The next two years became hellish. The feud continued to get worse. I was trying to protect him but he would push me further and further away. And I suppose there must be some fault to be had on my side, as my methods weren't exactly normal. But there was once my methods paid off. It was the day I learned I couldn't protect him. I thought that I could at least stop some things but I couldn't even do that. It was the day I learned what the school boys thought of Sherlock.

I received a message from Sherlock's school. I had been made his de facto guardian at fifteen. They could never reach my parents traveling as they were now that Sherlock was at boarding school. I made my way to the dean's office and asked to use the phone for a family emergency, unaware how dire the situation actually was.

"Hello?" came the female voice at the other end.

"Yes, hello. This is Mycroft Holmes, I told someone called about my brother Sherlock." There was silence on the other end.

"Mr. Holmes, your brother is in the hospital." came the voice after what felt like an eternity.

"What happened?" I figured it was something Sherlock had done. After all before he had entered school he was always getting into one scrape or another.

"Three of the older boys beat him with rebar." My heart went cold. Rebar? I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"And what will become of the other boys?" I asked the next logical question.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean Mr. Holmes."

"I mean how will they be punished?"

"They were provoked according to them and witnesses. Your brother had been saying nasty untrue things about the other boys. Things that should not be tolerated. I'll grant you that the rebar was a bit excessive but really who tells another boy his mother is cheating on his dad with head dean?"

I blinked. Sherlock wouldn't lie. So he had found out somehow and told the other boy this.

"I will be pulling my brother from your school and hope to find one better." I made the last word a slur and hung up. I asked if I could borrow a phone book from the secretary and she gave me one. I took it from her hand gingerly and flipped to the hospitals. I looked up the first on the list and while I waited, she said to me, "Mr. Holmes I happened to overhear… is he all right?"

I looked at her and said, "That's what I intend to find out." The phone finally rang through. "Ah, yes. Hello, I'm looking to see if you have a patient there named Sherlock Holmes. No? Thank you." I moved to the next one and tried again. I was starting to run out of hospitals when I finally heard, "A seven year old boy came in today with that name, yes. Who is in inquiring?"

"I'm his older brother Mycroft and guardian while my parents are away."

"Not much of a guardian, if his wounds are anything to go by…"

"Oh? I haven't been informed. I was merely told by his school that he in the hospital. They didn't even tell me which one."

"Head contusions, two broken ribs, a broken arm and a twisted ankle. He said the ankle was from him trying to get away from them." I closed my eyes, it was worse than I had feared.

"How long will he be in hospital? When I can I see him?"

"We'll be keeping him at least three days for the concussion. You can come see him anytime you like."

I looked up at the clock and calculated the time it would take me to get there. "I can be there in two and a half hours, will I still be able to see him then?" I knew they had visiting hours.

"Yes, you'd have about a hour to visit him."

"Good." And then I hung up. I looked up at her, "What is the policy on missing days for family emergencies?"

"Uh… you get three days off for funerals, I know but let me check on non-death related emergencies." She turned around and ruffled through the papers on the desk behind her.

"Ah here we go…" she scanned down the list. "Yes, it says you get a week off and can make up any tests or assignments missed upon your return." I nodded and ran back to my dormitory. I gather up enough things for a week left a note to my professors and my roommate and dashed off to the train station.

That two hour train ride was awful. I could barely think. I ran into the hospital and demanded to know what room he was in. The pointed down the hall and hurried to the room that held my baby brother.

I could see through the glass and what I saw sickened me. They had done their best to clean him up but blood and mud still matted his curly locks. One of those brilliant blue eyes was swollen shut. His arm was in a cast and the binding on his ribs showed through the top of the shirt.

I slowly opened the door. "Sherlock?" I called out softly. He moved his head to indicate he knew I was there and then he turned away in shame.

"I'm here Sherlock…" He reached out his little arms to me and I stepped into them. I put my arms carefully around his fragile body.

