"Sherlock i'm not abandoning you it's just school. Everyone has to go, even me." The twelve year old boy with ginger hair sat with his crying brother trying to explain. Sherlock was only four and thought Mycroft was getting tired of him, so he was leaving to boarding school.

"You don't play with me anymore and everyone here hates me. Why do you have to leave me. Mummy ignores me and daddy is never here. It's like like i was adopted."

The sniffing little four year old was clever and didn't know how close he was to the truth. Sherlock wasn't adopted, he was the result of an affair between mummy and a coworker. After that Violet and Sigerson Holmes hardly spoke to each other or were in the same room together. They cast cold looks at Sherlock like it was all his fault they were fighting. Mycroft was becoming more and more wrapped up in schoolwork and schoolpolitics. Earning connections was time consuming but it paid off. Leaving him less time for his brother.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Mycroft gave his little brother a hug. "I'll be back before you know it."

"I'll know it when you leave though..." Sherlock grumbled into Mycroft's uniformed shoulder.

Mycroft was about to respond to this, but the boys' mother walked in. "Sherlock, let your brother go. We both have things to do."

Mycroft slowly let go of Sherlock. The little boy's face, still tear stained, was glaring at the floor. Mycroft sighed, and followed his mother out to the street, where she hailed a cab. They carefully piled the luggage inside, and Mycroft was stuck next to it all with his mother sitting in the front, a black lump on top of one of the suitcases threatening to fall on him.

Wait a minute, that black lump...

Mycroft sighed, inwardly arguing with himself about whether the yank the blanket off the form he was sure was underneath. The further they got from their home, the more trouble he would be in if and when his mother found what was under the blanket.

He weighed the consequences and, finally, gave the mound a poke in the rib. A dirty yellow skull fell into his lap and he mentally screamed. He grimaced and hoped to god it wasn't real. There was a hastily written note shoved into it's eye hole. Mummy hadn't seen it yet, so Mycroft snatched the note and wrapped the skull back into his little brothers black scarf.

Mycart it has come to my attention that we can't talk anymore, with you going to this school thing. Skully thought you might want someone to talk to so he volunteered himself to conform to the tyranny of Captain Mycart. It was his idea to wrap himself in my favorite scarf and tuck himself in between your books and that bag full of snacks. Skully takes full resposibility for the snacks he was hungry and he refuses to say where i am under pain of experiments.

p.s i am not hiding under your luggage

signed first mate Sherlock

Typical Sherlock he could spell anything and everything except Mycroft. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a thin pale hand replacing the now empty bag of snacks under skully. He rolled his eyes, took hold of the arm and yanked causing the stack of school supplies to dangerously shift. a small mop of curly black hair appeared followed by the scowling face of Sherlock Holmes. He crossed his arms and stuck his tongue out at Mycroft.

"I told you I wasn't hiding under your luggage. Why didn't you just listen, we could still go together." The crying sniffling four year old Mycroft thought he had left behind was gone, replaced with the sulking look of an adult. Mummy was on her mobile it was the perfect opportunity to talk.

"You can't just hide in my luggage and expect we can go to school together. That's not how it works Sherlock I-" He was interrupted as his mother got off the phone and looked back towards Mycroft.

"Mycroft when you get there you must-SHERLOCK HOLMES what the bloody hell are you doing in this car! When we get home i don't want to see your horrid little face for a week. You disobedient little bastard." Their mothers face seethed with anger and she looked like she was about to kill him. Sherlock curled up on the floor of the cab and turned away from cried silently and his little fingers pressed into his thin legs with effort.

Mycroft, who had hidden the skull out of his mother's sight, looked down at his sobbing brother. Oh, he was annoyed; Mother would be extra cold when saying goodbye. And yet... Mycroft leaned down by Sherlock and began whispering in his ear.

"Mycroft, out. Sherlock, sta-" Mrs. Holmes stoped by the open door of the cab, looking into the seats, now emptied of the luggage. "Sherlock? Where did he go?" She turned and glared at the luggage. "Sherlock, if you don't come out right this instant..."

No response.

Mycroft watched mildly as his mother began shaking the luggage, as though expecting to hear a squeak or something child-sized to fall out. She stoppped a moment and turned to Mycroft. "Mycroft, where is your brother?"

"What?" Mycroft, as good an actor as Sherlock, feigned confusion. "Sherlock? Isn't he at home?"

His mother glared at him a moment before returning to her search. Her eyes alighted on a blanket sitting near, with what was surely Sherlock's pale, round knee poking out. She walked quickly over to and yanked it up.

"SHER-" she froze, as there was no one under the blanket- then, she let out a slight gasp as she noticed the skull lying on the ground. "A-a- a skull..."

Mycroft quickly picked it up. "It's for one of my classes," he lied casually, adding "I'm telling you, Mum, Sherlock isn't here."

She stared at him a moment, stunned and slightly confuse, before shaking her head. "Fine, fine, I..." She turned to the man who had come to greet Mycroft from the school. "The moment you see a little, curly haired boy, call me immediately," she cast one look at the luggage, disrupted on the ground, and climbed back into the cab. Moments later it drove away.

