To the wonderful being who is Cyberbutterfly, I have decided to add ages at the top of each chapter. Go back and check out the ages and tell me what you make of them.

Aged 6 years old.

Sherlock prodded the water gently with the branch that Mycroft had snapped down from the tree. He was up amongst the branches whilst Sherlock remained rooted to the ground. It was totally silent and all that could be heard was the settling calm of the twilight.

"Mycroft?"

"Mm?"

"Does dad hate us?"

Mycroft swung from the branch, his legs holding up as he hung upside down. He looked over at his brother. "What ever gave you that impression?"

"Don't treat me like an idiot," Sherlock said. "If he hates us then why? I can't think of anything we've done,"

Mycroft scratched his stomach. "Because, Sherlock," He said.

There was a moment of silence.

"Because what?" Sherlock asked.

"Just because. There's no real reason."

"There's always a reason,"

Mycroft sighed and jumped down from the branch. "I can't think of any logical reason as to why our father beats us up every other night,"

"Don't say that, Mycroft," Sherlock said.

"Oh you want to still please him? Fuck off, he's a Wanker and he deserves whatever is coming to him."

"Mycroft!"

"Shut up you tit,"

"You shouldn't use bad words."

Mycroft slapped his brother around the head and took the branch from him. Sherlock stared after him as he leaned down and rolled up his jeans.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Mycroft shot back, pulling out his knife and whittling down the end.

"Looks like you want to go fishing,"

"But?"

"But I thought you hated fish,"

Mycroft slapped him around the head again. "I'm not going to eat it you fanny," He said.

Sherlock frowned. "Then what are you going to do with it?"

"At school, we're allowed to use the science lab if we're smart," Mycroft replied.

"So are you going to eat it there?"

Another slap around the head. "No, I'm going to dissect the bugger, find out what makes him tick."

"But he's not a clock."

Mycroft didn't even bother replying. He finished whittling in seconds and waddled into the river.

"Is High School fun?"

"Up until you get exams, yeah, it's pretty cool," Mycroft shrugged. "And it's pretty fun until they force you into deciding what you want to do with your life."

"What do you want to do with your life?"

"Oh my god, twenty questions much?"

"What are 20 questions?"

Mycroft turned to stare at his brother. "You're an idiot." He said.

"No, I'm not!" He replied.

Mycroft gave a haughty laugh. "Prove it."

"How?"

Mycroft sniffed and looked around. He then found what he was looking for. He pointed over to a mother walking her pram around the park. "There. Tell me her story,"

Sherlock squinted. "Well… She's a mom."

"Nope."

Sherlock frowned. "Um… She's not walking all that fast."

"Better."

"She must have had her kid recently, then."

"Wrongo!"

Sherlock pouted. "Alright. What is her story?"

Mycroft shifted and sniffed. "She's sixteen years old, no wedding ring and she bears no marks of ever having a child. The pram she is pushing is apparently empty. So no child. But her mother has had one recently, at least her friend. The model of that pram is fairly new. She looks as if she has been crying. She's living on her own because there is some toothpaste on her cheek that no one has told her about. Conclusion; her mother and probably her younger brother were involved in an accident that probably killed them. She is experiencing grief so it must have been in the last couple of weeks. Ergo, she is the daughter of Irena Philips who was killed two weeks ago in a car crash along with her young son."

Sherlock stared at his brother as he tried to catch a orange fish that swam by his feet.

"Shit," He muttered.

"Were you making that up?" Sherlock asked.

"Nope,"

"Then how do you know that the pram was empty?"

"She's pushing it way too easily. If there was a child in there, then she would have difficulty pushing it over that puddle."

"She might be using it for shop-lifting!"

"Honestly Sherlock, not everything in life is bad." Mycroft replied. He struck hard into the river catching a large ugly brown fish.

"How can I be sure that you weren't just making it up?" Sherlock asked.

"Because you know when I make up crap," Mycroft replied, tossing the fish back into the water.

"Why did you throw it away?" Sherlock asked.

"Because, you have to be beautiful in life as well as intelligent to get ahead in life," His brother said. Sherlock was confused at this, but Mycroft said no more. He hit down hard on a yellow fish and sighed.

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