Chapter One

Eight Years Later.

His eyelids opened, slowly letting the light flood his vision. He sighed as the sound of birds chirping outside his large bedroom window pierced his ears. His body felt dirty; he'd clearly been sweating through the night due to the warmth of the family home. The teenager groaned and rolled to his side, checking the time on his digital alarm clock. 06:32. He exhaled disappointedly, he knew he had to get out of bed. Sherlock sat up sharply, feeling his shirt stick to his torso. He threw the covers away from him, almost desperate to let his body breathe. Do I really have to suffer another day with those stupid humans? He asked himself, while rubbing his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up even more. Sherlock contemplated that thought for a couple of seconds more, before tutting and forcing himself to stand up. His pyjama trousers fell slowly to the floor from being bunched up to his knees for the majority of the night. He searched the room, his eyes locked on a white, cotton towel. He snatched the towel off the armchair that was propped up against the window. Sherlock turned and headed for the door. He yanked it open, the handle smacking against the wall, letting his family know that he was up.

Sherlock shuffled towards the bathroom, his eyes still partly closed due to the crusty sleep that has formed around them. He needed a shower. Just as he reached his destination, Sherlock was suddenly shoved into the wall, waking the teenager up completely.

"What the fu-"

"It seems that it is my turn to use the bathroom first, brother mine. You do take a terribly long time in the mornings. I suspect it's because you like to masturbate in the shower, as you think that no one can hear you if the water is running. Except that we can, quite clearly too. I would apologise for my intrusion but it would be a lie-I'm not sorry at all. Now, if you'll excuse me." The elder boy strutted into the bathroom.

"Mycroft! I swear if yo-" The door slammed in Sherlock's face.

Sherlock closed his eyes, inhaling deeply to swallow the anger that was close to erupting from inside his chest. He dropped the towel on the floor as he marched down the corridor to his parents' bedroom. I can't wait until he moves out! He thought as he knocked on the bedroom door. He paused for a moment listening for a voice that granted him his entry to the room.

"Come in." Mr Holmes called. Sherlock stormed into the room. He folded his arms as his feet came to a halt at the bottom of the king-sized bed. Mr Holmes eyed his son over his glasses, noticing Sherlock was upset.

"What now?" He sighed as he put the newspaper he was read down on his lap.

"Mycroft's being insufferable. Again." Sherlock huffed.

"Sherlock, how many times do I have to tell you? He's your brother, it's his job to annoy you."

"Well because he's doing his job so well, I can't have a shower before I leave for school! So I'm really glad that you think this is acceptable. You must be so proud." Sherlock spat. Mr Holmes slowly reaches up to take his glasses off, before glaring at his youngest son.

"Sherlock." He warned, his voice stern and noticeably colder than before. "Don't start. Not today."

The teenager unfolded his arms and sat on the bed, his attitude changing. "I'm sorry." His forehead creased as he thought to himself.

Mr Holmes moved towards Sherlock, wrapping his arm over his shoulders. "I don't know why you let Mycroft get to you so much. You know he only presses your buttons because he knows you'll react. If you ignore him, he'll stop." He watched as Sherlock nodded in response.

"I know." Sherlock mumbled under his breath.

"You can use my shower, if needs must. There's a towel in the airing cupboard you can use. You need to stop letting temporary problems stress you out. Think of them as a little game instead. You'll be happier in the long run, I promise you." The elder spoke quietly, knowing his son needed this advice.

Sherlock smiled at his father. "Thank you, father. You always know what to say." Sherlock couldn't express how much he meant those words.

Mr Holmes watched his son as Sherlock stood and headed for the en suite bathroom. Sherlock suddenly stopped in his tracks as looked to his father.

"I love you." Sherlock said softly.

Mr Holmes's heart swelled at the words. "I love you too, son. To the moon and back." He smiled as Sherlock resumed his journey to the bathroom.


Sherlock fingered the buttons of his blazer, staring at himself in the mirror. He couldn't help but think about how horrific the day would be. The first day back at school meant nothing but insults from idiotic human beings, and classes that were pathetically easy. His brow furrowed as he thought deeper. How long will it be before Mr Thomas puts me in detention for stating a couple of obvious facts? He smirked at the thought.

"You do realise that you're going to be late." Mycroft's voice sounded from the bedroom doorway.

Sherlock's head turned towards him. "Wrong. It's only quarter to eight. I'm not late yet."

"No, but you will be if you don't come down for breakfast soon. You know how much Mummy worries when you don't eat."

"Yes, but then she also worries that you eat too much, Mycroft." Sherlock tested his brother. "Speaking of which, how's the diet going?"

Mycroft's eyes squinted at him, daring him to continue. Once he realised that Sherlock wasn't going to test him further, Mycroft turned to walk to the kitchen. "Do hurry up, Sherlock." Mycroft called over his shoulder before walking away from his younger brother.

