The Naughty Child (ABO)

[麦雷ML］熊孩子（ABO）

Author: Young-soo (英洙)

Originally posted: NOVEMBER 2022

Chapter 1

WTF! That’s the only thought in Greg Lestrade’s mind as he woke up early. Can someone tell him why the man who slept beside him last night, his alpha, his husband, his senior British government official, is nowhere to be found?!

Sure, Mycroft often left in the middle of the night due to urgent matters, but this was too unusual! His pajamas weren’t neatly hung up but scattered messily on the bed. Could his compulsive neat freak stand this?! And on the half of the bed where Mycroft should have been sleeping lay a boy of seven or eight years old, with a young, round face that had an uncanny resemblance to Mycroft!

Could it be that guy has an illegitimate child with some vixen omega outside?! No, Greg, you have to trust Mycroft! Even though you’ve never had kids, he wouldn’t do something like this! You’ve been together for eight years and watched him rise from a junior agent to the highest chief of MI6; when hasn’t there been temptation around him? And yet, he’s always been devoted to you! Wait… considering this kid’s age, could it be something he did before you knew him?! Holy crap! Mrs. Holmes would break his legs if she ever found out about this kind of filth!

Right, could it be a distant relative from the Holmes family? Looking at how much the kid resembles Mycroft, it’s not entirely impossible… What should I do now? Oh, right! I should call Mycroft to confirm this! I should have thought of this sooner!

A panicked Greg hurriedly fetched his phone, directly pressing speed dial 1, and he heard… the ring tone?

Heavens! No way?! Mycroft didn’t take his phone? Greg picked up the phone from the bedside table, wondering how Mycroft could carelessly leave it there. There might be more secrets in his phone than “that woman”! 

The loud ringtone woke up the sleeping child; even though Greg hastily hung up, the boy slowly opened his eyes – damn, those blue eyes are just like Mycroft’s! The notion of an illegitimate child comes back to Greg’s mind – then the boy stares blankly, seeming a bit confused and lost, and then “whoosh,” sits up abruptly, scanning the entire room and startling upon seeing Greg.

“Who are you?” the boy asks with a clear voice, shifting slightly away from Greg under the covers, adopting a guarded posture.

“I should be asking you that!” Greg, feeling helpless, says, “Kid, who are you? Why are you in my house?”

“Your home?” The boy quickly surveys the room again, moving further away towards the edge of the bed, looking wary. “Why would I be in your house?”

“…” Greg massages his forehead, thinking that was the question he had just asked the boy! But, thinking that the child might be some relative of Mycroft, he manages a friendly smile, “Tell Uncle, did Mycroft send you?”

The boy rolled his eyes. “You know Mycroft?”

“Yeah!” Greg nodded vigorously, “He’s my husband. Do you know where he is?”

“You’re lying!” With an adult-like temper, the boy continued, “I am Mycroft; I don’t know you! And I would never marry a stupid goldfish like you!”

“What the fuck!” Greg didn’t consider the consequences of cursing in front of a child.

But the boy didn’t care; he didn’t want to deal with the strange man before him; he just wanted to find his dad and mom. But as soon as he uncovered the blanket, he shouted in shock, hurriedly wrapping himself back up. Greg understood why he reacted that way, even though he only saw a glimpse; he was pretty sure the boy wasn’t wearing anything.

“You’re the one reported in the news as…” The boy was panicking, clutching the blanket.

“No, no, no!” Greg’s patience was wearing thin, “I’m a good person! Right, I’m a police officer!”

“You’re still lying! Why would a police officer strip me naked?”

Greg thought he was wronged since he didn’t know how the kid got there! But he maintained a smile that he hoped appeared kind, “Really not lying, I’m Gregory Lestrade, a detective from Scotland Yard.”

“Show me your ID then.”

“Ah! It’s in my coat. Wait here, I’ll get it.” Greg quickly headed downstairs to rummage through his coat hanging at the door, returning to the sound of his ringing phone. He grabbed his detective ID and answered the phone, not even looking at who was calling.

“We’ll be at your house in five minutes.”

The person said one sentence that left Greg completely bewildered, but he could tell who it was, “Sherlock? Why are you coming? I’m currently…” He paused, not sure how to describe the current situation.

“I know you’re in trouble; we’ll talk when we meet!” Sherlock hung up, his tone not sympathetic or consoling as a normal person would be upon hearing someone was in trouble, but rather, sounding ecstatic, as if he had finally mustered the courage to propose to his beta doctor.

Completely puzzled, Greg hung up and saw the pale-faced boy staring at him with his police ID in hand. He quickly explained, “I wasn’t lying; I’m a police officer!”

The boy slowly nodded. “The ID looks real… But why does the issuance date say 2007?”

“Uh? I lost it before; I just replaced it two months ago.” Yes, that little scoundrel Sherlock took his detective ID again for an investigation; this was the third time this year! But a few seconds later, a terrifying conclusion struck Greg’s mind, “You… what year do you think it is now?”

“Isn’t it… 1985?”

