A/N: I know I havent updated 'A Story of Their Own' in a while, but hopefully I'll be getting back into that soon. This is a just one shot I wrote a little while ago. Enjoy.

"They called me and explained what happened."

Sherlock glanced up at the familiar sound of his older brother's voice. He didn't say a word. Mycroft sat on the stone steps beside Sherlock, black umbrella leaning against his leg. It was raining, but Sherlock had at least chosen to sit under the covered steps while he waited.

The younger Holmes wrung his hands together, looking at the pebbles by his feet. He didn't need to say anything. His appearance told it all.

Dark curls, soaked and flattened. School jumper muddied, one elbow torn. Tie long absent. Trousers ripped and frayed at the bottom of the legs. Lip split, dark maroon blood drying. Yellowed cheek, eye bruising. Cut above the eyebrow, still bleeding lightly. Knuckles raw, palms with missing layers of skin. The remnants of yet another fight. A beating more like it. With the size and numbers of his tormentors, Sherlock had only gotten a few hits in.

The thirteen-year-old shifted his gaze to a rain puddle, watching the ripple effect of the raindrops. A loose piece of paper was swimming in it, far past revival. One of Sherlock's, as his bag had been tossed about, contents scattered. He'd managed to save most of it in the end, except for a few assignments he would just have to redo at home.

Sherlock felt his brother's gaze on him, and finally he looked up, eyes shifting to the side before making contact.

"What was it about this time?" The older Holmes asked. Sherlock simply shrugged. He knew the answer, he just didn't want to talk about it.

Mycroft caught this, and didn't press the matter further. It was easy to guess anyways.

"I'm sorry you had to wait," he apologized as Sherlock looked down again.

"Work." Sherlock continued for him. "I know."

The fight had gone on when the bell chimed for the end of class. Fifteen minutes later it was pulled apart by the head administrator, and parents had been called. By then most other students were gone. And Sherlock's assailants soon after. He had sat alone a half hour longer, watching the rain fall, shivering in his still damp uniform, even though his perch of steps protected him from further drenching.

"Sherlock," Mycroft set a light hand in his brother's shoulder. "You can't keep letting this happen."

All the boys involved had been given suspensions. Sherlock included. It wasn't the first fight between this lot, and detention didn't seem to cut it anymore.

"If mum and dad find out, they'd murder you for getting involved. Then for not at least winning. And of course then, myself, for letting it happen." Mycroft explained. "Like last time, I won't mention it to them later, but if this happens again, and they happen to be home- "

"Yeah, well they aren't home. And even if they were, they wouldn't be around enough to notice." Sherlock cut him off. "I can handle it on my own. I know how to fight." he mumbled, picking at one of the frayed edges of his trousers.

"Clearly not when it's four to one." Mycroft added, then regretted it as Sherlock avoided looking up again. "Sherlock, you're smart. Dad would kill me for encouraging you. But I know you can beat them. You know their movements, their size, mannerisms, weaknesses." Sherlock's fingers paused from where they were pulling on a loose thread. Mycroft continued. "So why do you want them to keep bothering you?"

A moment of silence, then Sherlock looked up at his brother again. "You can't win every battle, Mycroft."

"Yes. But you won't win any at all if you focus exclusively on defense with no action of offense."

Sherlock sighed as he glanced away again. He picked some of the grass growing out of the cement cracks of the steps. "You know I'm different. Even if I fight back, they'll just adjust and come for more. It's their entertainment. And I'm not exactly high up on the hierarchy of students."

"But you can adjust as well. And quicker than them. Scare them off and they'll never bother you again."

"I can't do that without getting into more trouble, you know that."

"That is true. But I think a plea of self-defense could be arranged."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his brothers words. Mycroft was allowing Sherlock to fight back, and hard, if it meant it would scare his bullies away for good. The older Holmes had so much authorative power, he could even lessen the consequences for Sherlock.

Sherlock's sore lip parted into a small bring as he looked up at Mycroft.

The older boy smiled back with a soft chuckle, ruffling Sherlock's still damp hair.

"Let's get you home and cleaned up. Perhaps a game of chess can even be put into order." The young man stood up, opening his umbrella, wide enough to cover the both of them. "It's still 4:3 as I recall." He smiled, turning away as a sign for Sherlock to follow. He younger boy did just that, grabbing his bag and running the few yards after his brother, already wet shoes splashing in the mud.

"Liar, I beat you last time. It's 4:4 now." Sherlock grinned, slipping his bag strap over his shoulders. Mycroft adjusted the umbrella in his hand so the majority was covering Sherlock.

"Well, little brother, we'll have to see then, who breaks the tie." He chuckled.

"I know every trick you've got, and every one you don't even know yet." Sherlock countered.

"Is that a challenge?" Mycroft teased.

"Obviously." Sherlock gave a sly grin,

"Well, we know the winner will be myself."

"Nice try, you know it won't."

"Oh?"

"Yes."

"How so?"

"The game is on, Mycroft." Sherlock commented with confidence. "And I'll be taking this battle."

With another grin and a glint in their eyes, the two boys continued on their way home, black umbrella keeping them dry under the unceasing rainfall.