A/N.: There you go guys, I hope you like it!

Chapter Four

The sweet sound of a violin came from the two-story building. Mycroft recognized the tone as Beethoven's concerto for the violin. It had always been his brother's favorite. Mycroft entered the building and continued up the stairs. The old wood creaked but Sherlock didn't stop; he was obviously expecting someone.

Mycroft hadn't been home for nearly a month. He had called Sherlock twice and had chatted with him for a few minutes but it hadn't been nearly the same. He was looking forward to seeing his little brother again; especially since he had missed his fifteenth birthday.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft entered the mansion and was surprised that no one came to greet him. He looked around for a bit and found his brother in his room. "Hey."

Sherlock looked at him for a second and stared back at his book. He pretended to read but Mycroft could tell that his eyes weren't focused on the words.

Mycroft sat down and regarded his brother closely. The fifteen year old was too thin; he had dark rings under his eyes and looked haunted. The mirth that had been an always present companion in those green eyes was nearly completely gone and Mycroft wondered why. "Did you get my present?"

"Present?" Even Sherlock's voice sounded tired.

"Yes. I sent it to you; it should have been here a few days ago. I thought you might enjoy getting your present on your birthday rather than later. Did you have a nice celebration?"

Sherlock sat up and threw his book on the ground. Mycroft leant forward and read the title: "Identifying chemical residue by their flame coloration".

"I didn't celebrate. Apparently birthdays are only an occasion to be happy about if one is you."

Mycroft was taken aback. "Me? What do you mean?" He remembered their father's love of comparing the two brothers. "Did father say something?"

"No." Now there was hate in Sherlock's eyes. Surprisingly enough it was only in his eyes the rest of him showed no emotion at all, he didn't even raise his voice. "He said nothing. Not a word. I haven't spoken to him in three days."

"Is he at home?" Mycroft knew that there was no chance to mend the gap between father and son. It had been there too long without anyone trying to close it. Now he had to be very careful or it would find its way between the two brothers as well.

Sherlock shook his head, picked up his book and continued reading.

Mycroft decided that not coming home for the last month had been a serious mistake. Sherlock was drifting away and Mycroft didn't like it. The elder Holmes left the room and headed to his father's study. He had a fair idea about where Sherlock's present might have ended up.

Sherlock threw his book at the door after Mycroft closed it. Honestly, he didn't care about the book; he'd already memorized the content after the first time he read it. He swung his long legs out of his bed and got up. He really didn't know how he was supposed to feel about his brother. He loved Mycroft dearly, but there was a small voice in the back of his head that told him that he wouldn't have any problems with his father if Mycroft wasn't there. That voice had grown louder and louder during the last year; it only ever stopped complaining when Mycroft came home from uni because then Sherlock was reminded of how wonderful it was to have a big brother.

The teenager produced a pack of cigarettes out of his pockets and lightened one. He inhaled the smoke deeply; it helped him to think. He looked outside the window and his eyes fell onto the old tree house that had been his hideaway for so many years. His father only found it a few weeks ago; you didn't see it if you didn't know where to look. He threatened Sherlock to cut the tree it was built upon if he didn't behave and the teenager knew that he wouldn't live up to his father's standard sooner or later. It was better to detach himself from his childhood memory.

Sherlock spun around and raised an eyebrow at Mycroft.

"Go ahead." Mycroft handed him a package. "What is it?" The older Holmes decided not to comment on the smoking. He knew his brother had started a few weeks ago, it was easy to tell. Their father had most likely forbidden Sherlock to smoke and Mycroft really didn't want to say anything that would put him on their father's side.

It was a tradition between the Holmes boys. Sherlock loved to guess his present before ripping off the wrapping paper.

Sherlock's incredibly long fingers carefully touched the package. His eyes lit up and Mycroft felt himself relax slightly. It was as if the old Sherlock, the child Sherlock made a brief appearance. "It's hand wrapped," muttered Sherlock turning the parcel upside down. "There is some sort of a casket inside. It's heavy." He smelled the package. "Something wooden, I guess." He shook the package very carefully and a smile appeared on his lips. "Is it a violin?"

Mycroft nodded. He happily watched as Sherlock tore the paper off and opened the casket with childlike enthusiasm. Mycroft handed Sherlock a few music sheets for beginners and an empty music notebook. "It is for your compositions. I hardly think that learning how to play it will give you any trouble."

Sherlock carefully put the violin on his bed. He looked at Mycroft, clearly trying to decide something. Suddenly a wide grin spread on his lips and he threw himself at his older brother, wrapping his arms tightly around him. "Thank you My. Thank you so much!"

Mycroft patted his brothers back and felt incredibly happy. When he went to bed that evening it was to the sounds of a badly played violin. However, to Mycroft, it was the sweetest sound imaginable.

"I have been expecting you."

"I know." Mycroft looked at his brother. He didn't look worse than before he had died.

Sherlock turned around and his eyes fell on the package under Mycroft's arm.

"Happy birthday, brother." Mycroft handed the package over and Sherlock couldn't prevent the grin slipping on his face when he discovered a board game that he knew well. Mycroft had given him Cluedo.

A/N.: Here you go guys. Hey, do you know what surprises me? I can see how many people visit this story. Last chapter there were 128 visitors and two reviews. I mean, I'm incredibly honored if those two guys visited 128 times, but that's not how the statistic words. Anyway… what I mean is that it really means a lot to me if you review, even if you only send two words, or one word, or a smiley face… you get my drift

I wish all of us a successful week! (I have two tests, two laboratory days, 1 presentation and an exercise to survive and I hope it is nicer for all of you!)