A/N: Hello world. :) This fic is a sort of companion fic to Collision Course. I suggest you read that fic before this one as it outlines the relationship of Lestrade/Sherlock through the years and it gives vital info on some of the incidents. I'm not likely to repeat myself when it comes to these incidents; detail may be brief, so I do suggest you read Collision Course. But if you insist on reading just this, then go for it? ;D Please enjoy this chapter.
I don't own Sherlock.
"Sherlock, dear, come down to the table!"
The too-sweet voice of his mother churned his stomach but he got up anyway, well aware of the consequences of not showing up at all. He rarely let anyone decide his actions for him but his mother was another story. It has been years since he'd had any love for her at all. In his mind, she was a monster trapped within the body of a woman, losing a battle she didn't even know she was part of. Since his father's death two years prior, she had been drinking nonstop and, though Mummy had previously stressed how a proper a lady should act, alcohol turned her violent often.
It wasn't that he feared her. He could hold his own against her biting words and violent tendencies - even more so when his brother was at his side. Somewhere in his mind he still held on to the woman he knew his mother used to be and that all on its own stopped him fighting back. It was foolish, he knew. A weakness he couldn't stand to have. But it was there and very real. So, rather than yelling back that he'd like to finish his experiment first, Sherlock got up from his rickety chair and made his way down to the dining room.
He took the stairs slowly, allowing his eyes time to take in everything. Observation had always been key in his mind. He liked to see, and enjoyed seeing everything. There was no excuse for missing the tiniest detail, and thus he would constantly come down the stairs this way, gaze sweeping the room. At first, nothing seemed out of place. Nothing at all. The overly clean white carports lay unstained, potted plants rested unmoved, television off and bookshelf untouched.
Despite his wide range of seeing, there had always been one problem with Sherlock: he'd often get so busy looking for the small details that he'd overlook the obvious. Today was much the same. At first he noticed nothing at all, and would've continued to do so if not for a rather loud cough off to his right. Startled, the boy (barely fifteen years old then) jumped a tiny bit before taking a look at the figure who'd coughed. A smile lit up his face as he recognized the individual.
"Mycroft!" he felt like a little boy calling his brother's name that way, but it couldn't be helped. Mycroft was twenty-two and had long since left home, only occasionally returning. It was certainly unexpected for him to turn up on a regular day like this. Grinning wildly, Sherlock launched himself down the stairs - only barely stumbling over his long limbs - and into his brother's waiting embrace. He'd never been one for physical contact but his brother was an exception.
"Sherlock," Mycroft wrapped his arms around his brother, smiling in just the same way. "Mummy tells me you've been moved to the advanced classes like you requested. I trust you're doing well?"
"Quite," Sherlock didn't even notice the overly formal tone. It was normal, and had been for the entire four years that Mycroft had been out in the world on his own, making his way up the ranks in the government. It was too mundane a job for Sherlock to ever consider himself but if his brother enjoyed it, that was that. "And the government?"
"Boys!" Mummy's voice interrupted them as she came around the corner, precariously balancing a plate of steaks in her left hand. For fear that she might drop them (an alcoholic carrying food? not the best idea), the boys let go of one another and Mycroft took the plate from her. He was still smiling at his brother as he placed it on the table and took his own seat right next to Sherlock. Since their father's death Mycroft could have easily claimed the head of the table but he'd always seemed more at home between his brother and his mother.
Sometimes it was a good place to be. He could play referee and stop any fights threatening to break out.
"Mother, did you know Mycroft was coming?" Sherlock kept his voice as polite as he could but he avoided Mummy's gaze, preferring to stare at the food in front of him. He'd never really been the kind of boy to eat whatever was put in front of him but Mycroft had always insisted he eat something. Somehow Mycroft's insistence meant more to him than Mummy's. Either way, he was going to be eating something, whether he was hungry or not. At least the steak was good - he knew that for a fact. The chef may not be the best cook when it came to foreign delicacies but he could definitely pull off an amazing steak.
An awkward silence followed. Mycroft shot a quick glare towards his mother, unaware that Sherlock had seen it, before he coughed and announced, "It was supposed to be a surprise."
Sherlock took this to mean 'Mummy was supposed to inform you but didn't.' Instead of pointing this out, however, he smiled and turned sideways to get a good look at his brother. Mycroft turned as well, allowing himself to be observed. This was common between them - a touch of observation practice and a sort of 'right or wrong?' game of deductions.
"You've come from Brixton," Sherlock announced after a moment. "Easy, your jacket is still a bit wet because you forgot your umbrella. That's the only place you could logically have been and it's rained there recently. You're starting to get paid more. Your suit is obviously higher priced, probably tailored somewhere in London. You were rushed this morning. You've nicked yourself shaving and I've never known you to do that, you take such care. So this was a last minute plan. You had nothing to do and decided to visit, probably called Mummy while I was up in my room."
"And you've been doing another experiment?" Mycroft didn't bother acknowledging his brother's deductions as true - of course they were.
"Yes, how did you know?"
"You always are, aren't you?"
"True."
