I saw this on tumblr, and had an idea for a fic :D

Sherlock remembered the day well, the day his brother died. Not Mycroft, James, his twin. He was different from the other Holmes', he was normal. He loved life; he wanted to be a writer.

Sherlock sat in the living room, swirling a glass of scotch around. He had been talking to Mycroft witch had passed it to him, he hadn't touched him. He was 26.

"When's James coming home?" He asked, aiming the question at anyone really.

There was a pause. Sherlock looked up and narrowed his eyes.

"He was due back yesterday, wasn't he?" He questioned.

Everyone stayed quiet. Apart from Mycroft.

"What happened, mummy?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Despite Mycroft being a few years older than Sherlock he hated that he addressed their mother as 'mummy'. It was just so childish.

"His friends found him, in the sea." His mother croaked out, her voice was weak and she leaned on the kitchen counter for support, tears started to stream down her face.

"He was dead." She whispered, Sherlock hardly heard her.

Sherlock eyes moved down to the floor, his eyes narrowed. He was confused; he had only seen James two weeks ago. He was getting through it, he was dealing with it. He wasn't bad, his eyes filled up with tears and he fell to his knees, he felt Mycroft's arms wrap around his shoulders, lifting him up. But Sherlock still fell, he was on the floor. He was too heavy for anyone to lift so they had no choice but to leave him there. He had curled up into a ball and had fallen asleep by the time their father was home.

Mycroft greeted his father at the door, both of their eyes were tear stained.

"Sherlock's the most affected." Mycroft sighed, showing his father to the living room door, Sherlock was laid there, like a child.

His dad let out a small sigh, walking to the rug that Sherlock was laid on, stroking his dark hair gently.

"Maybe it's because he has no choice but to see James every time he looks at himself." Father pondered, moving now so he was crossed legged. He had started to cry now, his tears were hitting the floor hard, Sherlock turned and looked up to his father, who had his eyes and his cheekbones. Sherlock swallowed and sat up slowly, he didn't say anything. Although he tried, it just came out as a quiet whimper.

"C'mon. Lets get you to bed." Father made an effort to smile, wiping the tears off his face. Mycroft stood at the door and watched the two, making him cry too. He put his hands over his face and moved to the sofa, running his fingers through his hair. He watched Sherlock lean on his father for support to get up the stairs.

When Sherlock fell down onto his bed, his father sat with him for a while before he finally spoke.

"It's not your fault, Sherlock. You're our reminder. James lives within you." Fathers eyes looked at him and smiled, they were kind eyes. Never one for anger. He let out a small sigh and kissed Sherlock on the head, moving out of the room.

Sherlock faced the wall, staring into the darkness. James lives within you. The words went around and around in his head. He was the furthest away from how James was. James was the reminder to the Holmes' that there were normal people in the family. He sighed heavily and hugged his pillow, closing his eyes as he quietly sobbed.

"Do you have any idea why Sherlock is so… Emotionally unstable?" John asked down the phone, he was on the phone to Mycroft. There wasn't an answer. John huffed. "I'll take that as a no then. What's up?"

After 10 minutes of speaking John hung up and folded his arms before he walked to Sherlock's bedroom, catching him sitting on the bed with a picture.

"Are you looking at a picture of yourself?" John asked, a mocking smile on his lips. Sherlock done his best to hold back a snap and tears and placed the photo back into his drawer.

"No." He said calmly and matter-of-factly. He took his eyes off the floor and looked at John. "What did Mycroft want?"

"I didn't tell you it as My-"He stopped himself and sighed as he leaned against the doorframe. "He wants me to tell you that your 'mummy' wants you to go home for Christmas. And that I'm invited." He looked at Sherlock and watched as he started to think. It was Christmas eve, it would take 2 hours to get to mothers.

"OK." Sherlock sighed and stood up, placing his hands on his hips as he walked past John into the kitchen. He looked around and decided there was nothing he needed, he had clothes there.

"You should pack. I'll call Mycroft and tell him to send a cab." Sherlock called to John before he rushed out of the door, he looked down to his watch. Going to mothers meant he had to get her a Christmas present. He felt it was pointless but she always made such a fuss when he didn't. He finally found a nearby clothes shop, he didn't know what she wanted so he just grabbed the first thing he could find; witch happened to be quite a lovely shirt. He paid for it then walked slowly back to the flat, he wondered what going back there would do to him. He hadn't been home since he found out James had died. That was over 10 years ago now. He still felt a pang in his heart every time he thought of James. He daren't speak of him to anyone, John doesn't even know about him. He sighed as he walked back up the stairs. He looked at John, he was packed and ready. Sherlock gave him a look.

"You've been gone an hour, Sherlock. I don't have that much clothes." John chuckled and brought his case off the sofa, bringing it to the door. "When will Mycroft be here?"

Sherlock looked at John, he wasn't listening to a word he was saying. He was only down the road, he was wondering how he could of possibly lost track of time like that-

"Sherlock!" The voice of John and a shove brought him back, he looked at John and fake smiled.

"Soon." He mumbled and brought his phone out, sending a text to Mycroft.

'Send a car.

SH'