Greg felt like he heard a “snap,” a thunderbolt hitting him. He could not react for a moment and just stared at the boy. The boy also seemed bewildered. Although less guarded than before, he still avoided the adult’s gaze by lowering his head.

After a while, the detective found his voice again, “…What did you just… say your name was?”

The boy answers softly, “Mycroft.”

“Mycroft Holmes?”

“Yes.”

“How old are you?”

“Eight years old.”

“Is your dad Siger Holmes?”

“Yeah.”

“And your mom Maisie Holmes?”

“Yeah… How do you know everything? Are you a friend of my parents?”

Oh God, this is messed up! Greg wailed inwardly; a more sensible voice immediately told him: Focus on the bigger picture!

Has his thirty-year-old husband suddenly turned into an eight-year-old kid overnight?! As Greg thought he might still be half-asleep, he heard the sound of keys unlocking downstairs, followed by hurried footsteps pounding up the stairs. Two seconds later, the bedroom door was flung open, and an excited Sherlock strode in.

“It really worked!” Sherlock rushed to grab the boy’s arm, only to have the child snatch a pillow and smack him in the face.

“What are you doing? You pervert!” The child screamed and scrambled to the other side of the bed, trying to wrap himself up in the blanket.

“Sherlock!” Following closely behind, John grabbed the enthusiastic detective who wanted to run towards the boy, “What’s going on?”

“Oh right, almost forgot.” Sherlock grabbed the cute bunny onesie outfit from John’s hands, with ears attached to the head, and walked towards the boy with a wicked smile, “It’s not your usual style, but you don’t have a choice. It’s this or nothing.”

“I don’t want it!” The boy shouted again, clearly rejecting it.

Sherlock was taken aback for a moment, while Greg quickly took advantage of the situation and dragged Sherlock out, leaving the kind doctor behind, and patiently tried to persuade the boy with the cute outfit, “Look, I don’t have any kids’ clothes here. Can you wear it for a while, please?”

The boy still shook his head in refusal.

Greg sighed internally; he had never been good with kids. After a while, he managed, “Wear this for now, and when they leave, I’ll take you to buy new clothes.”

The boy finally showed a hint of hesitation.

“And what that guy said is right, you can’t go out with nothing on, right?” Greg presented the clothes to the boy, blinking his puppy-dog eyes, looking pitiful, “Just help me out here, please?”

This trick usually worked on the thirty-year-old Mycroft; by this time, his alpha would have agreed to whatever outrageous request he had, but he was unsure if it’d work on this kid.

Fortunately, the boy didn’t shake his head again this time, even though he still looked reluctant. He took the clothes.

“Do you need help putting it on?” Greg scratched his head, not knowing if an eight-year-old could dress themselves.

The boy gave him a strange look. “No need, I can dress myself.”

Greg touched his nose, leaving with, “I’ll wait for you at the door,” and exited the bedroom.

“Good morning, Inspector Lestrade.” A sweet voice drifted up from downstairs, and Greg, from the second-floor landing, saw Anthea typing on her phone even this early in the morning. “Sherlock sent me.” The assistant explained without lifting her head. “He also asked me to help you with the leave request at Scotland Yard. No need to thank me.”

“Uh… good morning?” Greg ran a hand through his already messy hair. Despite knowing he was still in his pajamas, he didn’t feel like changing.

A few minutes later, the bedroom door opened again, and Greg glanced down to see a boy dressed in a bunny suit, his eyes widening instantly.

This… is too cute! The inspector screamed silently within himself. Even though the boy wasn’t wearing a hood with ears, the fluffy, white outfit alone was adorable enough! The boy seemed slightly shorter than other eight-year-olds, and his chubby figure looked just like a little ball of fur!

Greg bit his lip, restraining the urge to squeeze the round little face. His gaze dropped to the boy’s bare feet on the wooden floor, and he couldn’t help but furrow his brow, extending a hand toward the boy. “Do you want me to pick you up?”

The boy instinctively stepped back, avoiding Greg’s hand, shaking his head to refuse. The inspector awkwardly withdrew his hand and led the boy downstairs to the living room.

Anthea glanced at the boy with confusion. “Is this the chief’s illegitimate child?”

See, it’s not just me thinking this… Greg pursed his lips.

Sherlock sat on the sofa and hummed before speaking up eagerly once everyone’s attention was on him. “So, here’s what happened…”

After ten minutes of explanation, everyone maintained a unified expression—wide-eyed and open-mouthed (???).

Greg almost stuttered as he spoke, “Are you saying… you drugged your brother’s coffee yesterday and turned him into a child?”

“Oh! You got it!” Sherlock felt quite pleased.

John exclaimed, “My God! How could you… what if you had killed him with that drug?!”

“Relax, how could my pharmacological research have any issues?”

Anthea stopped tapping on her phone long ago. “But do you remember what your brother does? Him being like this will cause chaos outside!”

“Well…” Sherlock looked a bit embarrassed. “According to my original plan, his body was supposed to shrink without memory loss. Perhaps there was a dosage issue.”

Mycroft, the person in question, was left speechless.

