December 24th, 1981

In the middle of the ashtray, a small bonfire of carefully piled matches burned with a six inch flame.

'If Mummy or Daddy catch you, you'll be in big trouble.'

The remains of a glass of apple juice were tipped into it, spent matches and scorched cigarette butts hissing in black, sickly smelling, gloop.

' Mummy's gone to bed, and Daddy isn't here.'

The two boys sat in a dark kitchen, too tidy to be used much for it's intended purpose, perched on tall stools in a little pool of light at the corner of one of the large worktops, their legs dangling.

The smaller of the pair, a crumpled pirate hat made from a cereal box on his head, looked thoughtfully into a beaker of strawberry milkshake.

' Do you think they'll remember, this year?'

His elder brother sighed, but gave the boy a smile.

' You've got some presents under the tree, why does it matter?'

The little questioner shrugged.

' Everyone in my class talks about it. I told Nigel Franklyn-Smith that it wasn't true, and he cried.'

' Its just a tradition. People like them, I suppose.'

He took his younger brother's hand, inspecting the clump of damp kitchen roll that was held there with an elastic band. A small flower of the child's blood was blossoming into the white paper.

' It doesn't hurt any more, Mycroft. Will you put a plaster on it for me?'

' Still bleeding. Keep squeezing it, I'll put one on before you go to bed.'

A first few flakes of snow drifted through the orange halo of a streetlight outside the window, and a clock somewhere in the house stuck the quarter. Otherwise there was silence.

' Hey, if you really want, I'll be your Father Christmas.'

' Really?'

' Yes...I was going to save this till tomorrow, but it's nearly midnight anyway, so...'

The older boy fished in his pocket, and brought out a something in a paper bag.

' I'm sorry it's only small, and I couldn't wrap it.'

He placed it into the hands of the child, who carefully pulled away the paper to reveal a plastic magnifying glass. The boy held it up, smiling, one eye large and distorted through the lens.

' Thanks. I can use it to look at treasure maps and things. Pirates need stuff like that.'

' I knew you'd find it useful. Merry Christmas, Sherlock.'

Sherlock leaned in close, resting his head on his brother's arm with a yawn.

' I love you, Mycroft. You always look after me. When I'm grown up, will you join my crew?'

' Of course I will.'

Mycroft put his arm around the little shoulders.

' And I'll always look after you. That's what big brother's are for.'