1982
"No!" Mycroft shouted from the library, causing Father to come running from his study.
"Mycroft? What's wrong?"
Mycroft turned from where he was stood facing Sherlock. "Look Daddy! Look at what he's done!" Mycroft held out his hands, showing his father a torn book.
"Mikey, Sherlock is too small to know right from wrong." Father said gently.
"But look at what he's done. It's ruined."
"I know, but he didn't mean to break it."
"Yes, he did. He's a mean, nasty boy and I don't like him." Mycroft said, looking furiously at his little brother.
Sherlock's eyes filled with tears. "Mikey?"
Mycroft held the broken book tightly to his chest. "Sorry Sherlock." He said.
Sherlock smiled, all thoughts of tears gone, and toddled out of the room.
Father knelt down in front of Mycroft. "What's wrong Mikey?"
"Look." He said again, handing over the torn book.
Father took the book in his hands, recognising it as the encyclopaedia that he had given his eldest some for his ninth birthday. "Oh, Mikey. It's ok, I know a man who can fix books. I'll take it to him when I go into London next week. It will be as good as new. I promise."
"Really?"
"Really. But you can't get angry with Sherlock, he's too young to know that what he was doing was wrong."
"But you shouldn't rip books. It's naughty."
"It's only naughty if you do it deliberately."
Mycroft frowned, struggling to accept the idea that not everything is black and white. "Sorry Daddy."
"That's ok, Mikey." Father pulled Mycroft into a hug.