Holding the Reigns
Mycroft moved out of home as soon as he turned 16, no longer wanting to be there. Already he was cynical about the world. He was glad to get away and his only worry was his little brother. Sherlock was only nine when he moved out and already Mycroft could see he was heading the same way. Sherlock was a lonely child, he was socially awkward, struggling to make friends, meaning he literally had nothing and no one. The thing that worried Mycroft the most was how much Sherlock hero worshiped him, Mycroft was the only person Sherlock cared about and who had ever shown any sort of care towards him. And he did care about him, of course he did, he was his brother. But that was it. It was a level of care, nothing else. Mycroft may have only been a teenager but he had already taught himself to completely detach himself from all emotions, to make them completely separate from him. Emotions made you vulnerable, made you weak, he couldn't afford that. He could not allow anyone to have any sort of hold over him and that had to include Sherlock.
Sherlock had other ideas though. Initially Mycroft had planned on not allowing Sherlock to know where he was living, but Sherlock being just like a younger version of him worked it out. Sherlock found him, and ran to him whenever he didn't like it at home. Whenever their Father was screaming the odds at him or their Mother was just completely blanking him. Whenever he just wanted someone to talk to, someone who was there, he ran straight to Mycroft. Just like he had today.
Mycroft hadn't even been in when Sherlock turned up, but he returned to find his baby brother curled up on the sofa on his flat. He stopped, having just stepped in, still holding the and watched him carefully for a moment. He was asleep and Mycroft could see the dried tears on his face, he had clearly cried himself to sleep. His arms were wrapped tightly around the union jack cushion that decorated the sofa, clinging to it like it was some sort of life raft. He sighed to himself and closed the door, before going and gently shaking Sherlock awake.
Sherlock jolted awake at the touch and hit out in panic, catching Mycroft across the cheek. Mycroft moved back, not reacting to that but giving Sherlock time to gather his senses and remember where he was. "My- Mycroft," Sherlock said, just a moment later when he had done. He sat up and looked at his brother for a second before jumping up and wrapping his arms around him, tears flowing freely down his cheeks.
Mycroft pushed him back, bending down to his height, "Sherlock what have I told you about picking my lock?"
Sherlock stared at him, "I'm sorry, Mycroft," he said before a fresh load of tears forced their way through and he clung to Mycroft once again. Not before Mycroft noticed something though. The skin around his right cheek was red, not just from the crying. Mycroft pulled him back again, kneeling down properly in front of him and gently running a finger over Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock flinched at the touch and then pulled away. He forced himself to stop crying with gulpy breaths.
"Sherlock, did he hit you?" Mycroft asked, meeting his brother's gaze unblinkingly.
Sherlock didn't reply, he looked at Mycroft, his eyes wide with fear and brim with tears. He swallowed and a long moment later nodded. Mycroft expression darkened instantly and Sherlock took a step back automatically.
"I'm going to kill him," Mycroft muttered and Sherlock stared up at him in wonder. Mycroft sighed, there it was again, the same thing that happened every time Sherlock was upset or hurt. He always felt the need to protect his little brother, to defend him and stop anyone who did anything bad to him. "Sherlock stay here…" Mycroft told him.
"No," Sherlock insisted, "I'm coming with you."
Mycroft picked Sherlock up and put him down on the sofa. He knew Sherlock was too old to be picked up, but he also knew that right now Sherlock was upset and scared and wouldn't care about that. He knelt in front of the sofa, "I'm going to see Dad, you're staying here."
"No! I don't want you getting hurt. If I come, I can stop him hurting you, like you used to," Sherlock said and Mycroft couldn't help but smile slightly, a sad smile. Sherlock remembered all the times Mycroft had pushed him out of the way and taken a beating himself, now all he wanted to do was return the favour, stop him getting hurt.
"I'm not going to get hurt," Mycroft promised, even though he knew it wasn't a promise he could keep. "I'm just going to talk to him. Trust me?"
Sherlock nodded, "I do."
"Stay here then," Mycroft said and headed towards the door again.
"Don't be long," Sherlock added and Mycroft nodded before leaving.
