Here it is, chapter 2. I'm glad that lots of people are enjoying it already. This is where the violence starts, so if you don't want to read about abuse or bullying then please don't read this. There are worse chapters, but this is where everything starts. Thank you for reading and please review if you enjoy it! :)

Chapter 2

A 4-year-old

Ever since Mycroft's parents had brought home his little brother, Sherlock, he had loved him. He could see his own intelligence in him and he liked it. From that moment they immediately had a connection like no one had ever seen Mycroft have with a person. He, at the time, was 7-years-old. He didn't have a care in the World, except for his school work. He wanted to do well, and he knew what he had to do to get there. As soon as his parents had told him that he would be getting a little brother or sister, Mycroft had planned out lessons on everything. He was the most excited out of the Holmes family. His parents didn't share his excitement and joy. Especially considering Sherlock had been born a boy, instead of a girl.

(4th birthday)

"Mycroft? What are you doing?" Sherlock's dark and curly hair bounced as he did. He flew through the door into his brother's room. He always looked forward to his lessons with his older brother, who was now 11.

"Sherlock. I don't have time right now. I'm doing algebra ready for September. You wouldn't understand it." Mycroft wasn't in a good mood today. Both Sherlock and their parents had started to notice slight changes in Mycroft's attitude.

"What's wrong Mycroft?" At this age Sherlock had an inner sweetness. He didn't like to see his brother angry, nor sad. "September is months away. I'm sure I will understand..." Sherlock started to rock from heel to toe. He always wanted to learn something new.

Mycroft sighed and flicked his head to tell Sherlock to come closer. "Well." He paused and turned to his younger sibling, "Since it's your 4th birthday; I suppose I could let you." Mycroft smiled at Sherlock. He enjoyed looking into his eyes and seeing the different colours follow each other around the iris. He stroked Sherlock's long hair and then placed him upon his knee. "I'll give you an easy sum first, okay?" Sherlock simply nodded and then looked at the paper in front of him. "This sum, 2x=2y+4, you need to re-arrange it to make 'y' the subject. Okay?" Sherlock immediately picked up the pencil that lay beside his hand and started to scribble onto the paper. He could already read and write, much to his parent's surprise. It was the assistance from Mycroft that helped him to learn. After 30 seconds of Mycroft watching Sherlock scribble he looked at the piece of paper and read the answer, "y=x-2... Well done Sherlock." He then patted his younger brother on the head and pulled his curls out of his face. "Come on. Birthday time!" Mycroft was actually more excited about his brother's birthday than Sherlock was.

"I chose it especially for you." Mycroft smiled at Sherlock. He was the only one in the family that actually cared about his brother and his 'feelings'. Though, he'd started to teach him that 'feeling's were a waste of time.

"I like the wrapping, Mrycroft!" A small and fragile Sherlock beamed at his brother's gift. "The book, however..." Sherlock's face changed expression quickly. To Mycroft he looked as though he was about to cry. "I LOVE IT!" He burst out of his chair and wrapped his tiny hands around Mycroft's neck. He then whispered into his ear, "Thank you." Mycroft let his brother down and walked over to his parents.

"What did you give him, Mummy?" Her stare looked deep into Mycroft's heart.

"We, Mycroft, did not get him anything."

"He doesn't deserve anything like you do, my boy." His father pat Mycroft's shoulder and then returned to his straight looking position. Mycroft almost screamed at his parents. He couldn't believe that they hadn't gotten Sherlock anything. On the other hand, he could see their point. He knew himself that he was the favourite of the parents, and he was happy it was that way.

"That was the first day that you started to eat less. Shame really. It was also the first day Father..."

Sherlock interrupted his brother's speech, "The first day Father beat me." his eyes were staring down deep into the table. They hadn't moved since the conversation had began.

"How's your book, Sherlock? I know how much you want to be a pirate when you grow up." Mycroft chuckled to himself. He enjoyed making his brother happy and he could see from the way that Sherlock laughed as the pictures jumped out at him, that he was very happy with his present.

