"Here we are!" Mrs. Holmes pulled up in front of the university, the back of their car dragging a bit thanks to all the boxes that had been packed in the boot. Mycroft, who usually tried to stay cool and unimpressed, couldn't fight the smile that tugged at his mouth as he looked over the grand, sweeping campus. He was finally here. Three short months after high school and he was going to become a lawyer and then a politician and then change the world. He couldn't wait.
His mother opened the doors and the two of them started pulling boxes of Mycroft's things out onto the sidewalk. His mum blew her dark, curly hair out of her face and glanced back at the car.
"Sherlock, aren't you going to help?"
The ten year old was perched on top of a box in the backseat of the car, where he'd insisted on sitting for the ride there. He looked up from his book, mildly startled.
"We're hereth? When did we geth hereth?" His lisp, which everyone had thought was so adorable when he was a child, was now just annoying. Mycroft thought everything about him was annoying, including his absolute disregard for anything that wasn't his own train of thought. His mum, however, didn't seem to mind. Although she loved and cared for both her sons, she absolutely adored Sherlock. She smirked as she went over and lifted him off the box.
"About ten minutes ago, you space cadet. Now put down..." She looked at the title and sighed. "...Put down The Art of War and help us move Mycroft's boxes up to him room." Sherlock sighed heavily and looked at a box in front of him. Instead of picking it up, he peeled the packing tape off in one swift motion, leafing through the contents of his brother's boxes.
"Why are you bringing thisth?" He asked again and again, taking random objects out of Mycroft's boxes and examining them. Mycroft gritted his teeth, trying not to scream. Just once he wished Sherlock didn't have to be such a nuisance. Finally, sensing her older son's growing irritation, Mrs. Holmes snatched Mycroft's 2nd Place Original Oratory trophy out of her younger son's hands and crouch so she was at eye level with him.
"Darling, I need you to focus. Just take these boxes where Mycroft tells you too, OK?"
Sherlock made a face and wrapped his fingers around the top flap of the boxes, lugging it towards the front of the building. Mrs. Holmes looked after him with a faint glow of amusement and adoration for her littlest boy in her face. Mycroft picked another up and followed, grumbling to himself. If he'd been slacking off like that, his mother would have yelled at him. But God forbid anyone upset her precious little delicate little perfect little genius. If he had to live in my shoes for an hour-
Mycroft's inner rant was interrupted by a sharp tap on his shoulder. He turned to see a stocky, short boy with dark eyes grinning excitedly up at him. "Are you Mycroft Holmes?" He said. He was wearing a bright red blazer, a shiny gold tie and pleated pants. His bags surrounded him, all clashing as horribly as his clothes, but he seemed friendly enough.
"I am." Mycroft sub-consciously straightened his tie, trying to look professional. It was always important to make a good impression. You never knew who had connections.
The other boy held up a few sheets of paper.
"My-my name is Joey St. Lawrence. I recognized you from your picture...we're going to be roommates!"
"Oh." Mycroft said, mildly surprised. He held out his hand. "Pleasure to meet you." Suddenly something clicked in his head.
"Wait, St. Lawrence as in-"
"The law firm of Stamp, St. Lawrence and Larkin, yup." Joey beamed, waving his hand. "That's my dad."
Mycroft tried not to let his mouth fall open, disbelieving of his good fortune.
"I've been following their cases in the news since I was a child. That's the most powerful firm in England!"
Joey smiled and nodded. He took a step closer to Mycroft and beckoned him in.
"I can get you a tour sometime, if you want."
Mycroft let himself beam for the first time that day.
"That would be amazin-"
"He's gay, you know."
Joey's bright smile slid off his face. So did Mycroft's. He whipped around to see Sherlock standing behind him, his face buried in The Art of War again, his glance only occasionally flicking up towards the exchange in front of him. Mycroft tried to take a deep breath, but only succeeded in a shaky gasp.
"Sherlock, go find Mum." He said in low voice. His mind was racing. Oh God, don't do that trick. Not here, not now.
Joey flushed red and stuttered "Wh-what did he say?"
"Nothing." Mycroft said sharply. He crouched down and grabbed Sherlock by his tee-shirt.
"Go help Mum." He growled. Sherlock jerked away, looking at his brother with silver, blank eyes.
"But he'th gay Mycroft. He walkth with a sway, his clotheth are pressthed and preppy, and histh pupils dilated when he wasth talking to you, a thign of thexual attraction."
Joey had backed away as tears danced in his eyes.
"I...I...who do you think you are?" He squeaked.
Mycroft turned back to him.
"I'm so sorry-"
"Get away from me, you weirdos!" Joey screamed. Several heads turned as he stormed off. Including Mrs. Holmes. She ran over, familiar tears of frustration pricking her eyes.
"What. Happened." She whispered in a barely concealed rage. Mycroft wasn't too calm himself. He pointed a shaking finger at Sherlock, who was staring at Joey's retreating figure nonchalantly.
"He just did that...thing...where he...he outed my roommate!" Mycroft's voice cracked as his mother's eyes widened. They lost some of their anger, and held more fear. She bent down and cupped her hands around her younger son's thin shoulders.
"You did WHAT?" She asked, her face pained. Sherlock blinked. His usually firm posture seemed to shrink a little under her gaze.
"Not good?" He asked. Mycroft rolled his eyes. His mother had read that having a phrase that was associated with negative activity helped kids like Sherlock cope in society. Mrs. Holmes shook her head.
"No, not good at all dearie." She said. Sherlock looked at her a moment more, than shrugged and walked away, going back to his book.
"Oh. Well, it's true."
'Not good' had yet to do a damn thing.
Mycroft felt his anger bubbling. No matter how hard he tried to be normal, to actually get something he wanted in his life, his weirdo brother ruined everything, every time-
"And I hate it! I hate you!"
Mycroft didn't realize he'd been talking out loud until he heard his mother gasp.
He didn't realize he'd pushed his brother until he heard the loud crack on the pavement.
Sherlock lay sprawled on the concrete, his left hand shunted under his back. He slowly slid it out, nursing it with his free arm. It was crooked and bloody. His eyes filled with tears as Mrs. Holmes started bawling. Mycroft when pale.
"Mum, I-"
She grabbed him by the wrist so tightly he felt his arm go numb. Her voice was ten times more furious than it had been last time.
"You are EIGHTEEN. He is TEN. Why the HELL..." She became overcome with tears, dropping his hand and looking down at the pavement.
"Why can't you two just do as your told?" She yelled. Mycroft tried to pat her on the shoulder.
"Mum-"
"I'm sorry Mycroft, we have to go." She said, scooping Sherlock up and rushing him back to the car.
Mycroft watched from the sidewalk as she strapped Sherlock in and started driving off to the hospital. She only glanced at him once, teary and angry and cold. Sherlock looked out the window, tears streaming down his face. The windows were up, but Mycroft could still hear his faint yell.
"I HATE you."
His mother didn't react. Mycroft felt a little like he'd been punched in the gut. Apparently his mum had decided who's side she was on. The side of her strange son, the son who couldn't survive in the real world for five seconds. His eyes narrowed as he angrily yanked his boxes off the ground and stalked off too his dorm. It took him hours to get everything up by himself. He'd barely gotten in when he received a notice that Joey had requested transfer to a new room. He didn't care.
Mycroft fell onto his new bed, cradling his head in his hands.
He didn't care. Caring didn't get him anywhere anyway, it wasn't an advantage.
So Mycroft stopped caring.