before, but this was just annoying. Words were just words and nothing more. Why were grown-ups making always making such a big deal of it?

''But Mummy, I want to say it,'' Sherlock protested, blatantly ignoring the warning look on his mother's face. ''It's just a word, and nothing ever happens when you say words!''

"Sherlock," she began, her tone firm to show she was in no mood for argument. "Plenty can happen when you say words. Words have power, especially nasty ones. Words can hurt people, and curse words are simply not nice at all. We don't use filthy language in this house, and that is final."

She gave him the look; the look Sherlock knew well enough meant 'you-are-treading-on-thin-ice-young-man.' Violet was tired after a long day, and her youngest had already been in a bit of a stroppy mood while accompanying her on errands. She had needed to threaten him with a smacked bottom twice, and was nearly out of patience. If he didn't shape up soon, he was on his way to ending up with a sore seat.

Sherlock recognized the look very easily, and he knew he had almost gotten into trouble quite a few times today. It wasn't his fault if he was a bit grumpy today, and Mummy was being very annoying with all her silly rules. 'No, Sherlock, you stay right by my side' or 'No, Sherlock, you are not getting any sweets today, sorry.’ All of these little things were making it difficult for the young boy to stay patient.

“Well, I am saying it anyway,'' Sherlock said defiantly, looking straight into his mother's eyes. ''Because you can't forbid me from saying things and I want to say it and it's just a word.''

With that, he turned around and crossed his tiny arms, giving a small kick against the sofa.

''Shit,'' he muttered.

Violet's jaw dropped, scandalized at Sherlock's blatant disobedience. It was one thing to be curious, but it was quite another to be so insolent and rude after she had just told him that cursing would not be tolerated. She was shocked at his behavior, but decided it must be one of those days in which her son was simply itching for a spanking.

"Sherlock!" she barked at him, "What did I just tell you?"

In no time at all, she strode across the room and scooped him up, face down bottom up, under the crook of her left arm. She was strong, and Sherlock was still very small, so holding him this way was still possible at his young age.

''No, Mummy, no!'' Sherlock protested stubbornly, kicking his little legs as hard as he could.

With her right hand, she quickly yanked his trousers and pants down to his knees, thankful for the elastic waistband of his corduroys so she didn't have to fuss with buttons, snaps, or zips in order to bare his naughty bottom.

He yelped, wriggling as hard as he could to escape from his mother's grip. Unfortunately, she was much stronger that him, and Sherlock soon gave up struggling.

She raised her right hand high and smacked it down sharply across the pale skin. "I just told you that kind of language would not be tolerated in this house, young man!”

The first slap always came as a shock, making Sherlock whine in protest. He was no stranger to spankings, but this time he found it to be terribly unfair. Maybe swearing was naughty, but it was just a few words and he couldn't possibly get in trouble for that! She smacked him at a steady, rapid pace, the slaps echoing loudly, leaving no doubt to anyone listening that someone was being soundly spanked.

However, Sherlock was determined to show his mother he wasn't about to give up without a fight, and fought against his tears and started to speak, trying to ignore the growing ache against his bottom.

“You can't do this! I want to say shit and I will say shit! Shit!'' Sherlock yelped, kicking his legs again.

What had gotten into her precious baby boy? Violet couldn't believe that he still insisted on being so stubbornly defiant even while she was spanking him. Suddenly, an idea popped into her head that would hopefully cure him of his fascination with dirty words.

She kept spanking his bottom, working to cover it with a rosy pink glow, and then turned her attention to the delicate skin just below his cheeks and at the tops of his thighs. She put an extra snap in her wrist, smacking him sharply on these tender portions, working up a powerful sting. She did not relent until his tiny upper thighs and little sit-spots sported a deep ruddy blush.

The notion of defiance quickly disappeared from Sherlock’s mind as the spanking went on. Being cheeky during a spanking was only possible during the first few seconds, after all. Sherlock was soon wailing as his mother increased her pace, kicking his little legs and starting to cry. Cursing and defying her had been a bad, bad idea, and Sherlock was properly sobbing when the spanking finally ended.

