1986
"Sherlock, this is important, you must tell the truth."
Sherlock looked up at his brother through teary eyelashes. "Yes, My?"
"Did Smith … did he touch you somewhere … somewhere private." Mycroft said awkwardly.
Sherlock looked down at his shaking hands, breaking eye contact with Mycroft.
"Do you understand what I mean? Did he touch you somewhere that would normally be covered by your underwear? Sherlock?"
Sherlock nodded silently.
A flash of fury passed across Mycroft's face.
"I didn't want him to!" Sherlock said defensively, misunderstanding Mycroft's expression.
"I know. I know you didn't. I want you to remember this. If you forget everything else I ever tell you, just remember this. You haven't done anything wrong. An adult must never touch a child like that. Never. And it is always the adult's fault, never the child's. Do you understand me, Sherlock?"
Sherlock nodded quickly.
"I won't let him hurt you again."
"But you're going to school. How will you stop him from there?"
Mycroft was silent.
"I could come to school with you?"
"In a few years, Sherlock, in a few years. But I will protect you. Where ever I am. I will always protect you."
Sherlock
"Why do I need to see Dr Edwards, Mother?" Mycroft asked as he sat stiffly in the waiting room. "I'm not ill."
"Just a check-up before you go off to school." Mother lied. Mycroft frowned at the lie.
"Mycroft Holmes?" The receptionist called across the waiting room.
"Go on dear. You know where you're going, you're old enough to go in by yourself now."
Sherlock
Mycroft stood outside the door to his father's study with his ear pressed against the heavy wood.
"I don't think there is anything physically wrong with him. Is it possible that he is just nervous about going to school?" He could hear Doctor Edwards saying.
"Up until a few weeks ago he could hardly wait to go to school. Now he seems desperate to stay at home. He doesn't seem to want to leave Sherlock." Father said through the door.
"I don't think it's anything to be concerned about. I remember feeling much the same before going away to school."
"He just seems so dreadfully worried."
"He's a young boy about to go through a huge transition, it's quite natural to be nervous."
Sherlock
Mother and Father were out, having lunch with friends in a nearby town. Sherlock was in his bedroom, playing his violin loudly, the door pulled tightly shut muffling the noise slightly. Nanny was out in the garden, he could see her from the landing window, giggling with the gardener. Mycroft's plan was working smoothly so far. He could hear Smith coming along the passageway, carrying a pile of clean washing. Mycroft stood out of sight until Smith was at the top of the wide wooden staircase.
"Smith?" He called, stepping out from the shadows.
"Master Mycroft?" Smith answered, a smirk on his face. He turned to Mycroft, his back to the stairs.
"You shouldn't have touched Sherlock." Mycroft said, a calm smile on his face. "I let you do what you wanted to me. But I will not allow you to hurt my brother."
"And what are you going to do, Master Mycroft? Tell Mummy and Daddy? They wouldn't believe you. No one will believe you."
"I don't need anyone to believe me." Mycroft used both hands to push against Smith, who teetered for a moment on the step. Mycroft thought for a second that Smith wouldn't fall. That he wouldn't succeed in his plan.
Smith tried to reach out for the handrail but the washing knotted around his hands and he couldn't catch himself.
Mycroft saw the look of realisation crossing Smith's face before he stumbled backwards down the stairs, landing with a satisfying thump at the bottom.
The music coming from Sherlock's bedroom stopped for a moment and Mycroft thought that the noise must have disturbed Sherlock, that his brother would come out to find the cause of the disturbance. He tiptoed down the hall to Sherlock's bedroom, ready to distract Sherlock if necessary. He held his breath and listened until he heard a rustle of sheet music and Sherlock began playing again.
Mycroft hurried back to the landing window to check that the Nanny was still in the garden before he calmly walked down the stairs to where Smith's body lay broken and bent. He was satisfied to see Smith's neck was at an awkward angle to his body but he bent down to check for a pulse anyway. Upon not finding one, Mycroft gathered the clean washing from the stairs and gathered them around Smiths ankles, making it look like he could have tripped. He stepped back, admiring his handy work, convinced that he would not be implicated in the death. He calmly walked away from the staircase and to his bedroom on the other side of the house.
Mycroft sat by his window sill watching as Nanny finished flirting with the gardener and came back into the house. He hoped that she would find Smith's body and not Sherlock. He listened carefully to Sherlock's violin music until he hears a scream. Sherlock's music stops abruptly as Mycroft leaves his bedroom, running towards the sound of the scream.
This was important. The final step of his plan. He couldn't give anything away now. Certainly not to Sherlock who could read him so well.