Mycroft came into his younger brother's bedroom and sat down on the bed beside the little boy. Tears were still running down the boys round cheeks, his bottom lip caught in his teeth as an attempt to muffle his sobs. Mycroft put his arm around his little brother pulling him into his chest.
Sherlock had come home that day from school crying and ran straight to his room. It didn't take a genius to know something had happened at school that upset him. The boy was prone to fits of sudden extreme emotion, tonight was no different. Mummy had left Sherlock in his room knowing there was no way she could calm him until Mycroft came home from band practice.
Mycroft ran his hand over his brother's curly hair lovingly sliding all the way down to the boys small chin and lifting his head took look him in the eyes, "What's wrong Sher?" The question made Sherlock sob harder and bury his face into Mycroft's chest. The older brother sighed and continued to pet the boys head.
They stayed like this, Sherlock sobbing against his brother and Mycroft softly rocking back and forth and making soothing noises to the little boy. It was a few minutes before Sherlock pulled away from his brother, swallowing hard at the lump he felt in his throat. He looked up at Mycroft, his big blue eyes slightly red from crying.
"They were calling me freak again... My I'm not a freak or a weirdo or anything. I just wanted to play with them."
Sherlock was in his 2nd year and already the kids were vicious to him. Only last week he came home with a back pack filled with mud and a note from his teacher saying he got into a fight. Sherlock had cried then too, locking himself in his bedroom all weekend.
"Don't listen to them, they just don't understand you." Sherlock glared at his brother with all the anger he had.
"No one seems to understand me Mycroft. No one."
"I understand you..." Sherlock continued to glare, his face turning red with anger.
"No! Everyone at school likes you, Mummy likes you, Daddy likes you. You get good grades and don't get distracted. You don't stain all your clothes and make to much noise. You eat all your dinner, even when it is nasty. You remember to put on socks and brush your teeth and you are perfect. Perfect Mycroft. And I am freak Sherlock." Sherlock pulled away from his brother completely and wrapped his arms around his knees, drawing them close to his chest and started to cry again.
It hurt Mycroft to see his little brother this way. He knew Sherlock was different, every one knew. Sherlock was bloody brilliant, but also a handful. He could be in the middle of eating, get distracted and run off to build a leaning tower of what ever he could get his hands on. He seemed to have no brain to mouth filter, everything he thought he would say. It didn't mean people could just pick on him though.
Despite what Sherlock thought, he did know what it was to be different. Mycroft tried really hard to fit in; never opening his mouth to say anything that could be interpreted as rude, always keeping a smile on his face even when it hurt. He didn't know how to explain to his little brother that even as hard as it is now it was only going to get harder and if he tried to fit in he would lose that spark in him that would make him special. Every one was weird. Some people were just better at hiding.
Mycroft scooted closer to his brother putting a hand on his small shoulder, "Sher, I know it's hard. People are mean and cruel, but one day you will find someone who sees you for who you really are. They will love the quirks you have that other people tease you for. This person and you won't need to talk to understand each other. Even when you get temperamental, distracted, or bored they will stick right next to you, because they are your friend. You will feel the same way back to them. Just know that person is out there somewhere at this very instant. Someday you two will meet and it will just feel right. These people now don't matter; they can call you names and pick on you, but in the end you will be so much more than them. That's why they pick on you. Not because you are a 'freak' but because you are better than them."
Sherlock was looking at Mycroft sadly, his crying had died down but there were still tears falling down his cheeks. With a yawn Sherlock laid he's head on his big brother's chest.
"I will hate you forever if you are lying to me..."
Mycroft couldn't help but laugh, even the most brilliant 6 year old was still only 6. He laid both of them back against the bed, arm still wrapped around his little brother. Before Sherlock fell asleep Mycroft whispered into his ear, "It might be a while, but never give up."
"I hope not to long, I am already lonely..." A sleep Sherlock had whispered to Mycroft almost 30 years ago. Now a much different boy sat next to him. A boy clad only in a sheet, giggling madly next the person Mycroft had told his little brother about. A friend. A true friend. A best friend.