Violet then maneuvered his small body until she was holding him with both hands under his arms and plopped him down, bare bottomed, onto a hard wooden chair - a chair that no one in the family every really used due to it being so uncomfortable.

"We aren't finished yet. You sit right there and don't move unless you want me to go get the wooden spoon!"

Expecting to be hugged and cuddled as usual, the sudden contact with the hard wooden seat came as a shock, and Sherlock immediately yelped at how uncomfortable he was. He watched as his mother walked away, still sniffing and squirming on the uncomfortable chair.

As soon as Violet walked out of the door, Sherlock stood up and rubbed furiously as his scalded behind. It wasn't the worst spanking he had ever gotten, but it had been fast and intense and had left him crying. He certainly wasn't going to stay sitting on that silly chair on his sore bottom!

Unfortunately for the disobedient little boy, it didn't take long for Violet to find what she was looking for.

"Aha!" she said to herself, retrieving an unused small, square bar of soap. Just to test, she stuck out her tongue and gave it a little taste. Blech! Yes, that would certainly work for her purposes.

She grimaced and furrowed her brows when she returned to find Sherlock standing instead of sitting on the chair like he had been told. He had disobeyed her yet again. Such a cheeky, disobedient, naughty little thing!

"Sherlock! I told you to sit on that chair!"

Sherlock had planned to sit back down as soon as his mother would come back. He wasn't foolish, and he knew that disobeying would get him more spanks. But his little plan failed, as he had been too focused on rubbing at his sore bottom than on his mother's footsteps in the corridor. He Jumped in surprise when she returned.

Violet marched to his side, setting the soap momentarily on the coffee table. She grabbed him by the elbow and gave him about a dozen more hard spanks with her hand to renew the burn in his bottom. By the time she finished, her hand was stinging a bit, so she assumed she must have lit a nice little fire in his backside. Sherlock could only wail in response. He was already sore, and no matter how hard he wriggled, he couldn’t escape the swats. She picked him up again and deposited his bare rump firmly back onto the chair.

"Bum in chair, Sherlock," she ordered. Sore bum in chair, she thought with grim satisfaction. She picked up the soap and held it up. "Open your mouth."

"But my bum hurts, Mummy!" Sherlock protested, sniffling as he squirmed on the hard wood. The pressure against his punished bum hurt!

His eyes widened when he saw the bar of soap his mother was holding. Sherlock knew what a mouth washing was, and it didn't sound pleasant.

"No, Mummy, please!" He whined. "It’s no fair! My bottom hurts already!"

"Of course it does, Sherlock. That's what happens to naughty little boys in this house who use nasty curse words. I can guarantee you it will hurt more before we are finished here today."

She held the soap out in front of his face. "Since you can't seem to stop using such a dirty word on your own, it seems you need some soap to clean up that filthy mouth. Now, open up – unless you want me to go fetch the spoon?"

Sherlock whined at the promise of an even sorer bum by the end of the day, well aware he had pushed Mummy too far. Apparently, she was very serious about that no-cursing business!

He pouted when she mentioned the spoon, but obediently opened his mouth and squeeze his eyes shut. It couldn't be that terrible, could it?

The sharp taste took him by surprise, and Sherlock felt his eyes water a little from the disgusting sharp, bitter flavor. He looked up at his mother with huge, pleading blue eyes, starting to cough in disgust.

Mrs. Holmes hardened her heart and ignored the pitiful look on her son's face, wanting to teach him a lasting lesson about swearing.

"Tastes yucky, doesn't it?" she said without sympathy. "You hold that in your mouth between your teeth until I take it out."

She sat down on the sofa and picked up a magazine, leafing through it, but keeping a watchful eye on Sherlock to be sure he stayed put.

