A/N: Very important! Please read!

So… you guys convinced me. I am going to write a few more chapters (I have no idea how many). From now on the flashbacks might not be chronological. Sherlock is thirteen in this chapter but he might be younger or older in the next one, depending on the scene Mycroft is remembering. And there will be some up to date action, you know those few sentences before and after the flashback. That said... Enjoy!

EDIT: I rewrote that chapter. I really didn't like it and I hope you like it better now. Have fun!

Chapter 3

Sherlock's message had been a shock for Mycroft; at least for the first few seconds before he began to put the pieces together. The laundry truck, the possibility of a Sherlock look alike, John not seeing his brother connecting with the ground.

Mycroft held the phone in his hand, unsure if he should reply. He was extremely annoyed, angry even at his little brother for pretending to be dead. On the other hand, however, he wanted to do nothing more than to run after him and find him.

He felt conflicted, a feeling Sherlock had often inflicted on him.

"Where is your brother?"

Mycroft looked up from his dinner. "Two weeks," he thought while chewing his meat. It had been two weeks since their father had called his youngest son by his name. "I don't know." Mycroft hadn't seen his brother today.

"Can't he be on time for once? I don't know what's wrong with that child!" Father Holmes sat his glass down with too much force and it broke; bits of broken glass cut into his hand. Mycroft refrained from sniggering.

Sherlock Holmes choose that exact moment to enter the room. Mycroft winced. His talent at reading people allowed him to know exactly what was going to happen.

"Where have you been?" Mr. Holmes waved the maid away; she'd been cleaning the cut on his hand.

Sherlock shrugged; perfectly portraying the sullen teenager. "School" He sat down opposite of Mycroft, playing with his food.

"School let out a few hours ago, you are late!" Mr. Holmes never yelled but he came quite close this time.

"Don't you wonder what happened to him?" Sherlock had a split lip, a black eye and some dried blood on the forehead. Mycroft didn't say it aloud. It wouldn't help his little brother at all. Their father would somehow manage to turn it around and use it against Sherlock.

"Very accurate observation!" Sherlock still played with his food and Mycroft made a mental note to get him to eat more. The teenager was way too thin for his age.

Mr. Holmes glared at his younger son. "Go to your room if you can't behave!"

Sherlock looked up and stared as his father. He very slowly picked a pea from his plate, put it on his fork and flicked it at his father. It hit his father on the forehead.

Mycroft closed his eyes, pinched his nose and exhaled slowly.

Mr. Holmes stood up, made his way over to his son, yanked him up and dragged him over to the door. Sherlock didn't put up any resistance. "I don't want to see you again until you remember how to behave!" He threw the teenager out of the room and closed the door forcefully.

Mycroft wanted to run after his brother but he impatiently waited until dinner was over.

Sherlock wasn't in his room and Mycroft wasn't really surprised about it. He found his little brother in his own room. There was a fresh cut under Sherlock's left eye; it was very small but obviously new. "What happened to your eye?"

The teenager continued to look at the floor and shrugged but his hand rose and touched the cut gingerly.

"Sherlock, what happened to you?"

Sherlock looked up and smiled slightly. Usually he was always there when Mycroft returned home from university; it was the first time he'd been late. "I might have gotten into a fight."

"Yes, no kidding." Mycroft sat down on his bed, next to his brother. Sherlock wouldn't look as bad as he did if it was only a one on one. "Now spill."

Sherlock raised his eyebrow and smiled a lopsided smile. "I might have said something about Timmy Redding's project at the science fair today. Honestly, it was nothing more than childsplay, but he obviously didn't like me pointing it out to his parents and the teachers. Then I told them that Redding copied the project. And what apparently made it worse was that I explained those facts when the jury announced that they wanted to award first price to Redding."

Mycroft shook his head and smiled. He put his arm around Sherlock's shoulder and held him close. "You are an idiot Sherlock. There is nothing to gain for you from pulling stunts like that."

"I know. But Redding is stupid and too much stupid makes me do things that might be perceived as less intelligent by those who can't understand me. You know that, don't you My?"

Mycroft noticed his brothers' stiff posture. He could see that there were injuries under the layers of clothing; most likely a few bruises. He wanted to comment on it but Sherlock's use of his old childhood nickname prevented him from doing so. "I still want to know what happened to you."

"Redding is on the football team. He and two of his friends surprised me in the alley behind the school and… well. I think you know."

Mycroft did know. He also knew the subtle signs that Sherlock was not going to say anything more on this topic. There had been a time when Sherlock would tell Mycroft everything that bothered him, but that was long gone. Sherlock seemed more distant lately. For the moment Mycroft felt as if he had gotten a bit of their previously close relationship back and he didn't want to do anything that could terminate it. So he decided to change the topic. "Why did you flick a pea at father?"

Sherlock looked at the floor and Mycroft had to smile. His brother looked like a young child at moments like that. He smiled and his emerald eyes glinted mischievously. "It really pushes his buttons doesn't it?"

"Sometimes I don't know if I want to hug you or smack you." Mycroft affectionately ruffled his brothers black locks.

This time Sherlock laughed out loud. "He, My? Can we play Cluedo?"

Mycroft decided that it was time to see his little brother. Knowing that he wasn't dead was incentive enough for him to find Sherlock. He had no doubt that it wouldn't be too difficult. Sherlock texting him was a sign that he wanted to be found. The older Holmes got up to leave, not before taking something out of his cupboard.

A/N.: I hope you liked it. Now, just because it would be fair, if you like it send me a review that I can like