New chapter! You might want to go back and read the first part of this but it might make sense without it. Enjoy! :D Warning for child abuse and implied suicide.

And they say
She's in the Class A Team
Stuck in her daydream
Been this way since 18

"Sherlock?" Mycroft said quietly. He had expected him to be distraught, any child would be. He was more concerned as to how the dark bruise came to be on his face. It was obviously fresh, probably made yesterday. Yesterday. Mycroft wanted to whisk his ten year old brother away from the place after what had happened. Yesterday their mother had died. She had been hit by a car, the circumstances of how this came to be were hazy. Witnesses said she just walked out onto the road, so there was the question of if she had…but that wasn't what mattered at this moment.

"Sherlock what happened?" Mycroft asked with more authority in his voice this time. Sherlock swallowed before answering."Father g-got angry" He stammered. "Because I asked if m-mother had meant to g-get hit." Mycroft felt anger begin to course around his body. How dare his father do this? He knew he had a bad temper but to hit his own son was unforgivable. Mycroft let out a shuddering breath before composing himself. He would have a talk with father when Sherlock was out of the way. On the subject of father however, Mycroft realised he hadn't appeared when he had arrived.
"Where is father Sherlock?" Mycroft asked his brother gently.
"His study." Sherlock sniffed.
Mycroft smiled at him. "Why don't you go up to your room Sherlock, I'm going to talk to father." He said, trying to sound unconcerned. It didn't work, Sherlock's eyes widened as he realised what "have a talk" entailed. He hesitated before telling him: "Don't make him angry." And scurrying off.

Mycroft walked along the corridor to his right to where he knew his father's study was situated. It was a splendid room, a large oak desk in the middle where his father worked surrounded by tall bookcases overflowing with countless volumes of books. It was also where Mycroft knew his father kept a bottle of whiskey in the top left drawer of his desk. As he opened the door he saw his father sitting behind the desk with his head in his hands and a half empty bottle of expensive amber liquid on his left. Mycroft cleared his throat.
"Father?" He looked up and Mycroft saw his red rimmed eyes, his silver hair bushy and untamed and wrinkles that seemed to have appeared over the year he had been away.
"Mycroft." His father slurred, smiling as if pleased to see him. "Haven't seen you for a while."
"Yes, well…" Mycroft was unsure of how to respond, which was uncommon for him. "In the circumstances." He said simply.
"Yes, yes." His father's face fell as he remembered the reason for Mycroft's visit. "Funeral's tomorrow." He rasped before taking another swig of the alcohol.
"Yes." Mycroft took a breath. It was now or never. "You and Sherlock seem to have had a disagreement." His father's face clouded at the statement.
"He was asking questions he shouldn't." He remarked darkly.
"Well you dealt with it quite violently by the looks of it. Have you seen what you've done to his face?" Mycroft asked him, the volume of his voice rising. His father sagged at the statement.
"Didn't mean to…" He muttered. "Was an accident." He finished.
"Well you better make sure it doesn't happen again." Mycroft brought his fist down on the table, almost shouting now. His father regarded him with narrowed eyes for a moment before responding.
"It won't." He said quietly. This was the moment that Mycroft made the biggest mistake of his life, the thing he would always live to regret. He gave the man a chance.

The weather on the day of the funeral was no longer reflecting Mycroft's mood, and instead decided to be bright and sunny. It seemed almost inappropriate how cheerful the weather was. The funeral was short, and neither brother cried. Their father bowed his head every so often to take a swig out of a hidden bottle. The minister said words like "bright and cheerful woman" and the coffin had lilies on it, even though Mycroft knew his mothers favourite flowers to be roses. Mycroft stayed for a few days before departing, convinced by his father's behaviour that Sherlock's bruise was a one off. And Sherlock never forgave him for it.

Like it? Then review! Thank you to ApocalypseCat (which is an awesome name btw) and phanpiggy for doing just that! :D