Stupid. His little brother was so stupid, Mummy just couldn't see that.

"Behave, Mike," she chided him when he refused to play along with Sherlock's whims.

Mummy always made too much of a fuss over the brat, something that was quite unnecessary in Mycroft's opinion. Not that she would ever enquire about his opinion anyway.

However, Mummy wasn't at home when the young rascal and his shaggy dog broke his precious microscope. Rising to the occasion Sherlock's brother vocalized exactly what he thought, and that resulted in the boy bolting for the door and running away.

He stood still as the hands of the clock measured the slow passing of time, until he couldn't take it any longer. What if his little brother had hurt himself? What if they were never going to find him again?

It took him one hour and a half before he eventually spotted a mop of black curls half-hidden under a privet hedge at the other end of the village. Sherlock and Redbeard were huddled together, two forlorn figures that would have melted a heart of stone.

Don't ever do this again, brother mine, he thought but didn't say. Can't you see that your loss would break my heart?

His little brother only looked at him, and he smiled more genuinely than he'd ever done before.