John decided to push the mind a little further and find out more about Sherlock, for this might be the only time to do so. He picked his book up and went to Sherlock's bedroom, setting it down on the nightstand before turning off the light. He laid on the soft bed and closed his eyes, finally letting down some, only some, barriers the 'Mind Palace' had built. The memories came pouring out like a waterfall and John gasped as he became submerged into it.
It was a warm sunny day, blindingly bright with a moderately steady breeze. There was rustling sound of leaves as the wind gusted through its branches, wrapping them in its cool touches, then finally settling down only to start up once more. The sky was as blue as the grass was green on the well-trimmed lawn just outside the Holmes estate. Five-year-old Sherlock was running forward, panting lightly with his dark curls bouncing on the crown of his head. He was meeting someone, someone special to him. The sun was in his squinted eyes, but as he got closer, a figure eclipsed the bright light and Sherlock stopped, panting heavily now. He widen his bluish-green eyes, broke into a wide smile once he found who he was looking for, and ran to hug his twelve-year-old brother, back for vacation from his boarding school. Mycroft looked at the boy fondly and patted his head. He took Sherlock's right hand into his left and they walked to the mansion together.
The memory faded out and in came another one.
It was an evening in mid-July. Sherlock was eleven now and sitting on an armchair too big for his small frame. It was his father's chair, but Mr. Holmes had been gone for three months as of yesterday, investigating a breach in the British embassy of Spain. Mummy Holmes was upstairs calling all sorts of people, from local police chiefs to army generals, and was too busy to look after Sherlock most of the time, but there was no need do so, for since the age of nine, he was already quite capable at taking care of himself.
Sherlock was reading a crime fiction novel (oh, how fascinated he was by the mysteries and puzzles, even though he had already solved them before he was halfway through the book ) when he heard loud footsteps getting closer to the front door. Immediately, he slammed the book shut and ran toward it, eager to greet his brother. What Sherlock did not expect was Mycroft storming into the house angrily and shoving his brother roughly aside to go upstairs and have a word or two with Mummy. Sherlock was too numb with shock to feel pain as he sat against the wall perpendicular to the door and listened to the loud arguments in the room upstairs. After a few minutes, the house became eerily quiet. Then Mycroft strode downstairs, two steps at a time, with a suitcase and went out the door the same way he came in, but this time, he did not see his little brother sitting there; it was as if he didn't exist at all. That was the last time Sherlock ever saw his brother in his childhood memories.