Sherlock was only 5 years old, but he was a terror nonetheless. Mycroft found himself tailing his brother all over their estate, out of nessecity. Whenever Mycroft wasn't watching Sherlock, chaos was sure to ensue. Whether it was disecting dead animals on the kitchen floor, or stealing the neighbor's daughter's shetland pony because 'that's what pirates do Myc, they steal things', it was assured that no good would come of it.
Mycroft being around didn't really stop Sherlock from being a terror either, especially when Mummy was away on business leaving the two of them at home. Mycroft tried to keep his brother's attention by playing pirate with him and reading him stories, but it never usually worked for long. Sherlock would get fussy and would search for trouble while Mycroft was occupied with something else for a moment, and usually Mycroft was the one who had to attempt to disapline him.
Attempt was the key word in that sentence, because Sherlock didn't take to Mycroft playing mother very well. Sherlock would respond by kicking, punching, and overall beating his brother until Mycroft either managed to shove him into his bedroom and locked the door behind him, or just gave up on his brother altogether. To Mycroft, it seemed Sherlock had always been resentful of him, and was willing to fight him tooth and nail over nothing in order to emphasize his views.
12 year old Mycroft knew another battle was about to begin the minute he walked around the corner of the house to find Sherlock attempting to shove pills down a cat's throat. "Sherlock!" Mycroft shouted, drawing his brother's attention.
The moment Sherlock's attention was whisked away the cat made its escape, clawing its way out of Sherlock's arms and racing off into the bushes. Sherlock glared up at his brother "Look what you did Myc! You dummy head! It took me all morning to catch that cat!" he yelled indignantly.
Mycroft marched over to where Sherlock was sitting and grabbed him by the arm, hauling him up "What did you think you were doing?" he asked, he pried the pill bottle out of Sherlock's little hands "Where did you even get these?"
Sherlock reached out in an attempt to get the pills back, growling in frustration as his older, taller brother held them up far out of his reach "It was an experiment!" he said, as though that would justify it.
The older Holmes began pulling Sherlock towards the house "You're going in for a time-out Sherlock, and perhaps if you behave in your room for an hour I'll consider letting you out."
"NO!" Sherlocked cried, trying to wriggle his arm out of his brother's grasp "I DON'T WANT TO!"
"Then you should have thought twice about doing that! You know better!" Mycroft replied, his arm beginning to ache as his little brother fought against him. He was stopped in his tracks as Sherlock planted his feet in the ground and refused to be budged. Not tolerating it, Mycroft lifted his brother easily over his sholder and continued on his way into the house and up to Sherlock's bedroom. All the while Sherlock kicked and punched his brother angrily.
When they arrived Mycroft quickly tossed his flailing brother onto the bed and then ran out and shut the door behind him, locking it before Sherlock could get out. His brother pounded his fists against the door "I HATE YOU MYCROFT! I HATE YOU!" he shouted. Mycroft sighed, running a hand over his face before walking away. This wasn't the first time his brother had shouted those words, and Mycroft knew it wouldn't be the last. No matter what Sherlock shouted after him though, walking away from his hurting brother never got any easier.
17 year old Mycroft was having a miserable time, but this still wasn't unusual when he was left alone in their large estate to take care of Sherlock. While Mycroft didn't suffer at the hand of Sherlock quite so much anymore, now that Sherlock had learned to fight with cutting words rather than physically cutting his brother, Sherlock still got aggressive when things didn't go his way.
Something had changed in the last year though, Sherlock had become incredibly withdrawn. He no longer yelled at Mycroft, in fact he rarely acknowledged his brother anymore unless they were having a row. "He's just trying to figure out who he is" Mummy would tell Mycroft, but Mycroft felt frustrated with his brother anyway. He didn't remember being so bitter himself at 10.
Mummy wasn't home right now, she'd left 2 days ago to visit someone of importance. Mycroft and Sherlock had hardly said three words to each other since their mother shut the front door behind her. Sherlock had gone into his room, only coming out occationally to read in the living room in silence, or to go into the kitchen to get something to sustain him, before disappearing once more. Mycroft had adopted a similar routine, staying in his bedroom or in the study reading, occationally reading in the living room just to be in his brother's company, though they never spoke to each other, and visiting the kitchen. Mycroft's visits to the kitchen were far more frequent than Sherlock's.
