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Sherlock eased open the heavy door to his room, heavy at least for a small skinny five year old boy and padded along the dark corridor towards Mycroft’s room. He heard the raised voices from downstairs growing louder as he passed the head of the stairs and hurried along before he heard any of what they were saying. Mycroft’s door was slightly ajar and he pushed it open enough to stand in the shaft of light from inside. Mycroft looked up from his desk in the corner, far too big for his twelve year old self and covered by textbooks, large history volumes mostly. He had retreated to his room as their father dragged Sherlock to his room and stayed there assuming the younger Holmes had fallen asleep. Mostly he had been avoiding the shouting he could still hear from bellow.
‘Father sent you to your room’ he said firmly but not unkindly ‘And, it is past your bedtime.’
‘Couldn’t sleep.’ Sherlock said wiping a sleeve across his damp face, he hadn’t realised there were still tears there.
Mycroft’s face softened ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked ‘You didn’t get much dinner.’
Sherlock nodded sadly, this stomach grumbled at him in response.
‘Come on then.’ Mycroft signalled with his head and opened a drawer to his desk and began to rummage, pulling out a packet of digestive biscuits. Sherlock walked over to Mycroft’s desk and took one from the offered packet.
‘Tfhanks’ he said through a mouthful of biscuit, crumbs falling onto his shirt. Mycroft looked his little brother up and down, dishevelled shirt and trousers stained by who knew what on the knees, scuffed shoes with the laces undone. He swallowed down the biscuit quickly and looked hopefully at Mycroft for more. Mycroft handed over the packed and Sherlock fumbled for one, dropping the packet in the process.
‘Oops’ he muttered scrambling to pick it up, not managing to coordinate picking up the packet and hanging onto the biscuit in his hand, he dropped it breaking it into crumbs. ‘Sorry’ he said looking horrified.
‘It’s fine’ Mycroft said, getting down on his knees and scrapping up the crumbs. Sherlock stood clutching the biscuits under his arm. Mycroft knelt up his face in line with Sherlock’s, he looked at his brother for a moment and Sherlock’s face crumpled in fear and anguish.
‘What?’ Mycroft asked
‘I didn’t mean to’ Sherlock sniffed trying to hide the tears that threatened again
‘What?’ Mycroft frowned
‘The biscuits. Mess. Messed up your room.’
Mycroft laughed gently ‘It’s fine’ he said ‘Really Sherlock you should see the mess the boys make at school.’
This was meant to reassure Sherlock, instead his face crumpled and he couldn’t hold back the tears this time.
‘What?’ Mycroft asked ‘What did I say?’
‘School’ Sherlock sniffed ‘be leaving again. Leaving me.’
‘Sherly’ Mycroft said reaching over and hugging his little brother tightly. He felt him sniff and grasp a handful of his shirt. ‘I have to go to school. In a few yeas you’ll come too.’
Sherlock mumbled something into his shoulder.
‘What?’ Mycroft asked pulling him back.
‘They won’t like me My.’ Sherlock said looking down at his feet ‘Nobody likes me.’
Mycroft’s own lip quivered slightly. He couldn’t lie to his brother. ‘I like you.’ He said
‘Nobody else does. Not even Mummy.’
‘Mummy loves you very much.’
‘She let Father send me to bed.’ Sherlock protested with a pout ‘And she was angry. I wasn’t even naughty’
Mycroft chuckled pushing some of Sherlock’s more unruly curls out of his eyes, ‘Mummy’s just annoyed at you because of her party. You know how she gets.’ In fact he reasoned that Mummy’s upset had little to do with her younger Son, and more to do with the outburst from her husband prior to the beginning of the dinner party. Mycroft had heard them arguing as he snuck away from the kitchen, his pockets filled with treats from the cook Mummy paid when she was entertaining. Sherlock had not helped the matter by naively being himself at dinner. Really Mycroft blamed their parents, neither he nor his slightly precocious and unknowingly rude little brother belonged at the dinner party. But people of their sort were supposed to have children who could behave at dinner parties, at twelve Mycroft had come to realise this and although he hated it, behaving and being polite was far the lesser of two evils.
