A re-write of one of my stories over on the Sherlock Holmes fandom. Contains spoilers for A Scandal in Belgravia. A look at Sherlock and Mycroft's relationship in the past and the present.

For TadPole11 who (quite without realising) gave me the kickstart I needed to start writing again after a very long time. I hope you enjoy this.

Fall

Sherlock scrambled up and onto the branch, wincing as the abrasive bark grazed his arms. Pausing on top of the branch he looked down and experienced a wonderful rush that had a lot to do with the height and element of danger and even more to do with the fact he'd been specifically forbidden to climb this tree.

The highest tree in the garden… not allowed…never thought he could do anything… proving them wrong… higher and higher…

"Sherlock Holmes!"

Surprise caused Sherlock's grip to slacken slightly and he nearly fell. He clutched slightly desperately at the branch and, after getting a firm enough hold to feel secure, dragged himself up onto the branch. Glaring pre-emptively, Sherlock peered down at his sibling and was pleasantly surprised to see how small Mycroft looked. It was funny; from this perspective Mycroft was so small he almost seemed unimportant…

"Mycroft" Sherlock called out smugly, "look how high I am."

"I can see how high you are." came Mycroft's irritable reply, filtering up through the crisscross of branches, "Now get down. You were specifically forbidden to climb this tree Sherlock, as you well know."

Sherlock, with the stubbornness typical of the Holmes family, chose to follow the age old tradition of ignoring Mycroft, and with some measure of vindictive glee reached for the next branch.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft sounded exasperated now. Sherlock grinned as he reached up for the next branch. Mycroft often sounded exasperated in his interactions with Sherlock but it was still something Sherlock relished hearing. No one else could break through Mycroft's icy cold control enough to make him exasperated. Anyway it wasn't like he didn't know what he was doing, as Mycroft no doubt thought.

"Sherlock if you don't get down now, I will confiscate your microscope!" Mycroft's voice was beginning to sound far away. Looking down Sherlock was surprised to see how far he had climbed and again he felt the dizzying thrill of danger. He scrambled up another branch, high on the danger and also on the knowledge that he was getting on his sibling's nerves.

"Sherlock, if you took a moment to actually pay attention to the world around you, you'd notice that that branch you are standing on is cracking. And I am not going to be sympathetic when you fall and break your leg." There was something else in Mycroft's voice now. Underneath the mixture of exasperation, indifference and cold fury there was something else, something that sounded oddly like… panic?

Sherlock stood, eliciting an irritated Sherlock! from Mycroft, and walked carefully along the branch towards the trunk. When the branch didn't break he jumped on it, experimentally and then waited for Mycroft to speak.

"Sherlock, stop that!" Yes there were definite elements of panic in his voice. Mycroft panicking? Mycroft, who was always calm, always in control, always detached?

"Get down!" Mycroft screamed, sounding furious but also a little scared. "Sherlock you're going to fall!" Sherlock laughed slightly hysterically and carried on jumping up and down, filled with vindictive pleasure at knowing that for once it was he who was in control, not Mycroft. Sherlock was in the tree he had been forbidden to climb and there was nothing that Mycroft could do about it, bar climbing up after Sherlock. And Mycroft wouldn't do that. No, Sherlock was the one with the upper hand this time, and he was going to savour every moment.

"I'm not going to fall." he half yelled, half laughed, goading Mycroft. Mycroft had thought Sherlock wouldn't be able to climb the tree but Mycroft, perhaps for the first time in his life, had been wrong. He heard Mycroft begin to reply but his furious words were cut off by a dreadful creaking, cracking sound and suddenly Sherlock's world lurched.

And then he was falling, tumbling through the air, and the branches were scratching and swiping at him, and time seemed to be both sped up and slowed down. He couldn't see anything, his eyes were too tightly shut but he could feel that he was falling and it was the most horrible, terrifying feeling. His arms shot out blindly, instinctively and by pure chance managed to grab onto to a branch.

Sherlock hugged his lifeline as tightly as possible. He was shaking, still fearful from his short free fall, and although he was terrified of losing his hold and falling again he lacked the strength to pull himself up onto the branch and relative safety. And then he remembered that Mycroft was watching and that he had to prove to Mycroft that he could do this and so he heaved himself slowly up onto the branch. He paused for a second and when the branch didn't crack underneath him, he laughed. He had done it. He hadn't fallen. He was safe. And he'd shown Mycroft that he was far more capable than Mycroft ever gave him credit for.

Sherlock jumped up, his fear and caution almost forgotten in his moment of glee.

"See!" he gloated "I'm fine. You thought I wouldn't be able to do it, but I'm fine" he laughed again and looked up. He could see the broken stump, where the branch had been only moments before, not too far above him. He hadn't even fallen very far!

"I told you I could do it!" he laughed, "I told you!" The only reply was the sound of the wind as it picked up pace in the fading light.

Sherlock's laughter turned hollow and then slowly died leaving behind a silence that was somehow deafening. Where was Mycroft's retort, the sarcastic reply, the order to get down? Sherlock shivered, beginning to sense for the first time that something was wrong.

He edged along the branch, the elation, and therefore the confidence, that had filled him only moments before gone. He wrapped an arm securely around the trunk of the tree and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath to steady himself he opened them again and looked down. The ground was a horribly long way down and his view of it was obscured by the dark branches that slashed across his vision.

Where was Mycroft? Why wasn't he replying? Sherlock scanned the ground, struggling to make anything out in the dying light. His heart stuttered as he eventually spotted his sibling lying awkwardly on the ground. And, lying innocently next to him, Sherlock could just about make out a broken branch. The world lurched as the horrifying truth of what had happened slammed into Sherlock and he stumbled as though he'd been hit. He tried to call out to his sibling but his voice died in his throat and he choked on his own words.

Sherlock knew he should go for help but he couldn't move, couldn't even drag his eyes from his sibling's still form. The world began to spin out of control but Sherlock remained frozen, trembling, unable to do anything except watch until, eventually, the encroaching darkness took Sherlock's view of his brother away from him.

Thanks for reading.

Comments/suggestions/constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated if you spare the time

xxx