A/N: Next chapter, guys! Let's do this thing! I'd like to thank cornishrexmomma, 101, Van39MaxKatAlex4, and SphinxyWilliams14 for your lovely reviews, which make me smile every time I read them. Now, for all of you, I believe we have a new chapter update!

Molly was back at the hospital three days later, this time with the psychiatrist who was treating Mycroft, and Mycroft's brother Sherlock. "I still don't see why they had to come!" Mycroft complained, flopping on to his bed while pouting.

"We had to come because you've beaten everyone here who comes near you with a pillow or worse." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Mycroft giggled and lied back on his bed.

"Try to act your age, brother dear."

Molly tried to stifle her own giggles at seeing everything going on around her. Sherlock gave her a look.

"Sherlock's here so he can make sure that doesn't happen again, I'm here to snog you out of the rest of your mind at the end." They both laughed at the memory that brought. The psychiatrist shot Molly a look that told her if she did one more thing wrong she'd be kicked out. She covered her mouth and tried to stop shaking, which the psychiatrist seemed to take as her getting as close as she could to what he wanted.

"So, Mycroft, you still haven't answered my first question."

"Which one was that? There were so many."

"How long have you known about your schizophrenia?"

"For as long as I can remember."

"That's not an acceptable answer."

"I'm telling the truth. No one else started to notice a real problem until I was about 15 or so."

"Everyone has make-believe friends when they're younger, Mycroft. Not everyone keeps them after they're 10."

Do they see actual people playing with them and hear each and every one of their voices distinctly? Well, doctor? I'm waiting for your answer…

Sherlock was calling his name from somewhere…or was that just his mind playing tricks again? He looked over to where he thought Sherlock was and saw instead Toby, one of the friends he used to play with when he was younger, the one his parents tried to insist wasn't real because he liked getting into trouble. Mycroft didn't mind getting in trouble for Toby, because then they'd hang out in his room and laugh about their latest prank they'd pulled off. Toby was pointing to someone across the backyard of the Holmes's house. A little two-year old Sherlock, who was poking a stick into the ground. "Go on, do it. What are you, chicken?"

Mycroft knew where he was. It was that time when he was 9 and he got in his first real argument with Toby. "I'm not chicken, I just don't want to hurt Sherlock!" he heard himself say.

"Mycroft's right." He turned and saw Sally, a little mocha-skinned girl with more passion than things to throw it in, the one his parents always asked him about when he did something bad, and whether or not she'd approve. "Sherlock's too little to understand what Mycroft would be doing."

"Oh, come on, sissies! He eats dirt willingly, how is this so different? He liked it last time, too!"

"And I got spanked last time for making him eat it, while you just stood by and laughed!"

"Just one little kick, Mycroft! It's not like he can tattle on you!"

"No!" Sally and Mycroft said at the same time.

Sally gave him a smile and nod and disappeared until he asked her to play with him later. She knew he wouldn't be doing anything else bad with Toby that day. "Mycroft, come on!"

"No! I'm not hurting Sherlock!" Mycroft remembered hearing the window at the back of the house opening, everyone's alarm bells suddenly going off. Including Sherlock's, and this turned into one big mistake.

He came over to close and asked Mycroft who he was talking to one too many times. Mycroft turned to tell him to shut up, and his hands, which were busy prior in the argument, swung wide and connected Sherlock in the face. Sherlock reeled back and stared at his brother, pure shock on his face. Just as Mycroft realized what happened, and his parents rushed out, his dad going over to comfort Sherlock, his mom dragging him to his room at a pace faster than he could run. When they were in his room she turned and closed the door, and he heard her speak in a quieter voice than he thought possible. He didn't like it, at least if she was yelling he could tell she was angry. She asked him if he had anything to explain himself, and he said he was arguing with Toby, and when he turned to tell Sherlock to go away, he accidentally hit him. She asked him what they were fighting about, and he said Toby wanted him to kick Sherlock, but he didn't want to, and was trying to get him to stop telling him to do it. His mother adopted a face of understanding, told him he only had to stay in his room for an hour since it was an accident, and she'd explain everything to his dad and Sherlock.

When she left, Sally was there to play with him, because she understood it wasn't his fault and was glad he didn't want to hurt Sherlock, and when the hour finished, Sherlock came in and hugged him, accepting his apology before he could give it.

The first time he heard his parents worrying was that night, when he was supposed to be asleep. He heard one word over and over he didn't understand at the time, but he'd soon learn to hate hearing: schizophrenia. They just knew by the time he was 15, he realized. That was just when they were trying to figure out how to tell him. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked over. He was back in the hospital, and Molly was sitting next to him, shaking him lightly. She sighed when he looked at her. "What happened, Ginger? You've been staring into space for 15 minutes at least!"

He didn't know quite what to say. How could he explain he just got thrown backwards into his own mind? "It's just…it…I…you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Molly looked at him and tilted her chin up. "Try me."

"Have I ever told you you're pretty when you use your backbone?"

"Mycroft."

"…I…um…I got pulled into my memories. Like, out of this reality and into another."

"I understand that."

"Really?"

"I did tell you I'm saving for med school next semester, right?"

"…Oh, yeah."

"Mind saying what it was about?"

"Nn…not to you…"

"Mycroft, you have to tell me what just happened if you ever want to leave." The psychiatrist started to try to reason with him.

"You two get out," Molly said. "Doctor, you leave your notes here along with a pen."

"What?!" the doctor spluttered.

Sherlock dragged him out and glanced at Molly. "For both of our sakes, your idea had better work."

"It will," Molly said with much more confidence than she felt.

After Sherlock left Molly picked up the notes and ripped a fresh sheet of paper out of the bunch. "Right, Mycroft. Here's what I'm thinking: you can tell me what happened when you zoned out, I write it down, and then Mr.-what's-his-name can read it and draw whatever conclusions he wants from it without you being scrutinized by him during your explanation."

Mycroft swallowed, then nodded. "You'll still be asked about it, but you can explain and get everything off your chest without being interrupted."

"Not even John let me have that much power in our sessions." Mycroft's eyes widened slightly.

"This isn't a session. It's a heart-to-heart in a relationship, okay? Don't think of it as something that doctors are going to analyze, think of it as crying on the metaphorical shoulder of a friend."

Mycroft smiled somewhat cheekily and said, "Are you sure you didn't just want to make out? We're now alone, in case you didn't realize." Molly smacked him with his own pillow. "Just tell me what happened."

He did, fairly quickly. Molly wrote it all down, then sat next to him. "Now we did everything we had to and we're still alone."

Mycroft smiled and was about to say something when Sherlock waltzed in yelling, "Nope!" and dragging Molly out by her shirt.

Mycroft groaned and Molly laughed. "I'll see you next time, then!"

"I don't want it to be next time; I want it to be now!"

"Grow up!" Sherlock yelled before slamming the door.

"Look who's talking." Mycroft grumbled.

His doctor came in and picked up the notes; including Molly's and walked out. Mycroft sighed and stretched out on his back, watching the white ceiling.

The doctor read what Molly wrote, and his eyes widened. He hadn't been able to get Mycroft to tell him this much using every kind of tactic he knew. He called up his supervisor and explained everything to him, asking him permission to add a certain med student on to his team. When he got the answer, he made a few calls, pulled a few strings, and suddenly Molly had a very important choice to make when she got home. If she had known exactly how big it would be, she might have not smiled when Sherlock told her some embarrassing things about Mycroft, she might not have laughed as she said they didn't matter to her. But as it was, she did, and that made her next decision all the harder.