Disclaimer: I do not own Huntik or Sherlock.

Dante sighed as he looked out of the window. Everyone else in the house were celebrating, but not him. He turned slightly as he heard the news reporter reporting International News, and looked at the screen, at the detective in the deerskin cap.

He saw his team lean forward in concern at the news. "And news reporting from London. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, was named a fraud by the media, ever since his participation in making crimes purposely hard so that only he can solve it.

"Statements from people around him seemed to have convinced them from believing him a fraud." Dante rubbed his hand over his eyes, a gesture not missed by Zhalia.

"However, further evidence seems to have proved this statement false." Dante looked up, a spark lighting in his eyes. "Although there are regrets from the media, he was proclaimed dead at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. His roommate, John Watson, has refused to give further statement. However, his landlady has provided us with a few words."

An old looking lady appeared, looking tear stricken yet fierce at the same time. "I know Sherlock was not a fraud. I know so, and the ones who do are wrong. Wrong!" She broke off in sobs, and the screen ended.

"Poor lad." Cherit noted from his perch. Dante looked at his tan trench coat. It reminded him too much of…

No.

He rubbed his hand over his eyes, and sighed. He couldn't hope to contain that memory. Especially not today…

"Dante! Dante! Wait for me!" A young voice called out, high pitched and excited. The older boy turned to his younger brother. The boy was grinning like mad, his eyes shining a bright green grey.

"Come on, Lock! We have to hurry!"

The small boy squeaked in indignation as he ran to catch up, before catching up with his two older brothers. Dante was young, around 10, average, athletic with reddish brown hair. His eyes were a light brown colour, which shone as he continued to run. He had inherited, in fact, most of his father's features, though for some reason, his hair turned out reddish brown.

His brother beside him, Mycroft, was panting hard already.

Not that Dante blamed him. He ate too many things for lunch. He was a slightly pudgy boy, with jet black hair styled neatly, and an umbrella always present. Well, was present, until Dante, with the help of his younger brother, dumped it into the river. He had inherited every feature from his father, including his intelligence.

Sherlock was small for his size, but athletic none the less. His intelligence rivalled that of his two brothers, and his dark wild array of curls were plastered to his forehead with sweat as all three raced to get to the shed. He was the only child that inherited both intelligence and looks from his mother, and proved to be more of his mother's child than the other two.

His skin was covered in bruises, cleverly hidden underneath the clothes that the boy wore. His father was always drunk, and the family had learnt a long time ago that if they didn't do anything, the father would only inflict small amount of damages upon the boy.

He closed his eyes as he leant against the window. Even up till today, he still couldn't forgive himself.

"Dante! You can't leave!" Dante had earned himself a scholarship at Cambridge, and everyone was urging him to take it. Mycroft was a year ahead of him, and had already entered Imperial College. But Dante was slightly delayed in going because of his younger brother.

"I must, Sherlock. I need to go." Now they were talking by the door, where Dante had just come in, only to be tackled by Sherlock with a barrage of questions.

The boy looked down. "Will you visit?"

Dante sighed. "Highly unlikely, Lock. I'll be too busy. Look, you can take care of yourself, right?"

"But he'll hurt me." He whispered in a low voice. "You know he will."

"Look, Sherlock, we can't always be defending you. We need to find work ourselves. Maybe one day you'll as well."

"I want to be a pirate!" The eager little boy looked up. Dante couldn't help but smile, but was also upset about what he was going to say. But he had to tell the truth to this young innocent boy. Dante sighed. He knew that he couldn't stop it, but seeing him loose that innocence…

"Sherlock, there is no such thing as pirates. If you continue on this fantasy, it'll destroy you. You can become something else." This had an instantaneous reaction. The boy froze, looking up at Dante, before backing away to the wall, mumbling to himself in something like disbelief.

Dante remembered long ago when he had made a promise to the boy, and now he had broken it. "No. No." Dante could see the small quick pants, and how his brother was beginning to hyperventilate. "No. You promised. You promised. You promised that you would not-"

"Sherlock, this is different."

"NO!" Sherlock screamed and tugged mercilessly at his curls, sobs escaping him as he curled into a ball in the corner. Dante moved forward as if to stop the young boy, but the boy wouldn't let himself be helped. In the end, he was sedated and brought back up to his room by his father, who had spat on him as he carried Sherlock up.

Mycroft snarled at the red-eyed boy. His eyes were bloodshot, but he was supposed to see both of his brothers off before going back to studies. "Sherlock, you can't always do that."

Only a sniffle.

"God, Sherlock, if you keep on doing this, you'll result to nothing! Do you want that?"

Sherlock looked at Dante pleadingly, as if wanting his help, but Dante forced a cold look onto his face before shaking his head. The little boy lifted his chin defiantly. "Maybe."

"All this fantasising will not help you in the outside world! It's pathetic! We won't always be around!" The oldest brother exploded in a rage.

Sherlock's lip trembled, but he did not cry. "I don't want you to be around." Dante felt proud of him, but forced the look to remain, before turning away. He turned back only slightly, seeing Sherlock run back up the steps to his room, sobs escaping him, before the door to his room slammed shut.

Their mother called after him, ran after him, distressed. "Sherlock! Sherlock, darling!"

Their father, on the other hand, showed indifference, before nodding to both young men. "Make sure you study hard." Both nodded, before exiting to get prepared.

Dante heard someone screaming from behind them, and turned around. After Sherlock's breakdown, they had had lunch, but Sherlock was not invited, since, according to their father, he 'destroyed special occasions for the family'.

Now, both were in the car, ready to leave, and both turned at the scream, seeing Sherlock scramble from his second story bedroom window and land hard on the floor. No matter how much they wanted to, they couldn't stop their father from giving Sherlock a slap.

Sherlock tugged himself away, and tan after the car, but soon had to stop. "You promised!" He shrieked behind them. Dante could only stare ahead. His last few words before they turned the corner into the main street stuck forever in his head.

"I hate you! I'll never ask for your help again!"

Dante sighed, rubbing his eyes again. Out of all of them, he had thought Mycroft the most sensible, but he was wrong. Mycroft was the down bringing of his younger brother, and so was Dante.

He received the letter a few days ago.

You are cordially invited to attend the funeral of Sherlock Sherrinford Holmes.

The words still rang in Dante's ears. He couldn't believe it.

Sherlock could have come to him for help, like he had always had done, but he didn't. He didn't want Dante or Mycroft around. He pushed them away every time they tried to make up for that time.

He watched as rain started splashing on the window.

Seems the perfect weather to reflect his mood.

Because Sherlock Sherrinford Holmes, his younger brother, the bright eyed boy who had wanted to become a pirate, was dead. He had died a long time ago, in fact, but this time it was more real.

Suddenly, Dante turned as there was a knock on the door. Lok went to answer it, and frowned apologetically with something of shock at the man. "Um, sorry?"

"I'm looking for Dante Holmes." The rich silky baritone drew Dante to the door. The Public English School accent. Holmes. A name he hadn't used in a long time.

"Uh, there's a Dante Vale, but no Holmes. Who are you?"

Dante was already at the door. He took in the appearance of the visitor and froze. With his dark curls plastered to his head with the rain, the tall and lean yet athletic figure, the high cheekbones, the pale skin, the grey green eyes. A name, uttered in shock, escaped his lips.

"Sherlock."

AN: My first try at a Sherlock crossover, though not for Dante. Characters may be a bit OOC. Review, please!