"Sherlock…" It was all I could think of to say.

"They called me a freak, Mycroft. What is a freak?" I looked down at him.

"Someone that isn't like normal people, someone different."

"Why am I different?" Only Sherlock. He didn't say 'I want to be normal', he asked why he different.

"Because you are a Holmes and that is always something different. But not all different is good." He nodded and a tear slipped down his cheek. I took his uninjured hand in mine.

"You wan to hear something I learned recently? They were all shocked I didn't know nursery rhymes. But this one should amuse you…" he nodded carefully to avoid the ringing bells that must be going off in his head.

"Round and round the garden like a teddy bear…" I traced my fingers around his palm. "One step, two step…" and I marched my fingers up his arm. "And I tickle you under there." I tickled his underarm which was about the only place he wasn't bruised. He laughed.

"Thank you Mycroft."

I did move him to another school but it was always the same. My brilliant socially awkward brother would always be bullied. They would call him many names but the one that seemed to stick was 'freak'.

***

I kept texting Sherlock hoping to annoy him into submission. My mouth was killing me and I couldn't stand the pain so I went to the dentist. And I had to have a root canal. Which made me testier than normal. So I texted John. I hoped he would appeal to Sherlock. He had this power of my brother that I had never seen. Even Mummy couldn't make him do something he didn't want to do.

But John… John was changing him. When I was finally able to get back to my office I was pleased to see John was seating there wait for me. I was a little distressed at the choice of clothes he wore. It looked horribly tacky. He stood when I walked in.

"John, how nice! I was hoping it wouldn't be long. How can I help you?" I shifted through my mail and nothing seemed too important. I waved vaguely behind me to indicate that he sit.

"Thank you. Um… I was wanting to… um… your brother sent me to collect more facts about the stolen plans- the missile plans." I finally look at him, the look of astonishment clearly written on my face.

"Did he?" I utter softly.

"Yes, he's investigating now.. he's uh… investigating away." I leaned against my desk as I noted that John is a terrible liar. I rub my cheek. It still hurts but I can't resist the urge to smirk. "Um… I was wondering what else you could tell me about the dead man."

I leaned forward, gathering my thoughts. I straightened up and folded my arms in front of me. I decided to humor him. Clearly Sherlock had sent him to get me to stop pestering him. And I knew that he wasn't looking into the case at all but perhaps John would get him interested if he had more information.

"Er… Twenty-seven. Clerk at Vauxhall Cross," at his look of confusion I smirked. "MI6. He was involved in the Bruce-Partington program in a minor capacity. Security checks A-Ok. No known terrorist affiliations or sympathies. Last seen by his fiancee 10:30 yesterday evening."

"Right so he was found at Battersea, yes. So he got on the train?"

"No."

"What?"

"He had an Oyster card…" I hissed in pain and rubbed my check before I continued. "… but it hadn't been used."

"He must have bought a ticket."

"Hmm… there was no ticket on the body."

"Then…"

"Then how did he end up with a bashed in brain on the tracks at Battersea? That is the question- the one I was rather hoping that Sherlock would provide an answer to. How's he getting on?"

"He's fine. And it's going… very well. He's um.. he's completely focused on it." He flashed me a smile in hopes that his charm would convince me of this. But John…

John was a terrible liar.

***

The next year we learned why our parents had been traveling the world. Mummy was sick. More than sick. She was dying. She had a rare form of cancer and they had been trying to find anything that could cure her. They were not successful. They weren't sure how long she had but it was clear, she would never live to see my graduate from Oxford.

The following year they had sent her home from the hospital, they said she didn't have much longer.

Sherlock was trying to learn a new song for her but it was screeching and horrible. I was trying to homework, to stay on top it so I could stay at Oxford. I finally was at my last nerve. The note screeched through the air for it's last time. I strolled into his room.

