Ok, so, I'm sitting in a room, thinking about Mycroft, when I thought up this plot. I promise this will be better than my last story!

September 1st 1886

" Sherlock!" 13 year old Mycroft called up the stairs " It's time to go! Put your shoes on and grab your coat!" There was some scuffling, but, before long, the enegetic 4 year old ran down the stairs, wearing his favourite black coat over his uniform. It was his first day of primary school and he was extremely excited. "Probably shouldn't have given him the sugary cereal!" Mycroft mused. The small (but tall for his age) boy was jumping about wildly, raven curls bobbing with every movement. "Come on, Mycroft! We're going to be late!" Despite being 4 (and a half, as he always pointed out) Sherlock had a vocabulary wider than children 3 times his age, and pronounced every word properly. He could already count to 1000, knew the alphabet like the back of his hand and most of the periodic table . "Hold on a second, Sherlock." Said Mycroft, reaching down to tie is shoelace. "I'll be ready in a minute." The child seemed satisfied with this, and ran off to get their mother so she could see them off. Mycroft sighed. Sherlock was so smart, but so innocent. School was going to be hell for a boy like him. Primary 1 would be alright, but after that, the whole 'freak' thing would start, then it would get physical, then he would have to move school. It had been like that for Mycroft and his older brother Sherrinford, who was now in uni. Sherlock and their mother turned a corner. His mother had a camera in her hand. "Come on, Mycroft. I want a picture of both my boys" He and Sherlock stood beaming. Sherlock at the camera, Mycroft at Sherlock. They were soon ready to go. They hugged goodbye to their mother, grabbed their school bags, stepped out the door and began the journey to school...

Tell me if it's bad ;)