Sherlock whimpered when his mother didn't show him any pity. Sitting on his sore bottom on the hard wooden chair was Hell! His legs were too short to touch the floor, putting all the pressure onto his poor freshly spanked bum. He kicked off his trousers and pants and slid his hands between his chubby backside and the chair, futilely trying to rub the sting off and squirming from side to side while he attempted to ignore the yucky tasting soap in his mouth. Sherlock truly thought he had the meanest Mummy in the whole world. It was so yucky his eyes were watering, and the little boy soon started to cry properly, feeling quite sorry for himself.

''Mummy, 'm sorry!'' Sherlock mumbled, his voice muffled by the bar soap. He could feel its taste everywhere in his mouth, and it was just horrible. If swearing landed him in this position, then he wasn't going to do it again, ever!

"Regretting your little cursing outburst, are you? Good. That soap will wash your filthy mouth right up!"

She glanced at her watch. He had only been sitting there about a minute. She decided to give him another just to be sure he'd really learned his lesson. The soap was disgusting, but not toxic, so prolonging the lesson a bit longer wouldn't hurt him - aside from a yucky taste in his mouth and a mighty sting in his seat!

When another sixty seconds had passed, she got up and stood in front of her youngest son, who was looking rather forlorn by that point.

"Sherlock, are you going to use dirty language anymore?" she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

By the end of the minute, Sherlock was properly crying, and he just wanted to get up and get the soap out of his mouth. Worst of all, his Mummy didn’t even look like she felt sorry for him! Sherlock wiped at his eyes, sniffling softly. He shook his head fiercely from side to side, raising his arms to be picked up and comforted.

"Good, I should hope not!"

Mrs. Holmes scooped Sherlock up in her arms, planting a firm hand beneath his sore, red bottom, both to support his weight and remind him that he was still being punished. Even with a soapy mouth and a red bottom, Sherlock wrapped his small arms around his mother's neck tightly, knowing that he still was in trouble somehow. He sniffled and kept rubbing at his red bum, barely noticing he was naked from the waist down, socks excepted. She carried him into the bathroom and held her hand out to take the soap out of his mouth, setting the bar down on the sink.

She set Sherlock on his feet and then wet a small washcloth with cool water, instructing Sherlock to open his mouth so she could wipe the suds off his tongue and teeth before allowing him to swish and gargle with water.

Taking the soap out of his mouth was a relief, even though the taste was still quite strong on his tongue. Sherlock coughed as his Mummy washed his mouth thoroughly and, once allowed, he swished and gargled at least three large scoops of water. Oh, he was never going to swear again! His mouth was still a bit soapy and his bottom quite sore from his spanking.

"Ok, Sherlock, now it’s time for the rest of your spanking," she said firmly as she sat on the lid of the toilet and flipped him over across her knee, appraising his already pink bum.

His eyes widened in panic, and the little boy whimpered in protest, though he didn't dare say a word. Tears were already forming in his eyes again as he was tipped over his Mummy's knee. He'd never had a spanking done in two parts before – this was the worst! His bottom was still warm and uncomfortable, even though a majority of the sting had already begun to fade. He just knew Mummy was about to relight the fire in his poor little bum!

Violet eyed the wood-backed hairbrush that was sitting next to her on the sink, and took it as a sign. If there had ever been a time to use it on her youngest son, it was certainly now, when he had been so willfully disobedient.

He was still very young, but she figured she wouldn't need to give him very hard spanks to teach him a strong lesson that such naughtiness and dirty language would not be tolerated.

She picked up the hairbrush and rested the back against Sherlock's bottom cheek for a moment, giving him a moment to realize she had chosen to use the implement and to anticipate the paddling he was about to receive.

Wincing as he felt the brush being pressed against his sore bottom, Sherlock gave a little kick of his legs and started to cry. He knew she used the brush on Mycroft, and it seemed to hurt so much!

“Mummy, please, I’m sorry! Don't use the brush, please!'' Sherlock begged, once hand trying to reach back to shield his bottom. ''I'll never curse again, promise, but my bum hurts so much! And you made it red already!''