The man appeared confused by the outburst, then turned to Mycroft and led him towards the school. Just in front of the door, next to one of the large decorative bushes, Mycroft dropped his pencil.

"One moment, sir," he crouched to pick it up, and glared into the bush. "Last time I'm helping you," he hissed at the shadow in the bush, subtly throwing the skull in. "I'll meet you here later. Don't get caught." Then he joined the man once more.

Sherlock hugged Skully, and opened one of the bags of snaks he smuggled away from the cab just before Mum got out. He giggled quietly. "Mum's so dull," he whispered, silently munching in the snacks. "Mm, chips..."

Mycroft walked to his dorm slowly, waiting for the man carrying all of his bags and trunks. He was half way down the hallway when the door to his room flew open and almost hit him in the face, if not for the umbrella he had been carrying. The boy who walked out was of average height and wore the grey uniform suit without a tie. Scholarship then, left hand calloused uneven sun lines on his face must play rugby then.

"Hi i'm gregory Lestrade, your Mycroft Holmes right? Looks like we'll be roommates for the whole of term then." The boy held out his hand and Mycroft took it shaking firmly, after all a proper handshake can tell a lot about potential connections.

Gregory stepped aside allowing Mycroft entry into their living quarters. It was a quaint little place, combination kitchen bathroom, coat closet and two separate bedrooms. He noted the case files on the side table and the boxes off to the side. Hasn't moved in fully not arrogant and cocky more the polite type possibly drilled into him by his father the police officer. Jock and the hall monitor hmm potentially good connection to have.

"So your father is a policeman and you aspire to be one as well." It was more of a statement than a question.

"uh yeah how'd you know?"

"I didn't know i noticed."

Sherlock had just finished his chips and stood up with Skully under his arm. The wrappers he left under the bushes and he wiped his fingers on his shorts. Never had been the neatest child and he wasn't about to start now. Even standing up he barely reached halfway to the top of the bushes. He hoped that when he got bigger he would be taller than all the other kids. Now to find Mycart he thought, strolling into the boys dormitory. After what seemed like forever he ended up on the first floor room two twenty one. It was someone named John Watson's room and he shared it with another boy named Mike stamford.

"Mycroft! Mycroft! I can't find my bwother. Help me pwease" The best tact would be to act like the defenseless lost baby. That way they wouldn't turn him into the security guards who were looking for him. The door opened and a boy with a black and white striped jumper came out.

His eyes were blue and his hair was a kind of honey blonde parted to the side. This one was a child sympathetic no doubt and Sherlock put on his best kicked puppy face. When he spotted Sherlock sucking on his thumb and rocking back and forth he was about ten years old and obviously here on a rugby scholarship.

"Hey there, are you okay?"

"Can't find my bwother have you seen my bwother?" The bigger boy picked him up and Sherlock sobbed into his shoulder giggling about how gullible people can be.

"What's your name?"

"...name is sh-sherwock i wost my bwother." Sure he was playing it up a bit, but why not kids his age were ridiculous.

"What's your brothers name?" John was rocking him now and Sherlock was starting to feel drowsy.

"My-" he yawned. "croft." He fell asleep almost immediately after that, John was so warm and comforting even if he was faking it.

"Mycroft huh? well i think he's just a few doors down. Let's go little lock." Sherlock was pretty close to weightless by John standards and so he cradled him like a baby walking to Mycroft's dorm room.

Mycroft sat on the bed, umbrella lying across his lap. Greg was crouched on the ground, sifting through, from what Mycroft could hear, many pamphlets and papers inside a rather large box. Finally, he lets out a muffled 'Aha!' And leans back with a bundle of papers.

"What are those?" Mycroft asks, curious despite himself.

The boy's eyes lit up. "Oh, they're-" he was cut off by a loud knock at the door. "Uh, I'll get that." Greg stood up and walked over to the door, pulling it open slowly "Hello?"

"Hi, isn't this Mycroft Holmes's room?" Mycroft stood when he heard his name, groaning when he saw his sleeping, curly-haired little brother in another boys arms, cradled like a child. Mycroft sized the boy up- a gentle kid, about ten, and if he was correct, then Gregory should-

"Hey, you're John Watson, from the rugby team, aren't you?" The boy, John, nodded.

"Yeah. And you're Gregory, right? Which means you," he turned to Mycroft "must be Mycroft. Your brother got lost, you shouldn't just leave him alone like that- he was really upset."

"Yeah," Mycroft scoffed inwardly. Sherlock must have been faking it to get the kid to help him. Yet... He never let anyone but Mycroft carry him like that, no matter how tired he was.

"Here, he... Hasn't had his nap today."

John handed Mycroft Sherlock, who began to stir restlessly, scowling as he woke up. John patted his head. "Hey, it's okay buddy, go back to sleep." Mycroft winced at the tone Sherlock would find patronizing, but his brother fell back asleep. How- what? Mycroft shrugged and set Sherlock on his bed.

"We'll, ill see you later," Greg waved to John.

"Yeah," Mycroft blinked in surprise as the door closed. John looked... Sad? Disappointed? What the hell was that about? He looked at his brother, sleeping soundly on the bed. nightmares like usual.

Who was that John Watson?