7.
"It's a boy. Look Mycroft, this is your little brother."
Mycroft looked at the bald crying thing in his father's arms. His face was scrunched up and red. "He's crying. What does he want?"
"He probably wants his mother, but she'll be a few more moments. The nurse is with her."
"His fingers are so little."
"Yours were that little too when you were born."
"I can't imagine it."
"It's true."
"Will he keep crying? I thought that he'd be happy."
"He will be, especially with such a nice big brother as you."
"How do you know that I'll be nice? He's so small, he can't even walk."
"We'll teach him that. Well, do you like him?"
"I don't know."
"You'll learn to love him soon enough, and he will love you."
"Will he?"
"Of course he will, he's your brother."
"She's ready for you to see her now," the nurse said.
They walked into the room. Mummy Holmes was lying in the hospital bed. She was tired but smiling. Mr Holmes placed the baby in her arms and he stopped crying immediately as he stared fixedly at her face.
"I've read that babies can't really see that well when they are born," Mycroft said.
"He sees his Mummy," Mr Holmes replied.
"How can he tell that it's her? How can you tell that it's not some other baby that we picked up from the nursery, Mummy?"
"I know my baby anywhere, and he knows me. We have been the same person for nine months."
Mycroft moved closer and looked down at the baby. It was cuter now that it wasn't crying. It turned it's head and stared directly at Mycroft. He stared back. "What is it called?"
"William Sherlock Scott Holmes."
"I don't like the name William," Mycroft said.
"I'm sorry son but it's already printed on the birth certificate," his father said.
"Then, can we call him Sherlock?"
"Sherlock and Mycroft. The names do sound good together. Sherlock it is then."
"Hello, little brother. Hello Sherlock." The baby looked up at him again, and Mycroft smiled.
8.
Mr Holmes bustled about the place covering the walls and the fireplace with tinsel. Sherlock was sitting before the fire playing with his Rubik's cube.
"You're humming again, darling. Can you stop it?"
"It's Christmas, dear, if there is any day of the year that I should be allowed to hum, then it would be Christmas."
"Well, alright."
"Mother, can we have a Christmas Pudding?"
"A what dear? Where did you hear of such a thing?"
"It was in the newspaper, mama."
"And where did you get a newspaper?"
"The fish was wrapped in it."
"You've no need to go messing with any smelly old fish."
"But dear, a pudding would be nice. And it is Christmas." Mr Holmes said turning toward them. He was dressed for the season wearing green pants and a bright red bow tie.
"You already talked me into buying peppermints this year. I think that we are doing quite enough, thank you."
Sherlock rose to his feet and took Mycroft's airplane off of his stack of gifts.
"Give me that back!"
"Mycroft, let your brother see that."
"But he'll break it!"
"You should share. We are a family. You mustn't be so obsessed with personal property."
"So it's alright if I watch Dad's television then?"
"Certainly not."
Mycroft took a book off of Sherlock's stack and passed it to him in an attempt to get his airplane back, but Sherlock would not relinquish it. Mycroft became increasingly irritated, and he threw the book down on the ground.
"Mycroft!" his mother said, "Please control your temper."
"But...what's wrong with him anyway? He's two and he can't even read yet."
"Everyone doesn't proceed developmentally at the same rate."
"You mean that it's normal for some people to be stupid?"
"Son!" Mr Holmes said. A rare outburst for him.
"I'm sorry Daddy."
"Well, I'm going to check on dinner. You should go up and finish dressing."
"Do I need to wear a tie?"
"Yes."
As soon as the door closed, Mr Holmes reached into the decorations on the mantle and pulled out a marshmallow chocolate, shaped like a snowman, which he handed to Mycroft. Mycroft smiled and hid it in his pocket as he went to the door. He turned back when he heard a cracking sound. Sherlock had broken the wing off of his new airplane.
9.
The school seemed large and imposing from the front drive. The manicured, green, grounds were full of boys and their parents preparing for the new school year. Mummy Holmes adjusted Mycroft's tie as they stood beside the car. His father was removing his bags from the boot.
"What do you want me to do, Mother?"
"What do you mean, 'What do I want'?"
"What should I tell them. Should I say that I have been sick? Should I hide that I know Latin?"
"Why on Earth would you want to do that?"
"But you didn't want me to go to school before."
"Of course I didn't want it, but unfortunately, I have no choice in the matter."
"So what should I do?"
"Learn, socialize, do all those things that the other children do, but remember who you are. You are not an ordinary person. You are destined for greatness. Rise above common pursuits and petty grievances. You are not the dot on the graph. You are the one who draws the line. So try to enjoy yourself, and don't forget to call Mummy on the weekend. You have to stay here for the first ten days, but we'll take you home the following weekend." She pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Now go on."
As Mycroft walked up to the school, he was surrounded by many boys in identical uniforms, some were the same age, and some were older. He followed them into the hall and stood around looking at the wood paneled walls and the chairs. Someone touched his shoulder.
"Hello."
Mycroft turned to stare at the brown headed boy, only then remembering his manners, "Hello."
"My name is Robert Chatham. Who are you?"
"Mycroft, Mycroft Holmes."
"This your first term?"
"Yes."
"Mine too. My brother David has been here for two years though. That's him over there with the older boys. You can call him Chatham major and I am Chatham minor. Well, that's what he told us they would call me. You can just call me Robert if you want. Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
"I have a little brother."
