You Promised, Mycroft

Disclaimer: Not mine (well, not yet).

A/N: My take on why Sherlock and Mycroft fell out. It's very depressing- you have been warned. The book is a Bible (hence its old-ness. Please don't ask me why a Bible) and the reason Mycroft is angry with their mother is...obvious, and the reason he's angry with their father is that he didn't support them enough. Just to clear up any confusion. Enjoy!

He was sitting in the playroom with Mycroft, a large book open on his lap. He turned the pages carefully, looking at the bright and detailed images painted onto the thin, yellowed pages in wonder. He traced the ornate letters at the beginnings of verses and wondered why they had lasted so long.

"Mycroft," he said suddenly, his thoughts changing track faster than a man can blink, "when can we see Mama?"

Mycroft tensed and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Soon."

"You're lying." Sherlock said, eyes narrowed. Mycroft was always lying.

Sherlock's brother sighed and pulled his glasses off. He held the younger boy's gaze for a moment before he said anything. "We can't see Mama again, Sherlock."

"Why?"

"Because she…killed herself in the hospital yesterday."

"But…but you said they'd make her better! You said they'd make her happy again, Mycroft!"

Mycroft swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to wipe away the tears welling up in his eyes. "I know. I miss her too, Sherlock. I- "

"No!" the little boy jumped from his seat and stood with silver droplets running down his cheeks and curls of dark hair falling into his colourless eyes. His small hands were clenched into fists and he was shaking. "I don't care about you! You lied!You promised she'd get better and you lied!"

He ran out of the room sobbing. He didn't stop until he reached his bedroom. Sherlock crumpled onto his bed and screamed into the pillow.

It took six months for Sherlock to calm down enough to talk to his brother, and another four for them to stop fighting with each other. They'd never gotten on well- they were too different. But this was hatred on a much grander and more destructive scale than any of their relatives had ever thought possible.

Twenty-six years later, Sherlock Holmes still hasn't forgiven him. And Mycroft Holmes still hasn't forgiven their parents for making his little brother hate him.