A/N: Hey guys. This poor little fic hasn't been updated in a while, has it? Many apologies - school had effectively gotten in the way of everything I enjoyed doing, writing included. I've also got four other fics I'm working on, and this one seemed to go straight to the back burner in the wake of Johnlock stuff.
I've only read over this chapter a couple times, myself, which... I don't know. I can't tell if it's good or not anymore. I'm hoping to close up the story in a couple more chapters. Maybe the seventh will be the final. We'll see.
As always, many thanks for reading; reviews are always loved but by no means necessary.
It was a lazy day today – Sherlock sat upside down on the parlor couch as Adrianna perched nearby, talking with Mycroft about school, dating, books, umbrellas, cake… Do they never shut up? The curly-haired boy shot icy looks at the pair, all of which went unnoticed. Hopefully the blood will rush to my ears so I can drown this prattle out. He closed his eyes and went to his "mind palace," as he deemed it, in order to escape the monotony of another boring Sunday.
"So you're going to go to college soon, huh Myc? Are you scared at all?" Adrianna was completely enthralled with Mycroft. If Sherlock hadn't known better, he would have thought she had a crush on him; fortunately he felt secure that the older brother wasn't her type, so the topic was never brought up.
Mycroft cleared his throat a bit before responding. "Well… I can't say that scared is the proper word. I would label it as more of… unsure of exactly how to feel. I'm split in my priorities – it makes everything quite difficult to categorize into 'secure' and 'insecure.' Or 'scared,' what have you." He smiled as she watched him with wide eyes.
"Mary is fairly scared of it; then again, she's got no clue what she wants to do. You're going to do government things though, right? Politics and whatnot. Sherlock told me about it once." The mention of his name made Sherlock turn right-side up in an effort to respond. However, the rush of blood from his brain was overwhelming, and he elected to double over in pain instead.
"Alright, Sherlock?" Mycroft watched the boy flop over on the floor, milking the moment for all it was worth. The elder boy raised his eyebrows as Sherlock groaned in agony; a look of worry crept across Adrianna's face. "Never you worry, my dear. He's fine." Mycroft walked over to roll his brother onto his back with a foot.
"Get your fat foot off of me, you prat." Sherlock mumbled through his hands. Mycroft nudged him roughly in the side before backing away. The sound of pain which escaped the younger boy's mouth was certainly real this time.
"Do grow up, Lockie." Mycroft stated while resuming his position in the armchair. His little brother quickly leapt from the floor and ran towards him, prepared to attack. Adrianna watched with horrified eyes as he cocked back a fist. Fortunately, Mrs. Holmes entered the room, stopping the violence without a word about it.
"Adrianna, dear, you're ride is here. Be sure to gather all your things; it's been a pleasure to have you over." She smiled as the young girl got up to get her coat.
"The pleasure's been all mine, ma'am. Really, thanks. Bye Myc! Bye Sherlock!" Adrianna called out as she left the home. Sherlock ran after her to say a proper goodbye outside.
"Adrianna! Wait!" The girl turned around to face him with a smile across her face. "I just wanted to say thanks for coming over. I do wish Mycroft would have buggered off so we could have played together."
"Awwww. Be nice, Sherly. He's your brother, and by the looks of it, he's going to be the only one you ever have. " Adrianna gave a teasing smile. "Maybe you could come to my birthday party? You don't have to bring your brother, and we'd have plenty of time to play together."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "A party? Meaning numerous others will be attending as well, I assume?" His suspicions were confirmed with a small nod.
"Not too many people; there'd be me, Mary of course, Emily – the painter in fourth grade, Richard from your class, Crispin – he's the one who loves robots, Suzie, and maybe Scarlett. Her parents grounded her, I'm not sure if she's coming."
Though he didn't enjoy the idea of having to share Adrianna's time with others, he did know she'd be angry with him for days if he didn't go. But still… Richard and Suzie? They were quite annoying separate and all but intolerable when together. Sherlock huffed before answering. "Fine. I'll go."