"Is he school age?"
"No, he's still a baby."
"But one day he'll come here, and then you can be Holmes the elder."
"Perhaps, but I don't think that he'll be coming here."
"Why not?"
"Well, he's not very smart. He's been able to hold a pencil for a year now, and he still hasn't mastered long division."
Robert laughed, "You're funny Mycroft. Let's hurry up, they're about to make the address, and I hear that the puddings on the first day are the absolute best!"
"Puddings?"
"Yes, they should have two kinds of puddings and three cakes, at least that's what my brother tells me. It takes a bit of getting used to, he said, but I think that you'll really like it here."
"I think that I may," Mycroft said following him inside.
10.
Sherlock was five. He stood in the living room in his footy pajamas with a stuffed bear under his arm. "Where is Daddy? He was going to read to me."
Mrs Holmes sat at her desk, an array of bills laid out before her. "He had to stay late at work. Just go to bed."
"But Mummy, the monsters come out of the closet if you don't read to them?"
"Where on Earth do you get these ideas, Sherlock?"
"Mummy, can you read to me?"
"I'm doing the accounts. Mycroft!"
Mycroft was sitting in the large armchair. He unfolded himself from the seat and rose to his feet. He had grown taller in his years at school, and wider from the very good dinners served there. He walked over to his mother and stood beside her.
"Yes, Mummy, what is it?"
"Go read to your brother."
"But I was studying!"
"You can study later. Your brother needs someone to read to him. Go do it!"
"Yes Mummy," he said slinking out after Sherlock as he ran up to his room.
When he reached the room, sherlock was already in bed with his bear beside him.
Mycoft strolled in. "So what have you been reading?"
Sherlock pointed at the table. There was a book with a blue cover. It read The boy's book of moralistic tales.
Mycroft picked it up and leafed through the pages. "That's what you've been reading?" he said. Sherlock nodded. "No wonder you can't sleep. These stories are boring. Wait just a minute."
Mycroft ran out of the room and returned with his book bag. He closed the door behind him and pulled out a book with a red cover. There was a skull and crossbones on it. He handed the book to Sherlock who stared at the skull a strange smile coming over his face that grew as he opened the book to look at the pictures of sailing ships and swords, and blood.
"Great pirate stories?" Sherlock said. "What is it about?"
"It's about pirates, you idiot!"
"I know that, but what do they do?"
"They sail the seven seas and capture other ships stealing from them. They become incredibly wealthy, and some of them set themselves up as rulers on islands. They bury treasure, and fight dirty, and do all sorts of fun things."
"I don't think that Mummy will like me reading this kind of story."
"Then don't tell her that we're reading it. Alright, where shall we begin? I know. The story of Redbeard, the pirate. 'Go tell your king, he is the king of the land, but I am the king of the sea.'"
11.
It was a bright September day, when the Holmes family arrived on the grounds of the school as they had so many years ago when Mycroft had first come here. Sherlock was the first out of the car, followed by his mother. Mrs Holmes looked down at her youngest child and brushed a tear from her eye. Then she bent over to adjust his tie. "Sherlock will you stop fidgeting?"
"I don't like ties."
"Well you'll have to wear one from now on. I suppose that I should have been more strict with you and made you wear a tie to dinner like I did with Mycroft. Now stand still, I'm almost done."
Sherlock jumped away as soon as she was done. He looked up at the building surrounded by sculpted trees and flowered vines. "So, I'm to live here now?"
"Part of the time. You'll come home on the weekends," his mother said.
Mycroft climbed out of the car and stood looking up at the school. His chest puffed up, and he smiled. Sherlock looked at him. Then he took his bag and started walking toward the entrance. Mycroft walked beside him, matching his pace.
"Why won't you be coming to school with me, Mycroft?"
"I can't. You know I'm at Harrow now."
"But I don't want to go to boarding school."
"It's better than that horrid state school that they made you go to before."
"But what if they don't like me?"
"What should it matter if they like you or not? It is a simple matter of observation to find their motivations, then you can help them get what they want, and they will be happy to call you a friend."
"I tried to help people in my old school, but when I told Terry Jones that he didn't have what he wanted for lunch because his mother was too drunk to realize that she had used butter instead of jam, he hit me."
"Well, it might be a good idea to tread carefully when talking about other's families."
"But you just said...Do you have any useful advice to give me, Mycroft?"
"Only that you mustn't talk to Mr Williams until he has had his first cup of coffee in the morning, and that the deserts today are sure to be excellent. I might just pop into the kitchen and see if they can spare a slice of cake for an alumn."
"So, that's why you came to see me off, for the cake? I should have known that it was not concern for me."
"Of course I am here for you! While it is true that I also plan to talk to some of my former instructors and get a few introductions, I had to come and watch you get your first taste of freedom. You will finally be able to grow now that you are out from under Mummy's domineering thumb."
"You're mad at Mummy? What for?"
"Too many things to name at this time. I keep a file on my computer, and update it twice a year. The very first thing on the list is that banana cake."
"Cake! is that all that you think of Mycroft? You are fat enough as it is."
Mycroft frowned. Then he patted his brother on the shoulder. "Well, I see Mr Williams on the lawn, so I'm off. Have a good year at school, brother dear. I'll keep in touch."
"Don't bother. I won't be sending you any desserts by post."
Mycroft smiled at him and then walked stately across the lawn, while Sherlock filtered into the building behind the other new boys.
