Author's notes: Apologies if this chapter is written quite childishly! I wanted to write this fanfic as if Sherlock's childhood ends with Redbeard's death (what if this is why he keeps insisting that he's protected by being alone?) and so there will (hopefully!) be a contrast in the style of writing as the chapters continue!

-BloggerOnBakerStreet

The small boy with the dark curly hair sat cross-legged on the ground, hugging a large dog which stood beside him. It was a beautiful red setter with a thick glossy coat, and it was almost as tall as the boy was when sitting down.

The boy now smiled at the dog fondly, and leant his head against the dog's. 'You're my friend, Redbeard, aren't you? My best friend. You won't leave me, will you? Best friends never leave, do they?'

Redbeard made no reply, and instead gave the boy's nose a lick, which got the response:

'Redbeard!' laughed the boy. 'I love you too, boy.'

His moment of contentment with Redbeard was brought to an abrupt halt as a curt voice spoke behind him.

'Oh, for heaven's sake, Sherlock, you're not talking to the dog again, are you?'

Sherlock, still sitting on the ground, whipped round sharply.

'Go away, Mycroft,' he snapped, and turned round again. 'Oh and by the way, "the dog's" name is Redbeard. Surely that's not too difficult to remember,' he added coldly.

Ignoring his brother's last remark, Mycroft continued. 'You do realise that animals cannot talk, don't you?' And without waiting for a reply, he added, 'But then, you always were the stupid one. Won't Mummy be disappointed?'

Mycroft was Sherlock's older brother: a tall and lanky 15-year-old, towering over his younger sibling and wearing a superior expression on his face.

'Oh, go and play with your umbrella collection, Mycroft,' Sherlock retorted.

'Very well,' replied Mycroft. 'But do try and remember, brother dear, not to get... attached... to things.' And with this, he glanced down at Redbeard, who continued to stand loyally beside Sherlock.

Mycroft then straightened up and nodded curtly at his brother, before stalking away.

'Look at the time, Mycroft, I think it's time for your next cake!' Sherlock shouted after him, making an effort to emphasise the last word. In spite of himself, he let out a small giggle of laughter. That insult would definitely hurt. Mycroft was always stuffing his face: something that he was wholeheartedly embarrassed about. Oh, how Sherlock loved bringing the subject up in front of other people, particularly when a certain girl called Anthea came to visit. Mycroft would then blush like the setting sun, and after Anthea had left, would continuously bombard Sherlock with insults and threats of, yes, occasionally, death. Then he'd regain his pride after a while, and continue to strut around the house like he owned it.

Sherlock watched his brother walk away and out of sight, and muttered, 'Pompous moron.'

He then turned back to Redbeard. 'Just ignore him, boy. He wouldn't know what a friend was if one of them bit him one the nose.'