Mycroft's promise to Sherlock was broken within less than a minute of seeing their father. He skipped all pleasantries and simply punched him square in the face, earning himself a smack back instantly. He warned his father to keep his hands off of Sherlock and simply got told that "the brat had it coming." All further arguments and comments from Mycroft were only responded to with his father's fists and eventually the comment of, "If you care so much about the brat, why don't you just keep him?" By which point Mycroft's face was covered in blood and his head was spinning to the point where he could barely hear the words. His father stepped back and told him to get the hell out of his house, he wasn't welcome anymore. Mycroft didn't move straight away, couldn't move straight away, until his father pushed him towards the door. He managed to balanced himself before smacking face first into the door and came to his senses enough to open it and slam it behind him.
"Mycroft!" Sherlock was right in Mycroft's way when he got back, his voice panicked, barely letting his brother through the door. "What happened?"
It was a stupid question and they both know it, the blood over Mycroft's face was answer enough. He pushed Sherlock out the way enough to get passed him, ignoring him and going through to the bathroom to sort himself out. Sherlock automatically followed him and was about to ask if there was any way he could help when Mycroft closed the bathroom door on him.
When Mycroft eventually came out of the bathroom, Sherlock instantly attached himself to him, hugging him tightly. "I'm sorry, Mycroft," he said, tearful, hating that his brother got hurt for him. "You shouldn't have…"
"Sherlock stop stuttering and let go of me," Mycroft told him firmly and Sherlock did so, looking up at his with wide eyes, "Don't look at me like that," he said and sighed softly, "Listen Sherlock."
Sherlock's eyes were still brim with tears and he spoke having barely heard Mycroft telling him to listen, "I love you, Mycroft," he said. Three words which would generally be normal brother to brother, but the same three words Sherlock had never spoke or heard spoken to him.
Mycroft's eyes widened, "No," he began simply, not giving Sherlock a chance to protest. "No, you don't. Love doesn't exist."
Sherlock stepped back slightly, Mycroft's words hitting him as hard as their father had earlier. He had to breathe deeply to stop himself crying and he didn't trust himself to talk. Mycroft was meeting his gaze and he was too stubborn to look away, even though he was struggling to see him through the tears formed there.
"And even if it does," Mycroft continued, "You're better off without it. You're safer without it. Never make the mistake of loving someone, Sherlock. You love someone and you give them the reigns to hurt you without even touching you."
"But you-" Sherlock started, struggling with the words.
Mycroft didn't let him get any further, "But nothing Sherlock. You need to stop being so emotional. If you continue you're never going to get anywhere. Separate yourself if you want to protect yourself, if not it won't just be Dad hitting you down."
Sherlock couldn't stop the tears running down his face as Mycroft spoke, but his brother didn't stop.
"Don't rely on people. Especially not me. I am not a hero, Sherlock, heroes don't exist. Heroes just let you down. And don't try giving me crap that I could never let you down, because everyone lets people down. Just stop running to me, stop letting everyone get to you. You've got what it takes to be a genius, Sherlock, but that's not going to happen if you let people in."
Sherlock swallowed, stubbornly wiping at his eyes, "Can I…" he swallowed again, taking a deep breath and asking, "Can I at least stay the night? I don't want to go home right now."
Mycroft sighed, looking at Sherlock properly for the first time since he started talking, and nodded. "Yeah, you can."
"Thanks," Sherlock muttered and wandered off to try and pull himself together.
Mycroft watched him, knowing exactly how much he had hurt him. He had practically seen his heart break in front of him. The worst part was though, Mycroft couldn't regret it. He meant what he said though, Sherlock needed to protect himself and this was the only way. He needed to distance himself, just like Mycroft was still trying to do. Because as always, when he thought he was there, when he thought he was completely divorce from all feelings, Sherlock came and proved that he wasn't. He knew what he said about love was true because he knew he and Sherlock had the reigns to hurt each other and that they probably would and that in itself, broke Mycroft's heart.
A/N: This is only my second Sherlock fic, so don't go too hard on me, I'm still getting used to the characters. I have a Sherlock RP blog on tumblr, and this basically is part of my head-canon for Sherlock's childhood. The fic was inspired by a conversation/RP on omegle in which I had Sherlock say he had only said 'I love you' once before in his life, this being the once. Also by a fic of Taylor's (Somethingoutofnothing) "No Ordinary Day" where I got the idea of abuse from. So yeah, this is Taylie's fault, and she admits responsibility. R&R pleaseee!