Sherlock shook his head to clear his thoughts. He glanced at the mirror once more. The fifteen year old boy ruffled the curls on top of his head, before following Mycroft's footsteps.

Sherlock strolled into the kitchen with his hands in his pockets, to find his mother slaving away over the stove.

"Good morning, my boys!" She grinned. Sherlock and Mycroft exchanged looks. She's chirpy. "Do you want some breakfast?" Mrs Holmes gestured down to the frying pan in her hand. "I'm making pancakes, and there's tea and honey."

Ugh, too chirpy.

Mycroft plonked himself down at the table, his fingers lacing together in front of him. Sherlock followed, sitting in the chair next to his brother. The teenager put his feet up on the table.

"Mike?" She questioned. The name caused the boys to look at their mother.

"Mycroft is the name you gave me, if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end." Mrs Holmes's mood faltered slightly, though she quickly recovered.

She sighed at her eldest child before speaking. "You didn't answer my question."

"Yes, though I'll only have a small amount if that's quite alright." Mycroft smiled politely at his mother. Mrs Holmes's eyes moved to Sherlock.

"What about y-William Sherlock Scott Holmes, get your feet off my table!" She cried, gasping at her son's bad manners. Mycroft glared at Sherlock, warning him not to upset her.

Sherlock rolled his eyes before moving his feet. He sat up straight in his chair. "Could you not use that God awful name?" Sherlock spoke through his teeth. He truly hated his birthname.

Suddenly, Mrs Holmes dropped the plate she was holding back onto the counter with a bang, making Mycroft jump. Sherlock just huffed in annoyance. Here we go.

"You know, I was having such a lovely morning. Peaceful, even. But you two had to go and ruin it!" She stared at the two brothers, accusing them both.

"Me?" Mycroft questioned. "I think you'll find it was Sherlock's fault."

"Oh shut up Mycroft, you think you're the smart one, but you're not." Sherlock grumbled.

"I am the smart one-"

"Shut up!" Mrs Holmes screamed angrily. The boys went silent in result. "I've had enough of the both of you." The woman shook her head as she turned the stove off. She suddenly looked exhausted. "Everyday. Every fucking day, I wake up and I come downstairs and make you two breakfast. We have staff that would happily do that for me, but no, I do it because I want to. I feel it's a time to bond with my children. Yet you two do nothing but argue and bicker, and it's exhausting. I'm tired of listening to it. I've had enough."

The two boys slouched in their chairs. It had been a long time since they'd heard their mother shout like that, and even then it was never aimed at themselves. Mycroft glanced at Sherlock, trying to read what his brother was thinking. But Sherlock's eyes never left his mother.

"Therefore," The elder woman eventually continued. "Things need to change." Her voice had softened but was still stern. Her eyes moved to her eldest son. "Mycroft, it's time for you to move out. You're twenty two years of age, now. It's time to act like it. Your father and I will help you with everything, and you know you'll always have a home here. But for now, it's time for you to go."

Mycroft watched his mother with uncertainty before nodding slowly. "If you insist." He agreed quietly.

"Thank you. You have until the end of the week. And you," Mrs Holmes's head snapped towards Sherlock. "I know you don't like people, but if your attitude in school does not change dramatically, well. Let's just hope we don't come to that."

Sherlock's heart sank. Nothing really got to him anymore, but seeing his mother like this was a close call. "Yes, mummy." He spoke in an almost whisper.

Mrs Holmes frowned at her sons. She glanced down at the cooling food in front of her. "Maybe," She shook her head. "Maybe if Eurus was still with us, things wouldn't be this way." She choked out, tears building up in her eyes. She breathed, swallowing the lump in her throat.

The boys' watched their mother's every move. For a small moment, all her emotions were on show. All cards were on the table. Sherlock coughed uncomfortably. Mrs Holmes snapped out of her thoughts at the sound, and looked up to her boys.

"Sherlock, you best get going." She stated, reverting back to her emotionless self. "Wouldn't want you to be late."

There was a long pause between the three relatives. The silence was deafening. Mrs Holmes nodded to herself before walking out of the kitchen. Sherlock and Mycroft watched her go, the quiet being broken by the dragging motion of her slippers on the floor.

Mycroft sighed, his hands coming up to rub his eyes. Just as Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, they were disturbed by their butler.

"Mycroft, Sherlock." He nodded to the boys and they returned the gesture. "Sherlock, are you ready to leave?" He asked.

Sherlock stood from the chair and nodded. "Yes, thank you David." Sherlock's voice came out raw. He cleared his throat and his mind before adding "Let's go."

The two left the kitchen, leaving Mycroft with his thoughts and the now cold pancakes.