"Stop it! Stop it now! I can't think with all that noise!" He looked up at me and then an evil grin spread across his face and began playing God Save the Queen. Deliberately off key.

"Stop it! Mummy is trying to rest!" If he wouldn't do it for me maybe he would stop for her.

"I'm learning it for Mummy. She said it was fine!"

"She was lying! It makes her head hurt but she didn't want to hurt your feelings. So she lied!"

"No she wasn't. Mummy would never lie to me! You're the liar!" I grabbed the violin and threw into the fire.

"No!" He screamed. He went scrambling to pull it out but it was too late. It went up surprisingly fast.

He threw himself at me biting and kicking and screaming. Our father came in and pulled him off me. But before he could ask what happened I stalked off.

That afternoon was spent looking for Sherlock. My father made me go find him. And then he told me that he was grounding me for a month. Maybe two once he could get one of us to him what happened.

The sun was starting to set when I dragged him home by the scuff of his shirt. I had found him examining the dirt outside the garden comparing the different types of soil.

I was about to throw him at our father's feet when I saw the expression on his father. He looked ashen.

"Is it mummy?" I asked letting Sherlock drop to the floor.

"Mycroft come with me. Sherlock follow Maria, she will take you back to your room, where you will stay. Do I make myself clear?" Sherlock nodded mutely and he followed the maid to his room. I waited until my father beckoned me forward he led me to where the police nattered around.

"Police?" I asked, confused. "Why would there be police?"

The Inspector looked up from his notebook, with a small sneer. "Standard procedure for suicides."

"Suicide?" I couldn't believe it. Mummy wouldn't take her own life. She couldn't.

"She was found with a note and an empty bottle of her pain medicine." And whatever light was left in my heart died. I could feel it leave. My face became cold and distant.

"I see." The look on my father's face was one of sadness and yet something else. It almost seemed like pride. Why would he be proud of me? It wasn't until years later that I understood. I had become a man in my father's eyes that day. He had started trusting me with more things. Teaching me how to run a household, teaching me politics and world events. I think he was grooming me to take his place.

The funeral was a quiet one. With only her closest friends and family there. That was also the last time I saw Sherlock cry.

***

I walked in to the two of them laughing like children.

"Just once, can you two behave like grown-ups?"

"We solve crimes. I blog about it, and he forgets his pants. I wouldn't hold out too much hope," John said, his wit coming out again.

"I was in the middle of case Mycroft." Sherlock whined.

"What the hiker and the backfire? I've read the police report. A bit obvious."

"Transparent."

John looked over at Sherlock amazed.

"Time to move on, then," I moved to pick up his clothes and handed them out to him but he stared up at me stubbornly. I sighed "We are in Buckingham Palace the heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes put your trousers on!"

He shrugged "What for?"

"Your client."

Sherlock stood. "And my client is?" Just then Harry walks in. His timing, as always impeccable.

"Illustrious, in the extreme." I put the clothes down on the couch to greet my friend. "And remaining, I'll have to inform you, entirely anonymous." He turns to greet me. "Mycroft."

"Harry." And we shook hands. "May i just apologize for the state of my little brother?"

"Full time occupation I'd imagine. And this must be Dr. John Watson, formerly of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers."

John looked pleased that they know who he was. "Hello, yes." And they shook hands.

"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog."

"Your employer?" John was hoping to getting Harry to slip up and say who it was. But he was far too clever so such simple tactics.

"Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminum crutch."

"Thank you." He looked to Sherlock as if to say 'I told you so.'

Harry moved closer to stand in front of my brother. "And Mr. Holmes the younger, you look taller in your photographs."

"I take the precaution of a good coat and short friend." John looked offended by the cutting remark, surely he must be use to them by now. "Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm use to mystery at one of my cases, both ends is too much work." He turned to Harry and said, "Good morning." He started to walk off but as the tail of his sheet passed by me, I deliberately stepped on it causing it fall off my brother's shoulders. He flailed wildly and managed to barely keep his dignity intact.