‘I didn’t do anything bad. I sat nicely at the table’ Sherlock’s bottom lip was in a full on pout now.
‘I know you did Sherly.’ Mycroft said gently ‘Sometimes grown-ups don’t say the sort of things you do though.’
‘I was just being honest’ Sherlock protested ‘Mummy and Mrs Turner at school say lying is bad.’
Mycroft sighed, but it was with a slight smile ‘I know. And they’re right.’ He said ‘But sometimes grown-ups don’t tell people the whole truth.’
‘Why?’ Sherlock demanded ‘That’s contradictory.’
Mycroft smiled at Sherlock’s vocabulary somewhat proud at having taught him well. ‘Well’ he considered ‘Sometimes so as not to hurt another’s feelings we don’t tell them things they wouldn’t want to hear.’
‘Like what?’
‘Well Sherlock, like saying that clearly Mrs Davies had a different nose to the last time we saw her.’
‘But she did.’ Sherlock sank to the floor and pulled out another biscuit. Mycroft sighed, there was no point in trying to explain to a five year old, even a genius like Sherlock. He sat down cross legged opposite his brother and took a biscuit of his own.
‘Father didn’t shout at me until later though.’
‘I know Sherlock.’ Mycroft sighed inwardly, how to explain exactly what he’d done wrong ‘Sometimes grownups don’t like you telling private things about them to other people.’
‘Like what?’
‘Well.’ Mycroft considered being delicate, deciding delicacy was a lost cause with Sherlock ‘Mummy and Father don’t want their friends knowing they don’t get on sometimes.’
‘Sherlock.’ Mycroft said gently ‘You know sometimes grownups just don’t understand you. You’re a bit different that’s all.’
‘You understand me Myc.’ Sherlock asked genuine concern in his eyes
‘I do.’ Mycroft said ‘We are very different but we are also very similar.’
‘Ssimlr?’ Sherlock asked
‘The same.’ Mycroft said ‘Sim-il-ar.’
‘Ssim-il-r’ Sherlock said with a grin ‘The same.’
‘Actually.’ Mycroft said ‘The definition is ‘Related in appearance or nature; alike though not identical.’ He smiled ‘I think that sums us up rather well.’
Sherlock beamed at him. There was a pause as they both ate their biscuits.
‘Grownups don’t like being told they’re wrong either’ he said with a conspiratorial grin. Although the resultant row between their parents had been deeply unpleasant, Sherlock correcting the Vicar on why evolution was the most plausible and sciefitical-in his words-explanation for the Universe and wondering why then Mrs Turner taught them about the garden of Eden, had been, frankly priceless.
‘Sstupid people sshould always be corrected.’ Sherlock said solemnly, his soft lisp made more prominent by the mouthful of biscuit he was still struggling with. Mycroft smiled; perhaps his little brother had a point. Sherlock finished the biscuit and began to trace patterns on the carpet with his finger, his face falling again. After a few moments Mycroft saw the bottom lip begin to tremble.
‘Sherly?’ has asked gently ‘what is it?’
‘Mummy and Father don’t like me.’ He said ‘They think there’s something wrong with me.’
Mycroft bit his lip, his heart feeling like it was contorting in his chest. Sherlock had known then, of course, of the whispered discussions Mycroft had overheard since his little brother was an infant. Talk of ‘conditions’ and ‘testing’ and fraught hushed arguments in the study about what was to be done with him.
Sherlock looked up and fixed his eyes on Mycroft ‘Father said they’d send me away.’ As the words left his mouth tears spilled over.
‘When Sherlock? When did she say that?’ Mycroft was concerned, this was the first he’d heard of it.
‘Tonight.’ He sniffled ‘I was trying to sneak to the kitchen and I heard them in Father’s study. He was shouting, he said they’d send me away.’