"I can't WAIT to be a pirate, Mycroft." Both Sherlock's eyes and fingers traced the pictures both inside the book and on the pop-outs. He loved the fantasy of being a pirate.

"Sherlock!" Their father shouted at the top of his voice to them. He sounded extremely angry, and that filled Sherlock with a slight fear. He jumped out of the chair and ran for his father's call. "What have I told you about running in the house, Sherlock?" After his words were finished, he punched Sherlock's left cheek. Sherlock could feel pain all over his face and then his ribs. His father kicked him straight in the chest. The bruising was already starting to appear due to the force of the kick. Sherlock didn't know what to do; he covered his eyes and crawled into a ball. "If I catch you running again, boy, you know what will happen." His father walked away from him, into the dining room, leaving Sherlock broken on the floor.

He could feel his heart pounding faster. He had never felt pure fear of his father, nor anything in his life. But from this moment onwards, Sherlock would never end a day without being beaten or kicked by his father, until he was 11. "Sherlock?" His vision was blurry but he could just make out Mycroft's figure wiping his face and carrying him upstairs. Mycroft placed his brother onto his bed and then ran to get one of the maids. Even though Mycroft was exceptionally intelligent, he didn't know what to do right now.

"What's happened Master Mycroft?" Her voice was sweet and pleasant to Mycroft's ears.

"Please. It's Sherlock. Help." Mycroft sped ahead of her and ran toward his brother's room. When he reached it, Sherlock was standing by his window and holding his stomach. He had erased the pain from his mind at this moment and therefore told the maid to, "Please leave. I do not need your assistance."

"What are you doing, Sherlock?" Mycroft hugged the back of his brother. He didn't like seeing his brother upset, or in pain of some kind. But Mycroft was in denial. "Why did you have to make him angry? You deserve everything you get." His tone was now angry. He didn't want to side with his father, but he knew that it would keep him out of the picture. For now. And with a final push of Sherlock's head, Mycroft left and stormed down into the living room to join his parents. Never had Sherlock felt so alone.

Sherlock now remembered this day clearly. He remembered watching Mycroft leave in the the reflection of the window. "That was the first day that I hated you, Mycroft." Sherlock picked up his coffee and clutched his ribs. He could feel that first kick that his father had given him and the blow to his face. The surge of pain that he felt that day was nothing like anything he had recently experienced. Everything now was worse. "What else did you 'erase' from my memory?" Sherlock then took a sip from his mug and replaced it upon the table. Mycroft only sat and stared at Sherlock's actions.

"I don't want you to go Mycroft." It was September now, so Mycroft was moving into his Boarding School. Sherlock was waiting by the door to say goodbye to him, before he too went to school. "Why do you have to leave?" His icy-blue eyes looked up to his brother. "You won't be here to teach me algebra!" Sherlock's new favourite topics were reading and algebra. Every Thursday evening Mycroft would lead Sherlock into the study, and then teach him the extended maths that he had been learning.

"I've left plenty of books for you to read through until Christmas, Sherlock. You don't need my help any more. School will give you everything you need in terms of education. Just, try and listen to them. For me?" Mycroft went to stroke his brother's ever-growing hair. "And one more thing," He knelt and whispered into his ear, "Keep in mummy and father's good books." And with that, Mycroft kissed Sherlock's head and left for his new Boarding School. Sherlock watched the car leave the drive. He saw it vanish behind the trees along the road, and now he knew, he was alone. Just as he was about to turn back, a strong and vicious hand grabbed his arm and held his other shoulder.

"Now listen here, you little brat. If you don't behave at this school, I will beat you until the light of day cannot be seen through your little winter filled eyes. Do I make myself clear, boy?" Sherlock's Father shouted right into his face. He didn't want to turn away, however he couldn't stand the colour his face turned when he was angry. His mother gave him a clip round the ear as a goodbye. "Take him away Michael." Both of Sherlock's parents strolled back into their home. He watched the doors close behind them. He secretly was relieved that school would be a place where he could have friends and people he liked around him.

