When Sherlock was very small, and Mycroft smaller than he now is, their father told them that he and Mycroft were going out into the orchard for lunch, and Sherlock couldn't come this time. Of course, Sherlock, being the five-year-old ball of mischief and attitude he was, took this as a challenge, and followed Mycroft and Father from a safe distance until they settled under the lemon trees.
Mycroft had recently turned fifteen, and had suddenly shown far less interest in his studies and little brother and much more interest in the neighbor's pretty daughter. Sherlock thought it was stupid, but Mycroft just ignored him and spent more time in his room scribbling notes to send next door. Naturally, Sherlock would steal the notes and read them, but they were full of words he didn't particularly like, words that sat on his tongue like the cough syrup Mummy gave him sometimes, too thick and falsely sweet.
Father began to speak and Sherlock left his thoughts in favour of listening in, even though Mummy said it was Not Good to listen when people didn't know you were. Sherlock always figured that if someone was talking, they should assume someone could hear.
"Mycroft, there's something you should know, and I think you're old enough to hear it now." Sherlock had never heard Father sound so serious, and considering serious was his default state of being, it was rather strange. "All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage." Here he paused and looked Mycroft in the eye, holding the young man as an equal. Sherlock was instantly jealous, wishing his father would look at him like that for once, or even look at him as something other than a nuisance.
His older brother looked a little crushed, but their father continued talking. "Love is like the lemon tree, Mycroft. The tree is lovely, the flower is beautiful and fragrant of scent, but when the lemon reaches maturity it is always bitter and unpalatable. Remember this, and do not forget it." Father then rose, clapped a hand on Mycroft's shoulder, and left the young man sitting alone beneath the trees with his disbelieving younger brother hiding just a few feet away.
When, years later, a woman took what small amount of heart Sherlock had to give and broke it, Sherlock sought Mycroft's council.
"Look at them," Sherlock had said, "They all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?" He already knew what Mycroft would say, what he had always said when Sherlock would question anything in regards to sentiment.
"All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock," Mycroft had recited.
Sherlock did not display any outward emotion, but privately, he finally agreed.