Mycroft pulled Sherlock to his feet and knelt before him again. ‘Listen to me Sherlock.’ He said his voice more urgent and stern than he intended and Sherlock’s face crumpled again ‘Sorry.’ He said quickly ‘Listen to me’ he continued voice softer ‘I won’t let them send you anywhere without me. Is that clear?’
Sherlock nodded
‘They can send you away to school too if they like but only if I go with you.’ Mycroft gripped his little brother’s shoulders ‘I’ll always be with you Sherlock I promise. I’m your big brother, that’s my job.’
Sherlock wiped a sleeve over his dripping nose and nodded. Mycroft squeezed his shoulders.
‘Good.’ He said ‘Now wash your face and brush your teeth I’ll go and get your Pyjamas.’
Mycroft steered Sherlock towards the door and out along the corridor to the bathroom. There was silence from bellow now indicating that their parents had either exhausted the argument or had lapsed into silent seething that would continue for days to come. He retrieved Sherlock’s plaid pyjamas from under his pillow and made his way back to the bathroom. He knocked, and hearing a muffled noise of consent went in. Sherlock was standing at the sink methodically brushing his teeth, his socks and trousers were discarded at his feet, his shirt unbuttoned but still on. Attention span not long enough to complete undressing Mycroft noted. Sherlock spat out the toothpaste and Mycroft held out his pyjama bottoms and Sherlock obediently stepped into them. Mycroft reached up to the bathroom shelf for the hairbrush and ran it gently through Sherlock’s unruly dark curls. The effect wasn’t neat but would save them some major knots in the morning.
‘Shirt’ he said putting the brush back on the shelf. Sherlock didn’t move, instead looking up at him eyes wide. ‘What?’ Mycroft asked
‘Promise you won’t be angry.’
‘Why would I be angry?’
Sherlock didn’t reply, simply removed his shirt to reveal a large red mark across his back that was already turning purple and bruised. Mycroft closed his eyes and breathed in determined not to let Sherlock see his reaction. Of course he’d already noticed.
‘You’re angry.’
‘Not at you Sherlock.’ Mycroft said evenly, kneeling again to Sherlock’s height. ‘Did Father do this?’ he already knew the answer.
‘Yes.’ Sherlock said ‘Because I was bad. I don’t understand how causing me physical injury will prevent me doing things I didn’t know I was doing and that I didn’t know were bad. I tried to tell him that but he did it again.’ Sherlock pointed to a mark higher up on his chest ‘I was trying to move out of the way.’ He explained sheepishly.
‘I fail to understand the reasoning either Sherlock.’ Mycroft said gently, ‘We are far more reasonable people than Father.’
‘You’re not angry?’
‘I’m angry with Father.’ Mycroft spat.
‘Don’t be.’ Sherlock said ‘I don’t want him to hit you too.’
I’d hit him back Mycroft thought, although he was on the chubby side and a little short having not had a growth spurt yet, he still reasoned he could land a decent blow on their aging Father should the need arise. Gently he reached out to touch the bruising on Sherlock’s side and chest. It was red and sore, and clearly would bruise by morning but there didn’t seem to be any substantial damage. This time.
‘Come on, let’s get you to bed’ Mycroft said pulling Sherlock’s pyjama top on . Sherlock complied and followed Mycroft down the hall. As the neared the stairs Mycroft felt him pull closer and slip a hand into his. He knew his little brother’s ears were trained towards noise from bellow as his own were. They reached Mycroft’s room and he opened the door.
‘Come on.’ He said
Sherlock hesitated ‘I don’t have to go to my room?’
Mycroft quirked a smile and shook his head, Sherlock quickly padded into the room and shut the door behind him. He doubted their parents would bother to check on Sherlock tonight and they usually left him to his own devices when he was at home. Mycroft had been given a double bed when one of the old guest rooms was renovated so there was plenty of room for both of them, and they had shared a bed often as younger children both here and at their grandmother’s house in France. Mycroft pulled back the covers and gently lifted Sherlock up onto the high bed. He scrambled, all limbs towards the other side, next to the wall and Mycroft slid in next to him. Sherlock sat prim in the bed next to him suddenly looking wide awake.
