To The Inevitable Dusk
Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. - Susan Scarf Merrell
The boy spent a curious amount of time shut up in his room. Well, to be entirely fair it was also Sherlock's room, but he was forced to relinquish residence when John saw fit to turn the lock. It was a rare day that he would allow either of his brothers entrance at such a time, and even Violet once or twice had difficulties entreating her son to allow her in.
Sherringford, however, had no such troubles. One fatherly tremor of his voice was enough to gain him entry, but whatever clue hinting of what John had been doing would be hastily hidden away. Nearly desperate with curiosity, Sherringford had once made Sherlock hide in the forest of his legs, hoping the boy with his infinitely skilled powers of observation would be able to catch a glimpse of something or other. But the plan was foiled quite thoroughly upon its first attempt, as Sherlock had not yet learned the art of keeping his deductions to himself. Even Sherringford was met with reluctance after that.
Mycroft was also rather curious, but not being a man of action he was not inclined to satisfy his interest by himself. That was why God had graced him with an otherwise annoying younger brother named Sherlock.
Promised a future instead of monetary gain, Sherlock was happy enough to oblige. When Violet had kidnapped John for yet another trip to market, the boy sifted through his unguarded little desk. The single oddity was a collection of balled up papers stuffed precariously in one of the drawers. These were the spoils that Sherlock brought to his older brother, vowing under his breath that he would see to it that one day Mycroft would do his dirty work.