"Your bottom is only pink right now, Sherlock," she chided. "If you don't want a sore bottom, then maybe next time you'll think twice before deliberately disobeying me like you did.”

She lifted the brush and began to bring it down with quick snaps of her wrist, dispensing a sharp surface sting, but preventing any deeper bruising. The first spank made Sherlock jump in surprise. Maybe his Mummy thought she wasn't spanking hard, but Sherlock knew differently! The brush burned! He certainly couldn't believe his bottom was only pink. After all these spankings, it had to be as red as a firetruck, at least, and maybe even some of the skin had peeled away!

Sherlock started to wail at the third spank, kicking his little legs frantically and trying desperately to avoid the sting of that wicked, horrible hairbrush. Oh, he was going to throw it in a fire to make sure Mummy would never find it again!

After about half a dozen spanks that easily covered every inch of his cheeks in a ruddy blush, his mother paused.

"I don't ever want to hear naughty curse words out of your mouth again, young man. Those words are dirty and rude, and you will not say them."

''Ow ow ow! Muummyyyyy! I'm sorry!'' Sherlock hissed between his sobs.

He was never going to curse ever again. In fact, he wasn't even going to say 'blimey' anymore, because if the price for cursing was a bare bottom spanking and a yucky bar of soap in the mouth, he would definitely never ever do it again.

The hairbrush carried a terrible sting and covered such a large portion of his bottom. This was nothing compared to the baby hand spanking he had received before in the sitting room: this one had truly scalded his bum – it was simply on fire! So much Sherlock wondered if someone could fry an egg on it. His entire backside felt hot and stingy.

However, Mummy continued spanking, giving him several more light (to her!), but stinging swats, focusing primarily on his sit-spots and upper thighs.

"If you ever think about cursing again, you just remember the taste of that yucky soap and the sting in your bottom, because if I hear you swearing, Sherlock, you will find yourself right back where you are today - with your mouth washed out with soap and getting your bare bottom spanked! You may think curse words have no meaning, but they do. They are rude, and only foolish, unintelligent people use bad words like that, because they can't think of anything cleverer to say. You are very clever, Sherlock, so there is no reason for you to use such language."

She finished up with a few firmer spanks against the chubbiest portion of his bottom. The oval blotches from the hairbrush merging to leave his backside very warm with a dark pink glow.

The fact that his Mummy had told him he was very clever didn't go amiss, but didn't soothe Sherlock's bottom either! At the end of the spanking, he was lying limp over his mother's knee, sobbing and not even aware it was over, still apologizing over and over again.

Mrs. Holmes placed the hairbrush back on the sink. The implement had certainly been more than effective. In fewer than half the number of spanks she usually gave, she had painted Sherlock's little bottom red and he had devolved into tears and apologies. She would need to remember that! Although, she hoped she wouldn't need to be so harsh in the future. Hopefully, he had learned never to deliberately defy her again, and had lost all interest in cursing.

She rubbed his back, letting him cry it out face down for a bit before gathering him up in her lap to hold, keeping him elevated under the backs of his knees so there wouldn't be any pressure on his sore bum.

"Shhhh, that's my good boy. I know you're sorry. You're my clever boy, and you won't say naughty words anymore, right?”

Sherlock kept crying for quite a while, his poor bottom properly on fire now thanks to the help of that wicked hairbrush. His Mummy's hand stung already a lot, and he had wrongly assumed she would use such implements on him! It was absolute torture, and he really would have to chat with Mycroft about burning all of these nasty implements – hairbrush and wooden spoon for sure!

Locking his small arms around her neck, Sherlock pressed his face against her chest and sobbed everything out, one hand going to rub at his sore little backside. He found it hot to the touch, but still intact, much to his surprise.

''No, Mummy! I'll never swear again, ever!'' Sherlock promised, his curls bouncing as he shook his head from side to side. ''And I love you lots, but your spankings hurt so much,'' he muttered after a while, sniffing. ''I think I won't be able to sit down ever again.''

