The first boy Mycroft ever kisses, the object of much romantic sighing and recipient of secret love letters, blackens his eye and then kicks him in the gut as he struggles to his feet.

He dashes upstairs when the boys' parents come over; the father trembles with barely suppressed rage and the mother looks as if she's going to puke all over the oriental carpet. It frightens him.

Even hidden in his room he hears the entire conversation. How could he not? Words like 'faggot', 'freak', 'poof', and 'abomination' have a peculiar talent for weaving in and out of cracks in floorboards, through keyholes, and into the ears of unsuspecting nine year olds who have no idea loving someone could be a bad thing.

He doesn't understand. How could loving someone ever be a bad thing? What is wrong with these people?

He creeps across the room and pulls the door open slightly. The voices drifting up the stairs become clearer.

"…absolutely disgusting! I don't know how you raised such a child, Violet."

His mother's voice cuts in on what is obviously a long winded rant. "There is nothing wrong with Mycroft. He's just different."

"All you Holmeses are 'different'." That would be the boys' father, then. He didn't sound like a nice man.

"Think about this reasonably, Vi," the woman says. "If you allow this kind of behavior he'll be ruined for life. No one employees….that kind. He'll never amount to anything. He'll never get married. And what about grandchildren? Don't you want grandchildren?"

"That's all up to Mycroft. And besides, even if he never has children, there's still Sherlock," his own father's voice is deep and smooth and hearing those words makes Mycroft smile.

A (rather undignified) snort cuts in on his happiness. "I wouldn't set all my hopes on that one if I were you."

"And what does that mean, exactly?"

"Doesn't speak, does he? You should have sent him to the institution like Doctor Gallagher suggested. Though, at the rate your family is going, you'll probably wind up sending them both away."

Something breaks. He's not sure what it is, from the top of the stairs he can't see very much, but his father has clearly reached his limit. "Get out," he says. "Get out and stay away from my children."

"Now see here! I –

Mycroft slips back inside his room and shuts the door. He crawls under his blankets and begins to cry. Pressing one hand to his mouth he tries to hold back a sob, his whole chest shaking, ribs expanding painfully; his face is splotchy and red, and his eyes sting.

There's nothing wrong with him. Mummy and Daddy wouldn't send him away, would they? And why couldn't he get married and have children? It's not like there's a law against it or anything….

His door opens and he ducks his head under the blankets. It's probably Mummy, come to send him away.

Tiny hands pull at the blanket and a soft voice floats around him. "MyMy?"

He takes a deep breath and pushes the blanket away. "Yes, Sherlock?" He tried to appear calm. Sherlock is a sensitive child, easily upset, and Mycroft doesn't want to disturb him on his own account.

"Bad people gone now, MyMy," he says, crawling into his big brothers bed and wiggling under the blanket.

"That's good. Did they wake you?" Sherlock nods. "I'm sorry."

"Why sorry?"

"Because I'm a bad big brother, Sherlock. Because there's something wrong with me and they're going to send me away. And because there's something wrong with me I can't get married or have kids so I can't name my first son after you like I promised I would," he's breathless and crying again.

Sherlock gets a strange look on his face, blue eyes alight, and he touches his fingertips to his mouth. A moment later he grins wide. "I marry MyMy," He says proudly, as though he'd just discovered the atom bomb or something equally brilliant.

Mycroft laughs a bit. "We can't get married, Sherlock. We're brothers."

"Booooooo."

"But that's better than being married!" he says.

Sherlock cocks his head to the side. "How?"

"People who get married sometimes get divorced and then everyone around them gets sad and they lose everything they've ever had. It's really bad. But brothers can't divorce. Brothers are forever, no matter what."

"Hope Bad People get divorce," Sherlock pouts and scrunches his face.

"Me too."