This is my first Sherlock fic, so please read and review to tell me what you think.
Disclaimer- If I owned Sherlock, we would be on season ten at the least by now. Sherlock only has three seasons, hence I do not own.
Mycroft truly did care for his ruffian brother Sherlock, but sometimes the youngster annoyed him. Well, Sherlock was annoying most of the time.
Mycroft was already in high school when Sherlock, having skipped a grade just like him, entered middle school.
Yes, Sherlock was smart, compared to other children, but the boy didn't know how to simply keep his mouth closed.
Because of Sherlock's inability to 'play nice with others' Mummy and Dad were constantly getting calls from the school, most of them about Sherlock getting into fights with his fellow students.
The numerous fights did not make Sherlock popular amongst his classmates. In fact Sherlock's only friend was the family's aging pet, Redbeard.
It was because of Sherlock's knack for angering the other children that they decided to gang up on the boy and teach him a 'lesson.'
After the first time Sherlock was ambushed on his way home, he decided to take a different way home each time to avoid confrontation and getting beat up again.
His only mistake was telling Mycroft about it.
Mycroft had been on his way home from school when a small group of three eighth graders approached him.
To Mycroft they were surprisingly stupid, considering the were all older than him.
At first it just seemed like they wanted to talk to him, wanting to know why he, a high schooler, was walking instead of driving.
Mycroft didn't know that these children were the ones that plagued his younger brother, so he answered them truthfully that he was in fact younger than them and therefore could not drive.
"So you're the freak's brother?" The largest of the group, a smelly boy with greasy blonde hair, asked.
"Pardon?" Mycroft asked. Yes, they were just simple eighth graders, but politeness never harmed anyone.
"You're Sherlock's brother, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am." Mycroft answered. He couldn't understand why they cared, but clearly from the name they called his younger brother, they were not his friends.
"Where is he?" One of them asked, a fat red head whose face was covered in by acne and whose parents were obviously fighting all the time.
"I don't understand why-" Mycroft started and was promptly cut off by the leader of the group throwing his arm around Mycroft's shoulder in a friendly way.
"Listen, we just want to talk to your little brother." The boy paused and thought for a second. "Tell you what, you tell me which way the scrawny git went and I'll buy you a piece of cake."
Mycroft opened his mouth to say something.