‘Would you like me to read to you?’ Mycroft asked.
Sherlock’s face lit up, ‘Would you?’ he asked ‘Nobody reads to me anymore. Mummy says I can do it myself.’
Mycroft smiled and knelt on the bed to retrieve a book from the shelf above, Treasure Island. ‘Is this still your favourite?’ he asked.
Sherlock beamed and nodded enthusiastically in response, Mycroft couldn’t help but smile.
‘From the beginning?’ he asked
Sherlock shook his head. ‘Chapter five.’ He said solemnly ‘Nothing happens in the first four chapters. Just exposition.’ He said the final word carefully as if he’d been practicing, which he probably had.
Mycroft nodded, taking the request seriously. He opened the book and began reading, Sherlock squirmed a bit and put his head on the pillow gazing up as Mycroft read. A few pages in he squirmed a bit more, a bit closer to his brother. Then again a few pages later. Mycroft lifted an arm and Sherlock shuffled under, his head on Mycroft’s stomach as he read.
It took three more chapters for Sherlock to fall asleep, still resting on Mycroft’s stomach, his hand crumpled in his big brother’s pyjamas. Not tired Mycroft carried on reading until his eyes began to close and he was dozing, book still in hand.
He was half asleep when shouts from down the corridor and a pounding of feet woke him. Mycroft jumped out of bed as quickly as he could without waking Sherlock and hurried into the corridor.
‘You.’ His father ‘Where is he’
‘In my room.’ Mycroft lifted his chin defiantly, he saw Mummy rounding the top of the stairs.
‘Siger’ she said ‘Leave them. It’s fine.’
Mycroft’s father edged closer and he smelled the strong scent of whiskey on him, a slight slur to his voice, ‘I wasn’t finished punishing him.’
‘I think you’d done enough.’ Mycroft said drawing himself up as much as he could and standing his ground despite his legs turning slowly to jelly.
‘What did you say boy?’ his father growled, reaching him now he backed Mycroft against the wall and raised a hand above his head.
‘You heard me.’ Mycroft said ‘Go on hit me.’
His father pulled back a hand to hit and swung towards Mycroft’s face, stopping just short he laughed a low callous laugh. ‘I bloody should.’ He said doing the same again, laughing again when Mycroft flinched.
‘Bully.’ Mycroft said dropping his head.
An arm was at his throat and he found himself struggling for air. He heard his Mother shout from behind but she sounded distant.
‘What did you say?’ Father growled his arm pressing into Mycroft’s windpipe.
Mycroft lifted his eyes, defiant now ‘I called you a bully.’
Siger Holmes dropped his arm around Mycroft’s neck and swiped him hard across the face with the other hand in one fluid motion. Mycroft cried out and stumbled sideways.
‘Get to bed.’ His Father growled.
Mycroft didn’t move for a moment, still stunned by the blow.
‘I said bed’ Siger said again raising his hand towards Mycroft.
‘Enough! ‘ his Mother shouted and his Father wheeled around to her ‘Mycroft go to bed.’ She said a slight note of panic in her voice ‘Check your brother is ok.’
‘Don’t interfere’ his Father growled at her taking a step closer.
‘Please, you’re drunk.’ Mycroft’s Mother was pleading now ‘Let them be and get some sleep.’
There was a moment when everything seemed to stand still. Mycroft couldn’t move, only felt the harsh stinging in his cheek where the blow had landed, beginning to burn and throb. His Father had yet to move, neither did his Mother. It felt like an eternity until with a heavy sigh his father dropped his hand, turned away from his Mother and trudged back down the stairs muttering as he went. His Mother exhaled.
‘Go to bed Mycroft.’ She said her voice heavy.