"This is matter of national importance. Grow up!"

"Get off my sheet!"

"Or what?"

"Or I'll just walk away."

"I'll let you."

John interceded, stepping toward me. "Boys, please not here."

"Who is my client?" Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

I rolled eyes. "Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for god's sake! Put your clothes on!"

To this day I still don't think that Sherlock got dressed for me or for the client. I think he got dressed because John disapproved. He had been willing to keep the sheet on as long as John thought it was funny. But as soon as John expressed a worry about it he changed.

The maid brought tea and I poured. "I'll be mother."

"There is a whole childhood in a nutshell." Sherlock's voice drolled.

I glared at him as I put the kettle down.

"My employer has a problem." Harry informed them.

"A matter has come to light of the most delicate and potentially criminal nature and in this hour of need dear brother your name has arisen." I told him.

"Why? You have a police force of sorts even a marginally secret service. Why come to me?"

"People come to you for help don't they Mr. Holmes?" Harry inquired.

Sherlock stopped to think, "Not to date anyone with a navy."

"This is a matter of the highest security and therefore of trust." I told him.

"You don't trust your own secret service?" John asked.

"Naturally not. They all spy on people for money." I smirked.

"I do think we have a timetable." Harry warned me off that line.

"Yes, of course." Sherlock looked interested now that Harry seemed worried. "Um…" I said as I opened the briefcase." "What do know of this woman?" I handed Sherlock a picture and Sherlock sat forward off the edge of the couch to take the photo.

"Nothing whatsoever." Recognition failed to light my brother's features.

"Then you should be paying more attention. She's been at the center of two political scandals in the last year and recently ended the marriage of prominent novelist, by having an affair with both participants separately."

"You know I don't concern myself with trivia. Who is she?"

"Irene Adler, professionally known as the Woman."

"Professionally?" John asked.

"There are many names for what she does, she prefers 'dominatrix'."

"Dominatrix…" Sherlock said almost tasting the word.

"Don't be alarmed, it has to do with sex." I told him

"Sex doesn't alarm me."

I scoffed "How would you know?" Hurt and anger flashed behind Sherlock's eyes. But I couldn't take it back. Not in front of Harry. "She provides shall we say recreational scolding for those that enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it. These are all from her website," I handed him more pictures from the briefcase in an envelope.

He pulled them out and went through the pictures quickly. "I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs."

"Very quick Mr. holmes."

"Hardly difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?"

"A person of significance to my employer. We'd prefer not to say anymore at this time."

"You can't tell anything?" John asked as Sherlock tossed the photographs on table.

"I can tell you it's a young person. A young female person." I explain.

"How many photographs?" Sherlock asked as he sat back

"A considerable number apparently."

"Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?"

"Yes they do."

"And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios?"

"An imaginative range we are assured."

"John you might want to put your cup back your saucer now." Sherlock told him. John did as he was told with only the barest questioning glance.

"Can you help us Mr. Holmes?" Harry asked.

"How?"

"Will you take the case?" he asked.

"What case?" Sherlock looked down at photographs and back up, "pay her now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead know when you are beaten," he reached around to get coat.

But he stopped when I said, "She doesn't want anything. She got in touch, she informed us the that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favor." I frowned I didn't understand what she wanted.

"Oh, a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain." He raised eyebrow appreciatively, "Now, that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn't it?"

"Sherlock…" John warned.

He placed his palms flat against each other and then pressed the fingers against his lips and murmured excitedly. He grabbed coat, "Where is she?"

"Uh, in London, currently." Sherlock stood as I continued, "she's staying…"

"Text me the details, I'll be in touch by the end of the day." He said as he strolled for the exit.

Everyone stood. "Do you really think you'll have news by then?" Harry asked, clearly disbelieving." Sherlock turned back buttoning his suit coat. "No I think I'll have the photographs."

"One can only hope you're as good as you seem to think." Harry's voice was dripping with scorn.

