Mycroft Holmes didn't know what to do. Father had died months ago, Mother was having a nervous breakdown, Sherlock was deep into drugs and Quentin … poor little Quentin was getting lost in the upheaval. He slammed his hands down on his office desk and started to think. Firstly he needed to get nineteen year old Sherlock into an intense rehab but doing that was easier said than done the boy was stubborn and Mycroft would need to be on top of him to make him stay. He needed Quentin somewhere safe, his five year old brother was far too close to Sherlock, he didn't want him to go down the same dangerous path. He would need to find someone for Quentin to stay with maybe his Uncle in Scotland his Father hadn't liked the man but that was just sibling rivalry … right?
A week later and Mycroft had just dropped Sherlock off at a rehab facility and was in the car with Quentin on the way to Scotland. Mycroft looked down at his little brother, he looked so like Sherlock at that age all lean and gangly limbed the little boy with brown wavy hair and striking blue eyes was dressed in navy corduroy shorts, a white long sleeved shirt, braces, navy knee length socks and polished back T-bar shoes. Quentin was his families little miracle, his parents had frozen sperm and eggs and Quentin had been born by surrogate when his mother and father were forty five, he had been born twenty weeks early and they all thought that he would die, he had been so small, his skin paper thin, a machine that pumped oxygen into his body and an incubator keeping him warm, but Quentin hadn't just survived, he had thrived and as much as it annoyed Mycroft to say it Quentin was probably the smartest of all the brothers. Quentin was currently reading a book electrical wiring, the little boy had always been interested in electronics and engineering. "Look at me Quentin." Mycroft said softly, this was the last thing he wanted to do, leave Quentin with an unknown family member after he had just lost his Mother and Father, Quentin's blue eyes peered over the large book, the black square glasses slipping down his nose "This isn't forever Quentin, I will be back to get you soon but you must do exactly what Uncle Sylvester tells you." Truthfully Mycroft was worried, Quentin hadn't spoken a word to him since he had told the boy he would be staying with their Uncle three days ago, even now they eyes that normally held so much love looked lost and forlorn. Quentin nodded sharply before returning to his book, Mycroft sighed, everything would be fine … it had to be.
That night as Quentin lay in his temporary bed he knew that something was wrong, the house was scary and the shadows moved sneakily through his room, he didn't like Uncle Sylvester something told him that the man was bad. He startled as the door opened and poured light into his room, he heard the shuffling steps that he had already started to associate with Sylvester near his bed and lay unmoving as the man pulled back the covers and climbed into his bed, what followed was the first time that Quentin was raped by his Uncle, the feel of a rough calloused hand slipping into his pyjama bottoms, the sharp rip of his rectal muscles as the man shoved his adult penis into Quentin's anus, the burning hot salty tears that cascaded down Quentin's cheeks, the feel of blood dripping down his throat as he screamed loudly, the heavy weight against his back as the man finished, the thought that Mycroft or Sherlock would come for him, all of this would haunt Quentin.
Two months later Quentin felt broken, he felt as if his world was stuck on some twisted kind of repeat, Mycroft hadn't come or called and Quentin had lost hope that he ever would, it was then that he decided he would run away, there was no point in relying others they all hurt him or left him in the end. Quentin started to plan, in the daytime when he was left to his own devices he hacked his Uncles bank account and transferred it to one he had set up in a fake name, he created a false birth certificate for himself under the name of Eurus Wells, he created a fake father Magnus Wells who was recently widowed, he hacked into a apartment buildings website and rented a house in the name Magnus Wells and set up a direct debit to pay the rent. Things like this were easy for Quentin but the fact that it took two weeks for it all to be finalised was a living nightmare each night Quentin worried that the blood loss would be too severe that time or that the infection that he knew he was getting would kill him. Finally he was ready to leave, he packed everything he could in a rucksack and made his way to the window in his room, his bedroom door was always locked after the night 'events' and so this was his only way out. He had calculated the distance to the tree, the probability of injury was quite high, and he could easily hobble his ankle. He balled up all of his courage and jumped onto a protruding branch from the oak tree, at that point he was thankful for Sherlock teaching him to climb trees as he effortlessly swung from branch to branch until he reached the trunk and could shimmy down to the floor. He looked up at the house up to the window to a place that had been his prison and ran as fast as he could putting distance between himself and the twisted house of horrors. He had arranged for a taxi to pick him up online pretending to be a father sending his son off to his mothers, it had worked and he had ten minutes to get to the pick up point.
Mycroft homes felt haggard, he felt stressed and guilty and he just wanted to be able to sleep but he knew he had to go and see Quentin he had had no contact with his baby brother for four months and he dreaded knowing what Quentin would be like with him. When he had left Quentin with Sylvester he had had every intention of visiting him in a couple of weeks but time had gotten away from him, Sherlock had been difficult and without the responsibility being in front of him Quentin had been so easy to forget about. He sighed as the driver pulled up in front of the house. He gracefully climbed out of the car and climbed the steps up to the house and knocked on the door, almost immediately the door was pulled open and Mycroft absorbed the look of fear on Sylvester's face before he said "Hello, I came to see Quentin." He wondered briefly what the fear was about but he was too intent on seeing Quentin to care. He watched the older man fluster.
"I'm sorry but young Quentin has been confined to his room, he has been very disrespectful." Sylvester simpered.
Mycroft could read the lie easily and he felt a knot forming in his gut but he had to play this carefully "Oh really, then I will need to speak to him, I will not have him disrespecting his elders." He needed to see Quentin his heart was pounding in his chest. Sylvester started to shake his head but Mycroft just shoved past him, he was sick of playing games he ran up the stairs knowing which room to go to as he had dropped Quentin's things off there all those months ago. He reached to room and his stomach dropped multiple bolts had been added to the outside of the door he quickly slid all the bolts open and charged forward into the room.
Mycroft's stomach twisted violently as he looked around the room, it smelt of sex, sweat, blood and infection, he looked at the large bed where sheets streaked with blood were laying innocently. He wrenched open the wardrobe door and saw very few of the clothes that Quentin had come with. Mycroft ran from the room and found Sylvester using his momentum to shove the older ma into the wall "What the fuck did you do to him you bastard? Where is he?" The older man just smirked at him and Mycroft's skin crawled and he brought the man forward before slamming into the wall harder "Did you kill him?"
The older man just laughed "No I didn't kill the little bitch, he escaped … probably dead by now though I mean it's been two months." The smile that the man gave was the last straw for Mycroft and he punched the man hard in the jaw. He stepped back before turning to his bodyguards.
"Dispose of him, I don't care how … Just do it." The two men nodded and Mycroft strode back to the room that had been his little brothers room or prison he thought mutinously. How could he have let this happen? One thing was clear though, he needed to find Quentin because Mycroft didn't believe for a second that his little brother was dead.