Their routine had only been broken once, the day after Mummy left the boys had gotten into a fight. Mycroft had walked in on Sherlock reading in the living room, with the telly blasting some horrible show that the younger Holmes didn't even appear to be interested in. Mycroft snagged the abandoned remote and changed the channel, resulting in Sherlock's head shooting up from behind his book "Hey! I was watching that!" he'd said indignantly.
"No you weren't, you were reading your book!" Mycroft replied calmly, switching through the few channels to see if there was anything better on.
Sherlock's eyes narrowed "I was doing both" he replied as though it should have been obvious to the older Holmes.
Mycroft just scoffed "You can't do both, you can either read your book or watch telly. You were reading your book."
It was at this point Sherlock slammed his book shut "Change it back to what I was watching!" he ordered, his voice beginning to rise in agitation.
Unwisely, Mycroft elected to ignore his little brother. He should have expected the events that followed, but he was still unprepared for Sherlock to launch himself at him. When words didn't work, Sherlock felt he had no choice but to resort to fists. The two boys wrestled for the remote, and their battled ensued for nearly 3 minutes when Sherlock managed to knee his brother in the stomach and pry the remote out of his brother's hand.
He changed it back to the channel he had been watching. He declared he had been there first, and then made a show of paying total attention to the program. As Mycroft stood to leave he heard his brother hiss under his breath "I hate you Mycroft."
When Mycroft told Mummy on the phone later that evening she didn't reprimand Sherlock, and Mycroft ended up retreated to his bedroom, defeated. For the days that followed Mycroft physically and mentally hurt from his brother's actions, but he made sure he didn't show it. Mycroft found himself longing for the pony stealing pirate to make a comeback.
Sherlock was sobbing as he heaved all the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Mycroft could only stand and watch his shaking brother lose the battle of wills. Sherlock was in the middle of detoxing, and it wasn't going well for either party. Mycroft had brought Sherlock to live with him in his appartment so he could keep an eye on him and make sure his brother remained clean. He couldn't decide whether he regretted this decision or not. They did nothing but fight each other. Sherlock never dared get physical about it anymore, now that his vocabulary had expanded to the point where using words every time with his brother worked just fine. His words hurt Mycroft just as much as a punch.
His younger brother cursed at him between heaves, Mycroft just stood leaning against the bathroom doorframe and took the verbal abuse. He was used to hearing hateful things out of Sherlock by now. Every time they saw each other it seemed Sherlock had nothing nice to say to him. Hadn't he ever heard the phrase 'If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all?' Mycroft sighed, if Sherlock had indeed heard that phrase he had probably just scoffed at it and continued being insufferable.
Mycroft worried his brother had now gone past the point of no return. He worried that Mummy was wrong about Sherlock trying to find himself. Shouldn't he have figured himself out by now? Was a drug addict who Sherlock was? The older Holmes couldn't bring himself to believe that. Not with a man as brilliant as his little brother, not Sherlock.
After a few more minutes of heaving Mycroft finally approached his brother, kneeling down next to him on the floor and placing his hand on his back. Sherlock flinched against his touch before heaving again. The older Holmes just rubbed his little brother's back soothingly until he was done heaving. Sherlock wiped his mouth and looked over at his brother with glazed eyes "I hate you Mycroft" he gasped raggedly. Mycroft just gazed back at him indifferently.
Mycroft sat alone in his office, deep in thought. How long had it been since Sherlock had leapt off the roof of St. Barts? He glanced down at his desk drawer containing 2 calenders, and one that was in the proccess of having the days crossed out one by one. That would make it, he counted in his head, 913 days without Sherlock. Not a letter, a text, a call, not even a hint from his brother that he was even remotely amongst the living. It reminded him of those days when Mummy went away, and the two boys sat in the big house, not speaking to each other, not even acknowledging each others' existence.
Guilt knawed away at his insides, because if Sherlock hadn't actually hated him back in those days he must surely hate him now. Mycroft hated himself, at least a little bit. It was his fault Sherlock had jumped in the first place, he'd given Moriarty the information. He'd sold out his own brother for God's sake! What must Sherlock think of him for helping to ruin his reputation? His little brother had worked so hard to establish himself in the first place, discover who he really was. Sherlock had finally been content! Now he would have to start all over again.
Mycroft steepled his fingers under his chin, taking a breath to steady himself. Thinking of his brother upset him, he'd done everything wrong! Sherlock had died hating him, what had been the last thing Mycroft had said to his brother? He couldn't remember, but he was sure it was probably something along the lines of 'stop being so insufferable Sherlock'. He wished he could take back all the cruel things he'd ever said to his brother, perhaps had he not been so bitter, his brother would have come around. John Watson had proved Sherlock did indeed have a heart! He could have stopped hating his older brother, if only he'd let him.
