Sherlock stared out the window, the trees passing by in a blur of green. Nothing was clear at all, everything changing before he could see and understand it; all that he could really perceive was a haze of color. He couldn't even make out the individual colors, it was all speeding by so fast.
Beside him, John lay asleep, his head resting on Mycroft's shoulder. Mycroft was staring out the window too, probably thinking about his stupid schoolwork. Sherlock turned back around bitterly. Brothers were supposed to stick together, not... this. They wouldn't be here if it weren't for Mycroft. Brothers were supposed to stick together.
Six months ago, they had been fine. They didn't need parents anyways, and besides, it had almost been a relief when they hadn't come home. Mycroft had gotten a job, and Sherlock could've gotten one too, if they had needed. They would have been fine.
Except Mycroft had come home a few days later in someone's car instead of walking home, some neighbor or classmate or something, and the next day a policeman had shown up to take them away. Mycroft didn't even try to lie. And now here they were, with a caseworker, everything they had in three beat up suitcases that had been in the back of the closet, going to yet another foster home with yet another foster family. They weren't really family, though, Sherlock knew that. Family was him and Mycroft and John. Family was the Holmeses, not the Smiths or the Buchanans or anyone else.
His thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Dougherty, the caseworker.
"Listen, guys. I know it's difficult to adjust to a new home and a new family, but I need you to make this one work. I need you to be able to stay here. This is the last family willing to take all three of you, especially when Mycroft and Sherlock are so old, so if this one doesn't work out, you'll have to be split up, and I know you don't want that to happen. And don't say this family won't be good for foster kids. Martha has already adopted several of the kids she's fostered. You need to make this work," she said. "Sherlock, I'm talking to you in particular. Please try to get settled in. Don't make trouble. Try to be a part of the family. If you don't want to do it for yourself, do it for John - he needs one." Sherlock didn't reply. John had all the family he needed. He and Mycroft were plenty.
The car pulled up a few minutes later in the driveway of a big white house. It was huge, two or three stories tall, with a wrap-around porch and a tire swing hanging off of a big tree in the front yard. It's too good to be true, Sherlock thought, and resolved not to be taken in by the first impression. John, however, was immediately enamored.
"Sherlock, look, they've got a tire swing! Look at that tree, look at the branches. Don't you think that's a perfect climbing tree? We could build a tree fort up there. Mycroft - Mycroft, look, there're the other kids. I'm going to say hello!" said John, and he scrambled over Sherlock's lap in his haste to get out of the door, planting an elbow in his nose by accident.
Sherlock scowled. He already knew this would be terrible.