Violet had to suppress a laugh at Sherlock's adorable little observation and commentary.

"Spankings are supposed to hurt, Sherlock," she said, trying and failing to sound stern, a little smile creeping onto her face. "Otherwise, you would never behave in order to avoid them." She pulled him close and nuzzled against his curly hair. "You'd be naughty all the time without a little sting in your bum, wouldn't you?"

Sherlock pouted as his Mummy laughed, but she was right. Spankings were supposed to hurt. She winked and smiled at him before beginning to tickle his sides.

“Maybe I would be the bestest boy in the whole wide world without spankings!'' Sherlock said, before squealing from the tickles. He burst into fits of giggles and tried to escape from her hands, suddenly forgetting about his sore and red little backside.

''M-Mummy! S-Stop!'' Sherlock managed to said between giggles, a big smile plastered on his face.

Mrs. Holmes laughed and relented. "Ok, ok, no more tickling ... just smooches!" she exclaimed, planting several big kisses on Sherlock's forehead and tear-stained cheeks.

Sherlock grinned as his face was peppered with kisses, not feeling remotely mad at his Mummy for punishing him minutes ago. Maybe she gave hard spankings, but she also gave the best cuddles in the whole world - and, fortunately, he received much more cuddles than spankings.

Although a part of her wanted to cuddle with him forever, she knew there was still a long list of household chores she needed to complete that day, so she gave him a final squeeze and set him on his feet.

“Off you go!" she said, giving him a gentle pat on his red bum. "Go fetch your trousers and pants ..." She considered the state of his sore backside for a moment, "... but you don't have to put them on if you don't want to. Daddy and Mycroft won't be home for a bit longer yet, and I know your bottom still smarts."

He sighed in relief when she told him he didn't need to put any pants on. At his young age, Sherlock wasn't modest and didn't mean staying naked from the waist down, especially with a sore bottom.

''Thank you Mummy,'' Sherlock said, though he still followed her downstairs to fetch his trousers and pants and put them back in his bedroom. After a little while, however, a question popped into his head, one he had never asked before... Going back to the kitchen, he tugged at his Mummy's arms and looked up at her curiously.

''Mummy... Did you get spanked, too, when you were naughty?'' Sherlock asked with wide eyes. ''I was wondering where Mummies and Daddies learn how to give spankings.''

Violet smiled as she watched her little boy run around with his poor little pinkened bottom cheeks on display. He was still so young and cute. She really did hate having to punish him, but at least he was always a sweet, affectionate angel afterwards.

She chuckled at his question. "Of course, sweetheart. Your Mummy could be quite naughty! When I was a little girl, grandpa would turn me over his knee and spank my bare bottom when I misbehaved, and he did so until I was older than Mycroft. Sometimes, he even used a whippy little switch. It stung terribly - a million times worse than the spoon or hairbrush! So, I learned how to give spankings from experiencing them myself. I know just how it feels to have a sore, red bum.”

Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise, and he looked at his mother almost his shock. Mummy being naughty? It was so hard to imagine: in fact, it was hard enough to imagine her as a little girl, because in Sherlock's mind, she had always been an adult. But to imagine her doing naughty things was even more difficult.

''You know how much it hurts and you still do it to me,'' Sherlock mumbled, pouting a little but hugging her legs. He always felt particularly affectionate after a spanking.

She ran her fingers gently through his unruly curls, thinking for a few moments. "I probably spank you because I know just how effective it can be. As a little girl, there were plenty of times when I decided against doing something bad or dangerous, because I didn't want to end up with a sore bottom! Also, because I experienced it myself, I know that you'll survive, and be a better person for it."

'It's okay," Sherlock decided. "You're my Mummy and I love you lots.''

She leaned down and kissed the top of his head. "Yes, I'll always be your Mummy, and I love you lots and lots and lots!"