Mycroft nodded pulling himself to his feet, and turning back towards the door. ‘Are you ok Mummy?’ he said his voice sounding small.
‘I’m fine dear.’ She said ‘Give Sherlock a kiss goodnight. I’d better check on your Father.’
Mycroft nodded. His heart heavy that Mummy wasn’t coming to say goodnight herself, he should have expected it though, this was how it went. She had to keep an eye on Father.
Mycroft let himself back into his room, the soft light of the lamp comforting. He put a hand up to his face and flinched. It would bruise by morning. Luckily the holidays were another week long, by the time he returned to school he could claim some minor injury such as being struck by a ball. He was that useless at sports it was entirely plausible. He glanced over to the bed where slowly he sensed movement until he saw the top of Sherlock’s head peering out at him.
‘Is it ok?’ he sniffed.
Mycroft crossed the room quickly and sat on the bed resting a hand on the Sherlock shaped lump ‘It’s alright.’ He said ‘Everyone is going to bed.’
Sherlock wrinkled his nose ‘I heard shouting and you weren’t here.’
‘Sorry Sherly, I thought I’d go out and talk to them.’
‘They didn’t listen.’ Sherlock replied, wriggling a bit more out of the covers.
‘No.’ Mycroft said unconsciously touching his burning face, Sherlock’s eyes widened seeing the mark for the first time. ‘It’s alright.’ Mycroft said quickly, ‘No real harm done.’
Sherlock wriggled out of the covers and knelt up his face in line with Mycroft examining the mark in great detail. Mycroft watched him out of the corner of his eye, his strange and inquisitive little brother given to poking and prodding everything to find answers was staring almost reverently at his bruised red check, knowing he shouldn’t touch. It was enough to begin the quirk of a smile on his mouth. Just as it began Sherlock moved deliberately, slowly his face towards Mycroft’s and placed a small kiss just above the mark.
‘What was that for?’ Mycroft said not turning his head, his voice a thoaty whisper.
‘Mrs Turner at school taught me it.’ He said ‘She said you can do a magic kiss to make things better. There’s no such thing as magic but she told me that didn’t matter because it’s a nice thing that makes the person feel better anyway. Do you feel better Myc?’
Mycroft smiled as a tear escaped, he turned to face Sherlock ‘I rather think I do.’ He said ‘Thank you.’ Sherlock beamed, all teeth Mycroft smiled back and ruffled his brother’s hair. ‘Now bed.’
‘I’m in bed.’
‘Sleep.’ Mycroft commanded. ‘It’s way past your bedtime.’
Sherlock pouted, circumvented by a yawn, Mycroft raised an eyebrow and Sherlock flopped dramatically back down in bed. Mycroft reached over and turned out the lamp, pulled the covers over him and lay down. There was a soft silence in the room for a moment, then a soft rustling to his left alerted him to Sherlock wriggling in bed, tossing this way and that.
‘Come here.’ Mycroft said and was rewarded with the soft thud of Sherlock on his chest.
‘Myc’ Sherlock muttered into his pyjamas.
‘Mmm’ he replied tiredness beginning to creep up on him.
‘You’ll always be around won’t you. ‘
‘For as long as I can.’ Mycroft said reaching a hand to gently pet Sherlock’s curls.
‘Good.’
There was a pause, Mycroft could feel him thinking. Sherlock lifted his head. ‘If I was ever in danger, like really scary danger. You’d help me right?’
‘Why would you be in danger?’ Mycroft asked
‘I don’t know. I just might.’ Sherlock said ‘I might be a pirate.’
Mycroft chuckled ‘Pirate Holmes.’
Sherlock flopped again giggling softly. Mycroft smoothed his curls again.
‘But yes Sherlock.’ Mycroft said ‘If you were in danger I would help you. I would do all that I could.’
‘Fthank you.’ Sherlock muttered sleepily. In moments Mycroft felt his breathing shift and his little brother fall asleep. Slowly with the comforting weight of Sherlock on his chest, Mycroft did too.