“Never mind that!” Sherlock waved his hand, opening a medical kit on the coffee table. “I went through all this trouble to conduct this experiment.” He took out a set of medical needles and cotton swabs.

Alarm bells rang in Greg’s mind. “What are you doing?”

“Drawing blood for experimentation, of course!” Sherlock said as if it were obvious, looking at Mycroft and motioning for him to come over with the needle.

“Stop messing around!” Greg picked up the boy, who hadn’t grasped the situation, and stepped back two paces. “I don’t care what you’re up to; just turn him back!”

Sherlock approached, reaching out to grab the child. “Let me draw his blood first. Once the experiment succeeds, I’ll give him the antidote!”

“PISS OFF!” Greg yelled, protecting the child and moving to the other side of the living room. He hadn’t been this angry at Sherlock for a long time. Even when working on cases, he never got this mad at half of Scotland Yard! 

Did Sherlock have any idea how worried Greg was?! He was always so concerned about Mycroft taking birth control pills, fearing side effects. Now, his husband had been inexplicably turned small by Sherlock feeding him some strange stuff, and on top of that, he wanted to draw a vial of blood for no reason?! Not happening!

Just as Greg and Sherlock were arguing, a small, 8-centimeter high-heeled shoe flew through the air and landed precisely on the great detective’s back of the head. The next moment, Anthea’s furious roar echoed through the entire space, “Sherlock Holmes! You idiot! Do you know how much overtime I’ll have to put in for this!!!”

The assistant’s twisted face scared everyone in the room. After six seconds and three-tenths of silence, the boy in the inspector’s arms burst into earth-shattering tears. Greg hurriedly tried to comfort him, but it was the same old story. He had never raised a child and had no experience. He could only say, “Don’t cry, don’t cry.”

“I want… *sob* I want to go home! It’s scary here! Where’s Mummy… Where’s Daddy…”

The child’s crying made Greg’s heart tremble, but he couldn’t do anything because Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were supposed to be square dancing in Oklahoma! Even if he brought them back to London, Greg wasn’t sure if this bizarre reality would cause the old couple to have heart attacks.

Oddly enough, the little troublemaker seemed a bit flustered, too. Originally, he should have been admiring Mycroft in the cute outfit he never wore (maybe even taking a few pictures as a keepsake) and mocking him for being so easily drugged. Threatening him to solve ten cases rated eight or above in exchange for the antidote would be more appropriate!

Fortunately, the only somewhat rational doctor in the room nudged Sherlock, ‘Where’s the antidote? Give it to him quickly!’

“I have the antidote, but…” Sherlock hesitated, “I don’t know why he lost his memory. What if he reverts physically but doesn’t regain his memory?”

“Then quickly research a new one!” Anthea, agitated, took off her other high-heeled shoe and pointed at Sherlock, “If he doesn’t turn back, there will be no one to clean up your mess anymore! No more MI6 cases for you! No more privilege of hacking into government databases without getting arrested!”

John rubbed his temples and hurriedly pulled Sherlock, who was about to say something, out of the house. His military instinct told him that dealing with Anthea in her current frenzy was not a good idea.

Greg had a similar intuition. Even though Mycroft cried harder because of Anthea’s outburst, Greg could only hold the child in the living room corner, trying not to attract the assistant’s attention. However, Anthea still glanced in their direction, startling Greg. He quickly turned, shielding Mycroft between himself and the wall, afraid that Anthea’s high-heeled shoe might hit the boy, who was sobbing uncontrollably.

Fortunately, Anthea hadn’t lost her composure to that extent yet. She took several deep breaths to calm herself down, leaving her high-heeled shoe behind as she entered the kitchen – that’s when Greg remembered they hadn’t had breakfast yet.

The inspector, still shaken, wiped the sweat from his brow and continued clumsily comforting the tear-streaked boy. Even though he still didn’t quite know how to handle the situation, the boy eventually stopped crying after a while. His tear-streaked face with a look of grievance turned towards Greg, “So what you said… *hic* is true? You’re really… *hic* my husband?”

“Yes, it’s true. I wouldn’t lie to you,” Greg gently patted the child’s back, hoping to stop the hiccups, silently commenting to himself that being asked by an eight-year-old if he’s their husband was incredibly strange.

“The curly-haired one… *hic* is my brother? *hic*”

“Yes, his name is Sherlock. He should have been born when you were around this age. And the shorter one is his boyfriend, John.”

“Then…” chubby little fingers pointed towards the kitchen, “*hic* who is she? She’s scary…”

“Uh… she’s your assistant, Anthea. She’s usually very gentle.”

“Why do I have an assistant? What is my job?”

“…In your own words, you’re a minor civil servant in the British government.”

The boy nodded as if trying to understand, then sniffed the sweet chocolate scent from Greg’s body, “You’re an omega? Will I differentiate into an alpha?”

“Yeah,” Greg smiled, affectionately ruffling the child’s soft red hair, turning to show him the bite mark on the gland behind his neck, “You’re my alpha.”

The boy fell into quiet contemplation for a while, then asked a few more questions, all of which Greg answered, until Anthea called from the kitchen, “Come over for breakfast!”