John chucked heartily as he imagined little Sherlock running around the room dressed as a pirate. "Definitely a handful. I'm guessing you never did anything like that yourself" Mycroft paled, an image of a small red-headed boy dressed as Robin Hood complete with arrow and bow, springing to his mind. "No. Never"

Mary's lips curled, a cute little dimple peeking out from one cheek. "So you two were obviously close, so then..what happened? The way John makes it sound, you two were enemies" Mycroft nodded. "We were friends, until I left home."

Sherlock didn't really have any friends growing up. Not for lack of trying. But because of his intellect, the fact he ended up skipping a few grades early on, he found it extremely difficult to make any. It didn't help that they thought him stuck up and arrogant due to his intelligence and lack of on their part. Or they fact that teachers ignored the bullying he later faced because they thought he was a freak as well. On many occasions he would come home with a split lip or a black eye.

It did not help that our home life was less than favourable. Father and mummy were never at home and when they were father had rowing matches with my younger sibling. They had never gotten on after the football incident. Father was strict and old fashioned. He expected Sherlock to obey his every rule and whim but Sherlock was the rebel, the defier. He hated the rules, I did myself I must admit, but I was the dutiful son. Sherlock did not wish to follow in his father's footsteps. On more than one occasion I saw him slap my brother. I did nothing, I was too afraid of my father, he still had power over me. I was young and foolish. And so I did the only thing I could do to escape my father, I left for college.

I had watched a bubbly little boy turn into a quiet one. Who ultimately ended up a moody, sullen teenager. You might say thats typical of a teenager and in some ways it is, but my brother,as you well know, was anything but typical. I still checked up on my younger sibling from time to time. Like most teens he listened to loud music. Instead of rock however he would play classical music as loud as possible. He rejected the suits father used to insist we wear, in favour of jeans and tshirts. He escaped from his room whenever possible until when he was sixteen father had had enough and sent him to boarding school.

Sherlock by now had fabricated an outward persona for himself. The uncaring sociopath. He believed this would save him from the rejection he would feel from attempting to make friends and he also hoped the bullies would leave him alone. He locked up his heart and hid it behind a wall. It didn't stop the bullying, but it was not as worse as before because Sherlock had become adapt had hiding his emotions. A family trait of course. As a result, lack of friendship meant he never properly developed the social niceties that most of us did. Since the bullying continued to happen, Sherlock resolved to find a way he could fight back, words seem to only make things worse, so he studied boxing and a few different martial art styles. But in reality, I think this got him into more trouble.

He had a few acquaintances, and it was these acquaintances that pulled him into the world of drugs. Im not sure when exactly he started but several occasions when he was sixteen, I would come and visit and find him stoned. I would lecture him and he would promise over and over again that he would stop. Until finally, during his final year of school I'd had enough of the promises. He wasn't going to stop. He was bored, he needed things to either stop or occupy his mind. I understood, I suffered from the same affliction but I had turned my mind to intellectual pursuits and the government. Sherlock had turned to drugs. I sent him to rehab when he was seventeen. And again when he was nineteen. He overdosed twice. Even after all this he still continued to use.

"Sherlock you are ruining your mind!"

"Piss off Mycroft"

"..You aren't even listening to me!..You're..you're high right now aren't you? Aren't you! Answer me Sherlock!" His brother burst into a fit of giggles, pointing at his brother's face. "Hey 'Croft, why so red?" Mycroft glared daggers and fumed. He grabbed his brother's collar and pulled him upwards.

"Listen to me Sherlock, you have to go back to rehab. It's for your own good! You have a brilliant mind and if you continue as you are you will destroy it! Please, do it for yourself. Not for me. I care about you and I do not want to stand around while you slowly kill yourself. You're my only brother Sherlock.."

Sherlock waved a hand, ignoring his brother's heart felt plea. "We used to be so close Sherlock, what went wrong? What did I do?" Sherlock glared this time. "You left me. Alone. You're the only person with gifts like mine. Father thinks me a freak, a good for nothing. Mummy is always upset, and you, this is all your fault. You told me be proud of my gifts, use them always, don't feel shame in having them. So I did and look what good it did me? No fucking friends, constantly bullied and unloved. Thanks 'Croft, great advice. Remind me never to take it again"

Saddened and unsure how to respond, I left. I knew deep down nothing I said would get through to him. Even if I forced rehab upon him, he'd just continue. But I refused to give up on him. And then one day he met an Inspector and everything changed. But it wasn't until he met you John that I feel he felt truly happy. Something was missing and you were it. Someone who understood him.

Thank you John. Thank you. You were the brother I once was and could never be again.

John's eyes were welled up with tears. Oh Sherlock, if only we'd been at school together I would have shown you that you weren't alone, I would have beaten up those bullies, stopped you from using, or tried to. I would have been your friend. But then I was your friend and I still couldn't save you. Shit. God I still miss you.

Mary dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and gave Mycroft a wavering smile. Mycroft returned it with one of his own. "There, I think thats enough of an emotional display from myself for a long time. Keep that for awhile John. It brings me nothing but sad memories right now." John nodded, cradling the album. "Thanks Mycroft, you didn't have to tell those stories, but I'm glad you did, I feel I understand him a bit better now. Thanks" He shook the offered hand and stood. "Me and Mary better be going but, it was good seeing you. Maybe, you'll pop around near Christmas?"

"I'll be sure to try. Goodbye John"

"Bye Mycroft"

"Made the copy yet Seb darling?"

"Yes Jim." The sniper gave an exasperated sigh. He handed the criminal a red envelope before leaving to go to the kitchen, desperately in need of a beer. The consultant criminal smiled with delight and took out his pen, scribbling a name and address onto the paper and licking the stamp seductively, before placing it in the corner.

"Mail this for me, Sebby"

"Do it yourself, you have legs"

"I also have enemies"

"Fine. But if I get shot, you have to make your own dinner"

"Of course Sebby, now off you pop"

Sebastian rolled his eyes and snatched the letter from his employers hands before stuffing it in his jacket and leaving the apartment. As he stuffed it in a mailbox he wondered briefly, the recipients expression when he saw the contents. Perhaps now Jim will turn his mind to more important matters and leave the Holmes brothers alone for awhile.

One could only hope.