"Mycroft." A seven-year-old Sherlock Holmes padded into his older brothers room, he was only back for the weekend and then he was back off to university, leaving Sherlock alone with their parents.
"One minute," Mycroft said into the phone. He then turned to his brother and upon seeing him carrying his old teddy immediately told whoever was on the phone that he'd call them back. "Come here." He sat on the bed and pulled Sherlock onto his lap, straightening up his pajamas and ruffling his dark curls, "You know father doesn't like it when you get all messy." he whispered, as if Sigor Holmes could hear them.
"Father doesn't like anything I do." Sherlock whispered as he buried his face in Mycrofts shoulder.
"I know, but at least I left, he's stop being grumpy all the time now. Hasn't he? He promised me." Mycroft said as he rubbed his brothers back soothingly.
"No. When you left it got worse. He broke my violin. But that's not why I'm here. I had a nightmare, can I sleep with you tonight?" he looked up at Mycroft, his big, helpless, grey eyes boring into his brother.
"Of course you can." He smiled and picked Sherlock up lightly, placing him on the bed and pulling the covers up. When he lifted Sherlock his top rode up slightly and Mycroft could see the outline of a bruise, a big, dark one that only his fathers hands could give and he felt pure hatred for the man. He wanted to be here and protect his brother but how could he? He had to get educated and he hated what their father did, hated that their father had so much power that no-one ever got away with telling. "Did father do that?" Mycroft asked softly. He looked down into his brothers dark grey eyes, the same eyes that he'd always managed to help, to get out of the way of fathers blows.
Sherlock looked away at that, his eyes were sad and he rolled over, pulling Mycroft under the covers with him, hiding in his brothers strong arms. "I had a nightmare." He whispered, blatantly ignoring the question. "Myc, promise me you'll always come home?" he pleaded, his voice cracked slightly and it damn near ripped Mycrofts hear in two that any man could hurt someone as innocent as Sherlock.
He supposed that his father had this twisted power complex but he held Sherlock close. "Of course I won't leave, what was this nightmare about then? Can you tell me that, Sherly?" he whispered back. He kept the bedside lamp on, knowing that Sherlock liked it, and watched his brother carefully.
"You leaving and me being with daddy—I mean, father. Me being alone with father when he throws things or gets angry. Please don't leave again, can't you stay? I swear I'll be good and only come and sleep here when I really need to?" Sherlock's voice cracked again and he looked at Mycroft, his little hands gripped his brothers top tightly and his lispy whisper made it hard to understand, but Mycroft always understood Sherlock. That lisp, the lisp that they knew his father hated.
"Sherlock, I'll always come back to you, but I have to go back to university." Mycroft frowned, "I will always come home though, I promise."
"No! No, just don't leave please?" Sherlock gripped Mycroft tighter and refused to let go, "You can't leave! Not again!" His voice was urgent, panicked and he began breathing faster. Mycroft automatically noticed what was going on and he knew exactly what to do, this was not the first time that Sherlock had had a panic attack.
"Sherlock, shh. It's fine, I will come back, every weekend, I'll only leave when I have to, hey I got you something. I thought I'd wait until your birthday to give you it but since father broke yours I figured I could give it to you now." He smiled and spoke quietly, his voice taking a soothing note. When Sherlock breathing began to slow he sat up and pulled Sherlock to sit on his lap, "You okay? You know where you are?"
"I'm in your room. Obviously." Sherlock rolled his eyes and leaned his head against Mycroft, "I just don't want you to leave again."
Mycroft chuckled, "Well, I still have got you a new violin. My friends dad own a big violin company and I got one custom made for you. It has SH engraved on it, do you want it now?"
"You got me a violin?" Sherlock watched Mycroft curiously and stood up on his bed, letting him get up and get it.
"Yep," Mycroft went over to his wardrobe and opened it. "I was going to wait until your birthday to give it to you though." Mycroft said as he walked back to the bed with a case in his hands. He carefully opened it with Sherlock looking over his shoulder. He then pulled an oak violin out and held it up, the SH was clearly engraved in the corner and on the back it said 'Love from your big brother, Mycroft.'
"It must have cost loads." Sherlock groaned but hesitantly reached out to pick up the bow. He then took the violin from Mycroft and propped it against his chin, as a professional violinist would do. His eyes closed and he began slowly moving the bow, it nearly touched the strings but he knew father would wake up and get annoyed so he just hovered above them. He played one of beethovens symphonies in his head and then, when he finally opened his eyes it was to Mycrofts big, smiling face.
"It wasn't too expensive, and anyway it's for my brother so it was well worth it." Mycroft grinned at his brother and took the violin back, carefully placing it in the box again. "Now, Sherlock, sleep?" He smiled and put the case on the floor, placing Sherlock back under the quilt and climbing in next to him.
"Night, Myc." Sherlock whispered, his eyes closed and his breathing was already slowing into sleep.
"Night, Sherly." He whispered.