"I'll need some equipment, of course." And he looked to me.

I looked down at my feet and then back up, thinking. "Anything you require, I'll have it sent over."

"Can I have a box of matches?"

"I'm sorry?" Harry looked confused.

"Or your cigarette lighter, either will do." And he held out his hand free hand to Harry.

"No, I don't smoke."

"No I know you don't, but your employer does." John looked confused as Harry reached into his pocket to pull out the lighter.

"We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm not the commonwealth," he said as he took the lighter.

"And that's as modest as he gets." John informed Harry. "Pleasure to meet you." He said as he followed my brother out of the room.

"Laters!" Sherlock called in an accent not his own.

John looked back briefly and I rolled eyes. Why did he have to be so tedious?

***

After the funeral was the biggest fight that I recall us ever having and my memory is impeccable. And it was over Mummy of course. My father was wrapping up things with the lawyer and somehow the staff never heard us. Or perhaps their were simply tired of our fighting and chose not to intervene this time.

"You stupid little freak!" I shouted at him.

"Don't you dare!" He screeched back. "Don't you dare call me that!"

"Well it's what you are! Even for a Holmes you're abnormal. Freak!"

"It's all your fault!" He screamed back at me.

"Like hell it is." I scoffed, folding my arms. "If you hadn't been playing that infernal thing while I was trying to do homework, she would still be here!"

"I was learning it for her. She asked me to learn it so she could hear it once more before she died. And now because you burned my violin, she wasn't able to hear it! I almost had it Mycroft!"

"Like hell you did. It sounded like cats in heat."

"You take that back!" He flew at me in rage and I hit him back. We were snarling and tearing at each other. This went on for sometime until a knee to his gut caused him to go limp in my arms. I pushed him away with a grimace. I stood up and spat out blood. I checked my tooth. It was a little loose but nothing too bad. Nothing I thought I needed to see a dentist for.

I looked down at his limp body and resisted the urge to kick him. I wiped my chin of blood. I looked around for something to wipe my hand on but there was nothing in sight and then I looked down at the state of my clothing. They were ripped in several places blood and dirt covering spots. I didn't even know whose blood it was. I ran my hands over my body and realized the only blood I had came from my mouth from his initial strike.

Which meant the blood was his. I turned him over. I was only defending myself, I thought weakly. His nose was bleeding and he had a cut on his cheek. His arms and what little I could see of his chest was starting to turn purple. I winced. I had a few bruises of my own but this…

This was almost like that first time with the boys and the rebar. I lifted him up. He stayed limp. I carried him up to his room. I laid him gently in the bathtub so that I could tend his wounds. I went and got a med-kit. I took it up to his room and set it on the toilet seat next to the bath. I carefully removed his clothes. I winced with every bruise and cut that revealed itself on his skin.

I had done this. I had done more damage than all those boys put together. And I was suppose to protect him. I could feel an ache in my chest. My stomach twisted and I fought to choke down the bile in my throat.

When I finally had him stripped I carefully wrapped up his clothes and took them to my room. I changed my clothes and took all but a small piece of cloth that had torn from his shirt that was covered in his blood and burned the rest. I took the cloth and tucked it under my pillow.

I dashed back to the bathroom. He was still laying there limp. I pulled down the shower head and began rinsing off his body of blood and dirt. Once he was clean I began putting on anti-septic, grateful he wasn't awake to feel this. I carefully wrapped his cuts with clean white bandages.

I gently prodded his ribs but it didn't feel broken. So only bruised then. I wrapped his ribs too. I went to his room and got his pajamas and brought them back to the bathroom. I dressed him, slowly and carefully, like he was made of glass. Once he was dressed I lifted him up and took him to his bed.

I moved to leave, but I looked back and in the glimmering light I thought I saw a tear glisten on his eyelashes but as quickly as it came it was gone and I couldn't be sure I saw it all.