Chapter Text
Mycroft was eight years old before he became a brother. He had already been at boarding school for some months but as luck would have it little Sherlock was born in the summer, giving Mycroft plenty of time to bond with him during the hols.
One hot night as Mycroft lay tossing and turning trying in vain to fall asleep, he thought he heard a voice he didn't recognise coming from the nursery followed by the baby crying. Once all was peaceful again he crept in and peeked over the Moses basket only to almost trip over his feet in his haste to step back.
***
“That's not our baby” he told mummy the next day as she fed Sherlock.
“What on earth are you talking about Mycroft?”
“I think I heard someone in the nursery, and well, he doesn't look like my brother” Mycroft could hear for himself how ridiculous it sounded, how like petty jealously due to having a sibling so late in his life. It was true though, he was paler than his baby, his curls more defined, worst of all the eyes that burned with a strange intelligence.
“Don't be silly, it isn't like you to say such nonsense. You know having Sherlock doesn't change anything; father and I still love you. You'll be so busy at school you won't even see him much so don't fret” she patted Mycrofts hair and cooed rubbish at the baby, effectively dismissing Mycroft who left gladly as the babies cold eyes stared unblinkingly into his own.