Mycroft, unfortunately, never stayed for long. Before he knew it, Sherlock was alone again. Alone with himself and his experiments. He liked it that way, most of the time. But alone also meant alone with his mother and that was not exactly the best place to be. The minute his brother left, Sherlock locked himself in his room and got right back to his experiment. Pouring battery acid on human fingers and judging the rate it took to dissolve was definitely interesting.
The next time his brother would visit was on far worse terms. It was barely three months later when Sherlock had woken to find the people his mother employed running around haphazardly, tripping over each other. Some seemed to be crying but far more were dry-eyed. And amongst the chaos was Mycroft.
Normally, he'd launch himself at his brother as he had the night of the dinner. This time, however, he restrained himself. Something was off. There was no reason for Mycroft to be there. It wasn't Christmas or Thanksgiving or any other tedious holiday his mother insisted on celebrating. This was unlike most times when Mycroft had decided to visit on impulse - those had been happy days which Sherlock always remembered fondly. There was no smile on his brother's face. No smile on anyone's face, really, and his mother wasn't in amongst the chaos.
"Mycroft?" he called tentatively, weaving through the crowd. It seemed to part for him (and why shouldn't it? He was, after all, the Mistress's son). "Mycroft, what's happening?"
"Sherlock," Mycroft breathed his name. He was obviously tired. Probably barely got out of bed when he arrived if his rumpled clothing and tired eyes were anything to go on. "Sherlock, are you alright? I was looking for you, but-"
"What're you going on about?"
"Nobody told you?" Dead silence. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, really, but Mummy… well, we knew she got into too much alcohol…"
"The point?" It wasn't like Mycroft to skip around like this. Sherlock was getting frustrated with his brother - a new feeling all on its own. Unlike most siblings, they'd gotten along quite well throughout their entire lives. The seven year difference between them seemed to disallow much fighting, lest they be childish.
"Sherlock…" Mycroft sighed, shaking his head. "Sherlock, the point is Mummy's dead. She overdosed on alcohol."
"Oh." Sherlock nodded slowly. He'd been expecting this for some time. Their mother's poor liver wouldn't have lasted forever and Mummy had never given any indication that she'd stop with the alcohol. Somehow this didn't really shock him at all. The attachment to his mother had been fading over time. He'd been more attached to who she was before the alcohol than who she was when she died.
"Are you alright?" Mycroft seemed genuinely concerned, however he wasn't surprised at all by his brother's lack of emotional response. Neither Holmes had ever had a particular interest in revealing emotions or even feeling them at all.
"Quite. Really, I am. So… then… if Mummy's dead, are you taking the house?"
Mycroft didn't say anything at first. He looked rather uncomfortable, that piercing gaze of his wandering around the room for a good half a minute before resettling on his brother. How did he explain this? "I… no, Sherlock. I don't think so. I can't afford to be this far away from my work…"
"Then what about me?" Sherlock sounded like a child. By law, of course, he was a child, but he'd always strove to be seen as more mature, older than his age. Now he sounded vulnerable and confused. How could his brother leave him?
"You'll come with me. If you want, of course. We're not selling the house. It'll stay here until I figure out what to do with it. But if you'd like, you can come live with me."
Where else was he to go? A fifteen-year-old could hardly do well on the streets. Sherlock was far more intelligent than most but he envisioned a better future than that of the homeless. So he nodded his assent and the deal was closed - he would live with Mycroft. He was given the instructions to pack the necessities and things he was sentimental about. There weren't many of the latter besides the skull his brother had bought him for his eleventh birthday. He'd wanted to bring his experiments but Mycroft had insisted that the acid would spill all over everything and thus he'd been forced to leave it behind.
For a week after his mother's death he was alone in the house. It was eery almost. The place had started so full of life. He could remember when he was young, five at most, awkwardly practicing violin with his brother next to him reading, his father in front of him instructing, and his mother not far away, in the kitchen, cooking. Since that time the number of Holmes in the house had dwindled down to one and would soon become zero. Mycroft was scheduled to pick him up later on that day.
He spent that day saying goodbye to everything in the house. Sentimentality was not normally part of his routine but he could afford it, considering he would be off with his brother for however long. It had been hard to let go of the books but he'd compensated by keeping his father's well polished violin. A beautiful thing it was. Normally he wouldn't keep things around just for beauty but this one held a higher power; its haunting notes could allow him to think whenever he needed it.
It was around five o'clock when his brother's car rolled into the long driveway. Smiling, Sherlock waved at the home he'd known for fifteen years. It was exciting, really. Leaving with his brother - his best friend - on a new adventure in a new place. A not very far away place but new nevertheless. As he left, however, he couldn't help but think that nothing could ever go bad now that he had Mycroft.
If only he knew.
A/N: Dun dun dun dun... Okay, this is going to sound like an odd request, but honestly, I'm not exactly well-versed in types of drugs. If you know of any, can you please suggest a narcotic that can be taken through a needle? And no, obviously, I don't mean for me, but I need a name for whatever Sherlock will be taking and saying "the drugs, the drugs, the drugs" just gets repetitive... Thanks in advance?