There was a sudden knock at his office door, drawing him out of his thoughts. He quickly poured himself a glass of brandy and swallowed it down to clear the lump that had formed in his throat before calling "Come in."
Anthea poked her head in the door "You have a visitor," she told him bluntly.
That was odd, Mycroft thought, he hadn't been expecting anyone. "Send them in," he told her in his usual cool and collected way.
She disappeared and he raised his glass to take another sip of brandy when his 'visitor' walked through the door, shutting it behind him. Though Mycroft's facial expression remained passive, his hands betrayed him. The glass slipped through his fingers and smashed all over the floor. But he couldn't bring himself to care at that moment, there was a ghost standing in front of him.
As he gaped the young man strode over and plopped down into one of the chairs in front of Mycroft's desk "What's the matter brother dear? Cat got your tongue?" he asked mockingly. When Mycroft was unable to even utter a sound Sherlock raised a concerned eyebrow "Mycroft? You didn't fall for it did you? It was just a trick! I told John, it was just a magic trick!" he explained.
Mycroft continued staring at his brother, his mouth dry. He swallowed before saying "You were dead."
Sherlock rolled his eyes "Yes Mycroft, it was entirely neccessary I assure you. I have taken care of my business..."
"I thought you were dead, for 3 years! You didn't call, you didn't send me any messages! Where have you been Sherlock? What happened?" Mycroft questioned.
The younger Holmes explained everything to his brother calmly, his face passive and seemingly disinterested. However there was a concerned glint in his eye as he watched his brother stumble over his words. Mycroft never stumbled over his words, never. Sherlock hadn't meant to upset his brother, perhaps ruffle his feathers a little but not turn him into a trembling mess.
Once he'd explained Mycroft looked down "I see," he said simply.
The two brothers sat in silence for a while before Mycroft stood and knelt onto the floor, carefully picking up the shattered remains of his brandy glass. When he'd picked up most of the pieces and tossed them into the waste bin he sat back at his desk again. He looked up at his brother wearily "I suppose you hate me now? For the spying and for giving your information to Moriarty," he said defeatedly.
Sherlock stood, approaching Mycroft's desk. The younger Holmes reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a handkerchief before grabbing his brother's hand. It was only at this point Mycroft realized he had cut himself picking up the glass and was now bleeding. As Sherlock took care of the cut he spoke. "Nah," he said, meeting his brother's eyes for a brief moment "I only hate you sometimes."
When Mycroft's hand was taken care of Sherlock turned and began heading to the door. "I'll be sure to text you once I've reunited with John. You wouldn't happen to know his whereabouts would you?" he asked.
His older brother nodded and informed his brother of the address. The two of them stood in silence for a moment before Sherlock dipped his head "Evening Mycroft, be sure to get your hand properly bandaged. Would be a pity if the British government bled to death over a petty cut like that." With that Sherlock turned and left Mycroft alone in his office.
Not even a minute after Sherlock had left him, Mycroft smiled. That was as close to affectionate as he was going to get with his younger sibling, and that was just fine with him. He didn't want hugs and kisses, he just wanted to know that he mattered to his brother, even a little. Because no matter how infuriating Sherlock got with age, he would always matter to Mycroft.
A/N. First and only Sherlock fanfic, done! Sorry if the characters were a bit ooc, I wrote a majority of this at like 1 in the morning.
My farrier lent me her Sherlock dvds because I'd never seen the show before, and I LOVED it! Like, I almost didn't give the dvds back. My Mom had to buy me by own set just so I'd let my farrier's dvds go. I'd been wanting to write a Sherlock fanfic for a while, but haven't had any good ideas. Finally, inspiration came from my own little brother!
We don't really have that great a relationship, only speaking to each other when necessary. We have a hard time being civil with each other, and he used to beat me up a LOT even though he's 4 years younger than me. He overheard me talking to my Mom about going on vacation the other day. I'd told my Mom that it wouldn't be any fun to bring my brother because 'he hates everything'. The next day he defended himself that he doesn't hate everything. I replied by saying 'You hate most things, you hate me'. Then he went on to say 'Nah, I only hate you sometimes'. BOOM! Inspiration for a Sherlock fic!
So yeah, hope I didn't butcher the characters too much here. I won't be doing it again, I promise. Please review, those are always appreciated. And uh, thanks for reading!