A/N: I finally got to see the reviews, and love your passionate responses! This chapter might be a bit controversial, but in my opinion, it's a version that not only agrees with the show canon, but explains a lot. Enjoy, and keep your comments coming!

There was a conference of sorts taking place in the Holmes residence. William and Mildred Holmes had urged Sherlock to invite his friend, that nice doctor, to participate. "We're a bit at a loss, honestly," William addressed them first. "We thought we can finally have our family back together again, after everything. We didn't expect that it would be Mycroft who would cause us issues with that."

"Did you try contacting him?" Sherlock asked, a bit of concern leaking into his question.

"I called his mobile and left a message when he didn't pick up," Mildred answered this time. "I told hime that I'm ready to forgive him, and put everything behind us. He answered by text." She bit her lips worriedly. "Can we see it?" Sherlock asked quietly, understanding that his mother found it difficult to relay the message.

Her phone was passed to the younger duo, who peered curiously at the screen. The message read: "I'm not ready yet. I'm sorry. - MH"

"What does that even mean," Mildred asked, bewildered.

"Sounds a bit like a teenage tantrum," John remarked flippant. "Like Harry used to throw. 'I'm never going to forgive you all, you're all so mean,' that sort of thing."

Sherlock was silent, a pensive look on his face.

"I'm sure if you give him time, he'll come around by himself. After all, he knows you really love him, right?" John tried to reassure them.

"You know, I think you're right," Mrs. Holmes conceded. "Mycroft was always a bit childish with his grudges. I remember how he always tried to get Sherlock here," she threw her younger son a fond smile, "into hot water. Honestly, I think he was always a little jealous of him. Sherlock was always such a free spirit, so easygoing, while Mycroft was always too uptight." She pursed her lips disapprovingly.

Sherlock snorted, while John looked a bit startled. The Holmes matriarch continued reminiscing. "My oldest would always tell me, even when this one was a little tyke," she pointed at the detective, "that my younger son has issues, that I should get him checked out. Well, he recovered nicely from the trauma he experienced, and he was as sweet and loveable as ever before. Mycroft just couldn't let it go."

Dr. Watson had an interesting expression on his face, Mildred thought. He looked as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing, and was that the beginning of outrage? Yes, it was good that she could confide in the doctor, he really understood her sons.

"Did you take his advice?" John asked carefully.

Mildred waved a hand carelessly. " Oh, he did meet someone, and that incompetent fool said a lot of nonsense, something about social issues, emotional maladjustment, and who knows what else. But a mother knows best. Here was this sweet child, so charming, so eager to please. So what if he loved experimenting instead of playing with friends. I mean, he's a genius! And so creative. You should have seen what experiments he came up with," she smiled indulgently.

Sherlock groaned. "Mummy, please. Stop right there."

Mrs. Holmes chuckled. "And so modest, too!"

She turned to John, and lowered her voice a bit, speaking as if imparting confidential information. "Things got worse when the boys were older. Mycroft would constantly tattle on him, trying to make himself look better by comparison. He would exaggerate things, even outright fabricate issues. Do you know, he even tried to convince us that Sherlock was a drug addict," she hissed the last two words incredulously.

John had his lips compressed in a thin line. Mildred was glad that he was so worked up on Sherlock's behalf. He was a truly loyal friend. "And what did you do about those accusations?" the doctor asked in a strained voice. Sherlock was fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat, while staring at the ceiling. His mother supposed he had a hard time dealing with the memories of his brother's betrayal.

"We would come to check up on Sherlock, William and I. Then we would hear his side of the story. He was never an addict, my Sherlock. He's an expert chemist, you know, and he could handle taking a little something to help his concentration. Sometimes there was a mistake in the dosage, it could happen to anyone. And sometimes he needed it to solve a case, and that was pretty understandable. He always seemed fine by the time we came."

"So, you approved of his drug taking?" Dr. Watson asked, his voice sounding a little odd.

"Oh, not like that. It's just that we trusted that he knew what he was doing. Mycroft never trusted him, he held on to his petty grudges. Sherlock was always so mature, when he would tell us about Mycroft smoking or gaining weight, it was so obvious that he cared for his brother. He has such a good heart," she sighed. "He was always the grownup."

"I see," the doctor said thinly.

"I'm glad that he has such an amazing career, and is famous and liked around the world. Poor Mycroft is still stuck in his government job, pushing paper all day long. No wonder he envies his little brother."

"I think I'd like to take a walk around the grounds, clear my head a little, if you don't mind," John said, his voice tight.

"Sure, go ahead. We'll have tea when you come back."

"Sherlock?" the doctor motioned.

"I'm coming," Sherlock mumbled.

"Can you tell me what the hell is going on around here? Because I feel that I fell down the rabbit hole!" John yelled at Sherlock when they were safely outside.

"The what?" his friend questioned in confusion.

"Never mind that. Just tell me, for the love of your Belfast coat, what is your mother talking about? You, a grownup?! Mature?! Not an addict?! Mycroft is jealous?!" The doctor was sputtering.

Sherlock strolled on silently, his hands in his pocket. John let him be. After a full five minutes, the detective's voice was heard, unusually hesitant and pensive. "John, I'm still figuring things out myself. I suppose I was always Mummy's favorite, and even Dad indulged me more than he did Mycroft. I just always accepted it as fact.

"With the information I have now, I realize this started mostly after the Redbeard incident." John marveled at how only a Holmes could refer to such a total disaster as an 'incident.'

"I had major PTSD and psychological issues afterwards, as you are aware. My parents must have been terrified that, I, too, would have to be institutionalized. When I came out of my fugue and started basically functioning again, it was enough to assuage their fears. They also became very overprotective of me, which allowed me to get away with a lot." He smiled ironically.

"What about all your other issues? You know, whatever made you declare yourself a high functioning sociopath?" the doctor pressed.

"They weren't ready to deal with another child with issues."

"So they told themselves a better story," the doctor mused.

"Yes, that seems to be something the Holmes family is good at," the younger man answered, his voice heavy.

"Look, this isn't right. You know I'm not a huge fan of Mycroft-" Sherlock predictably snorted at the doctor's understatement, "but even I can see that something isn't right. If this is what Mycroft has gotten all his life, I don't blame him. I don't blame him at all."

"Why the sudden defense of my dear brother, who you were so ready to condemn not an hour ago?" Sherock asked, his voice suddenly defensive.

John smiled sadly, suddenly looking much older than his age. "Let me share a little story with you. It's about Harry and me."