Mycroft and Puzzles

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Sherlock sat in the living room, wondering why Mycroft had called him. He was now three years old. Mycroft was ten years old. He was short for his age, but his intelligence made up for it over and over and over.

Mycroft came in with a large box and a smile. Sherlock smiled back. He placed the box on the table in front of Sherlock and opened it. It was a large puzzle with hundreds and hundreds of puzzle pieces. Sherlock looked at it, slightly confused.

"Myc, I already like kinda already finished every puzzle on earth." Sherlock said. Sherlock didn't speak until only a few months ago, but he was doing well. Mycroft was proud more than anyone, but the fact that Sherlock didn't have proper grammar bothered him beyond anything on earth.

"Sherlock, look closer." Mycroft said. Sherlock delicately picked up one of the puzzle pieces. It was completely white, both sides. He picked up another one and studied it.

Sherlock had been obsessed with puzzles, but they got easy too quickly. This was a new level of difficulty. Sherlock poured the rest of the pieces on the table and quickly spread them out on the table.

"Will you help me?" he asked and started to sort the pieces into four groups. Mycroft smiled and sat down.

"Of course."



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