Mummy brought home the new baby on his 7th birthday. It was a day for celebration, she said. She gave him little William Sherlock Scott to hold as father brought out several boxes, each topped with a bow. William slept in his arms, oblivious to the fact that he'd invaded their home and their lives by being born. Mycroft sulked at he opened his gifts. The first was a microscope with premade slides of bugs and butterfly wings. There were an assortment of extra slides for future use.

"Thank you," he said with a small smile.

The next present was a marble run coaster kit with several design options. Mycroft could see a pattern in the gifts. Educational, science related, and requiring activity. The next package was somewhat smaller than the other. The object inside rattled around.

"Gyroscope," he said.

"There he goes! It's like Christmas all over again," father said, handing Mycroft the last box.

Mycroft frowned. "This isn't for me," he said without opening the present.

"It's for you to share with William" said Mummy.

"He can have it," Mycroft said hopefully.

"No he cannot. Not without supervision," she replied.

It was some months before William learned anything useful. Mycroft would discuss history or music, show him the new slides he'd prepared for his microscope, and William would simply lie there, looking at him with wide blue eyes.

"Ba... ba," William said over and over again.

"You're an idiot. I'm the smart one," Mycroft replied.

The unopened gift sat in the back of his closet. William was much to young to appreciate it now.

At nine months William started walking. He wreaked havoc around the home, pulling down anything within his tiny reach. It was amazing he survived those first few weeks. Mycroft distracted him by bringing the marble run downstairs to the diningroom table. There Mummy could put him in a high chair so he could watch the marble spin through its loops. Mycroft had constructed it in a few hours and without help. He was still working on getting the gyroscope to balance on twine. It wasn't his fault his hands hadn't caught up with his mind. He knew that time would come and shrugged off his lack of success.

William finally hit one year of age. There was a big party with lots of balloons. Aunts, uncles, grandparents, and distant cousins all gathered in the family home to celebrate William's birthday. It was certainly more extravagant an event than his own last birthday. But he reasoned his first birthday had been just as special and dismissed his feelings of jealousy. He endured kisses and pinched cheeks and uncomfortable hugging before he retreated to the safety of his room. He breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind him. Then he laid on his bed, feet dangling off the edge, and thought about what people said didn't always reflect their body language. Mildred had complimented him on his bowtie and suit but she had licked her lips and her eyes had darted to one side as she said it. He didn't understand what made people lie. Why mention it at all if she didn't care for it? There were plenty of other things to talk about - like how he was dissecting bugs and mounting butterflies. And then there was Uncle Simon. He was married to Auntie Patricia but he kept looking at Auntie Esther. He didn't quite understand why but he knew it wasn't okay because Simon kept looking around to see if Patricia had noticed. And Esther kept giving him sly glances.

And poor William. All that endless attention must be overwhelming. He'd looked startled and unhappy by all the noise and excitement. In fact he had looked like Mycroft felt. And maybe that meant they both felt the same way. Solitude was a blessing. Quiet company was calming.

Just then he heard Mummy walk past his door.

"Time for a nap. You're all worn out."

The nursery door opened and then Mummy closed it behind her. Mycroft waiting until the count of 20 to peek out of his door. He ran back to the closet and pulled out the present he'd stored there. It was still wrapped. He took it to the nursery where William watched with much interest as he tore away the paper. He'd known what was inside of course. It was a leather bound book of Treasure Island.

"This is your reward for enduring a horid first birthday. They won't all be like this. So, chapter one, the old sea dog at the Admiral Benbow," Mycroft read aloud. He didn't even get through the first chapter. William was sound asleep, tucked into one corner of his crib.

"Good night, brother mine," he said. "We'll read more tomorrow. You'll love the part about the pirates."