Adrianna gave Sherlock a big hug. "Oh thank you Sherlock! Thank you! I didn't think you'd actually want to go!" He flushed a shade of pink and stood rigid in her embrace before finally wrapping his arms around her, melting into her light touch.
"I'd do anything for you." He whispered before she broke the hug to look at him with doe eyes. Sherlock retained his composure against her surprised expression, though inside he was trembling. He'd never said anything so serious to anyone before- not Mummy or Mycroft and especially not Father. But he meant it; he would do anything to keep Adrianna happy.
She turned red and gaped at him for a moment before looking down and grabbing at the hem of her skirt. "Th… Thank you." A small smile crept back across her face, replaced by fear as the car horn sounded behind the pair. "I better get going." Adrianna tucked some hair behind her ear before leaning in to give Sherlock a peck on the cheek. "Party is on Saturday. See you then." And with that, she made a beeline to the car.
Sherlock stood, awestruck, as he watched her ride drive away. He brought a hand up to his cheek and lightly touched the spot she had planted a kiss, turning a deeper shade of pink as he turned around to find Mycroft standing on the porch.
"Well. Quite an interesting development." The older Holmes looked up to the sky. "Looks as if it's going to rain today. Come inside, Lockie. Mother's finished preparing supper." He turned back to the house, smiling. Perhaps Adrianna would be the one to save Sherlock from himself.
It was already Friday afternoon. Rain drizzled gently outside, creating minuscule rivers across the windowpanes. Mycroft sat in his room, alone for now, waiting for the hours to fly by so he could settle in to bed. Today had been nothing but trouble and had taken quite a toll on his mind. He cradled his head in his hands as the day's events flashed through his thoughts.
Mycroft had gotten up early for a meeting of the School Governmental Council; it wasn't a particularly exciting duty, but he was looking forward to it. If there was one thing he had a passion for, it would be politics. He held position of president on the council, though he would have preferred to play the part of vice president. It was much easier to stay out of the public eye when you didn't have to address the student body once per month. And when you're not the center of attention, you have much more room to exercise power.
After straightening his tie in the mirror, the boy had headed downstairs for breakfast. He walked in on Sherlock receiving a beating from Father before school; apparently the young one had mouthed off again. Mycroft felt the shock spread across his face and shoot like ice through his veins as Father delivered one, two, three… five… nine blows to the boy with both sides of his hand. Sherlock refused to show any emotion, simply staring into space as his face was roughly moved from side to side. He was held by the front of his shirt, slung backwards a bit to prevent any struggle as he endured blow after blow. He saw Myc standing in the doorway and made pleading eyes. Save me. Please. Help me.
The silent request lit a fire in the older brother's stomach; he rushed to force himself between his little brother and father, who screamed abuse and let loose a few more hits at the both of them before sodding off down the hallway. The silence lingering in the scene's aftermath was far more deafening than the yelling had ever been.
Mycroft tenderly led a dazed and bloodied Sherlock upstairs to his room. After sitting him on the end of the bed, he went to fetch a washcloth and basin of water. He'd make sure to get ice once the young boy calmed down. Upon reentering the bedroom, he found his brother staring at the wounds in the mirror, delicately tracing the already-forming bruises and bumps in disbelief. His eyes flickered to Myc, who could only give the young boy a heartbroken frown. Sherlock decided it would be ok to let loose his tears, sobbing openly with his head hung, shoulders shaking as he fell apart.
"W-why does he… Do that? Why does he hate me, Myc? I… I d-didn't ask to be b-born. I just… I just… it was an accident! I was an accident! I didn't mean to be the way I am! Honestly! I've tried to be… normal… I just… he s-said something about me and I couldn't stop the words, Myc. They just came out. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I can't be good." The younger boy fell to his knees and sobbed into his hands. Mycroft felt his heart shatter to a million tiny shards; he was certain he'd never be able to put the pieces back together after witnessing this.
"Lockie… Don't apologize." His voice was calm and tender, though the emotions inside made the speech waver quite a bit. "I'm the one who should apologize. I'm sorry I can't always protect you. I thought the beatings would stop once Father had sobered up a bit. I thought that if I distracted him with my own achievements while you tried to find your own path, he'd forget about whatever animosity he bears toward you. I'm so sorry, my dear brother, that I failed you." Mycroft took the trembling form on the floor into his arms, letting the boy weep into his shoulder for the better part of seven minutes.
Sherlock was led back to the bed in order to have his wounds properly cleaned; there wasn't much blood, but the fact that he had bled even an ounce had the older brother in a rage. Mycroft suppressed his feelings as he delicately dabbed at the cuts and bruises across the young one's face. Sherlock stared at him with eyes full of pain and confusion, wincing every so often at the feeling of cool water contacting warm wounds.
"Myc… I'm so alone in this world. No one seems to care." Sherlock offered no tears as he said this, though it was apparent they were still fighting to surface.
"Sherlock. If you choose not to listen to anything else that crosses my lips for the rest of our natural lives, then so be it. But please remember this: You are loved. And you always will be loved. I promise you, life will not remain in this horrid state forever. You are going to find other people who love you, too. People like Adrianna, who would never do a thing to hurt you." Mycroft placed his hands on Sherlock's shoulders as he continued. "One day… you are going to do magnificent things. And you are going to hypnotize someone with this unique personality of yours; completely and utterly captivate them with every movement you make, every thought you create, and every word you speak."
"Are you suffering from a sugar withdrawal?" Sherlock smiled half-heartedly at his brother. The bruises were already darkening, making his blue-green eyes shockingly bright against the purple tones. Mycroft smiled for a moment at his brother's attempt to lighten the mood.
"I'm serious, Lockie. Just don't give up. Perhaps for now, it would be best to begin reminding yourself that caring isn't always an advantage. Sympathy and sentiment make physical pain such as this so much worse in the end. It makes emotional scars and trauma quite unbearable as well. Caring fogs the mind and renders one paralyzed in high-tension situations; if you stop caring, you allow yourself to manage any circumstance calmly and flawlessly."
"I've come to my own conclusions based on my… relationship… with father. Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side. The whole reason he beats me is because he can't keep up his own expectations of life - he wants two perfect sons, a perfect wife, and a perfect household. He cares what other people think about him, and that's his utter downfall. If he didn't care… then he wouldn't feel the need to take out anger… on anyone." Sherlock's expression had calmed by this point.
Mycroft smiled solemnly at the young boy. "I couldn't agree more. However, we can wonder all we want about how things could or should be, yet it wouldn't get us any closer to becoming happy with life. For now, let's endure this torture. In a year, I'll be moved out of the house for university." Sherlock looked up with a devastated expression, wondering why his brother would bring up such a thing at this time. "I have been thinking that perhaps I could convince mother to let you come live with me. I do know she's been looking into transferring you to a new school – thought a change of scenery would convince you to begin attending regularly."
"And? What did she say?"
"She told me she would consider it. I'm not honestly sure what she will decide to do; she doesn't want to lose both her boys in the same night, yet she does know you'd be better off in a home where Father couldn't touch you." Mycroft finished cleaning off Sherlock's face, hoping he wouldn't bruise too badly. It seemed inevitable though, as the purple splotches were already beginning to overwhelm his appearance. "For now, let's focus on doing our best in school, shall we? As long as you begin regularly attending classes and showing an effort to be self-reliant, I'm sure she'll say yes to our proposal."
Sherlock frowned. "Do you think I'll be able to go to Adrianna's party tomorrow?" Mycroft smiled and shook his head. It seemed his little brother was, yet again, choosing to ignore his suggestions.
"We'll have to see how bad the bruising gets. Until then, just stay in your room and occupy yourself somehow. I'll bring ice up in twenty minutes. And behave yourself, Sherlock." He had noted a mischievous look spread across the boy's face, eyes dancing with excitement. "Provoking Father will merely result in a worse punishment."
"Mmm." Sherlock had given brother a small hug before leaving the room in a trance.
Mycroft couldn't prevent a sigh from escaping him. He curled into bed as the memory came to a close. He desperately hoped all would work out, though he couldn't ignore the fleeting bit of doubt which crossed his mind. In an attempt to ignore it, he pulled the duvet over his eyes and waited for sleep to overtake him.