"Come along, Master Sherlock." Michael hurried him into the left hand side of the car. He watched Sherlock get beaten everyday by his Father, but he couldn't do anything. "Are you okay, Sherlock?" Sherlock was sitting with his knees rested against his chest. He hugged his legs like a normal child his age would hug a teddy-bear. He didn't move, or say anything, apart from a nod to answer Michael's question. "It's a great school. You'll meet people who like you." Michael tried to encourage the little boy that sat next to him. When he had taken Mycroft for his first day of school, it was kicking and screaming. But Sherlock was broken. He wanted to leave this place, even if it was only for a few hours. However he didn't show it; who knows what his Father might do to him if he ever told him.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "I remember that day. My first day of school, and you left me some books. You were always the favourite and you wanted it to remain that way." His head turned violently away from his brother that sat opposite.

"I went to Boarding School, Sherlock. Don't be such a child." Mycroft snapped back at Sherlock. "Do you remember what happened when you got there?"

When Sherlock and Michael arrived outside of the towering gates, Sherlock's eyes widened. It was something that he could never imagine. "Michael. Why do I have to go to school? Mycroft says I'm smarter than those other kids." He tried to put on his best and most convincing sympathy smile.

"Sherlock. You've got to show them what you're made of. Here." Michael got out of the car and opened Sherlock's door for him. "Please, promise me that you'll try hard." He lent out his hand to the smaller boy. Sherlock shook it politely. He didn't like contact with other people usually, but for Michael he would make an exception. "Here you go sir." Michael placed Sherlock's bag upon his shoulder and took his place back inside the car.

"Of course. Mummy and Father told him to let me go in alone. How predictable."

Sherlock was rather tall for his age, but compared to the other students in other years, he looked tiny in comparison. After following the map through the year 6 corridor and then the year 4 corridor, Sherlock finally made it to the 'Great Hall'. Children, all similar to his age, ran around the hall while the parents waited. Sherlock walked forward confidently. He found the perfect seat where nobody would disturb him, and brought out the book that Mycroft had gotten him for his birthday. He still enjoyed it greatly, even though he despised the owner.

A tall and bony looking man stepped towards the front of the hall. His name was Mr Clay. "Good morning reception classes." His first words were followed by a chorus of 4 year old children repeating his words. "When we call your name, please line up in the appropriate line. Thank you. Now. Class 1: Melissa Thomas, Andrew Thomas..." Sherlock drowned out the surrounding noise, until FINALLY his name was called. He was in Class 3. A rather young looking lady lead Sherlock and the rest of his class mates into their new classroom. He didn't like the look of it. Everywhere were pictures of previous classes, and that made Sherlock feel depressed. He stopped looking up towards the ceiling when suddenly his view was now of the floor.

"Oh sorry, I didn't see you there." A fair headed boy who was a little shorter than Sherlock had pushed him over purposely. He tried to lie that it was an accident, however his sniggering to the boys behind him, who were already his 'minions' gave it away. "Anderson." The boy held out his hand, but Sherlock refused to shake it. "Well that's a bit rude." Anderson started to taunt. All Sherlock did was turn away to chose his chair for the year, when SMACK! Anderson thumped Sherlock in the very back of his neck. Sherlock did nothing. "Oi! Freaky boy!" Anderson had already picked out a nickname for his first victim of the year. Sherlock gave out a quick sigh and turned to face the blonde. Anderson tried to go for another blow, however this time Sherlock grabbed his fist.

Pushing it to the ground, Sherlock whispered into Anderson's ear, "I am not a freak!" He then let go of his grasp. He didn't immediately realise it, but the whole class including Miss Buttle, had just watched Sherlock humiliate Anderson. Eyes watched him, and other children moved away. Sherlock was left all alone at the front of the class. The other kids sniggered when the register was called. He sighed. This wasn't exactly the start that he wanted at his first school.

"And what happened at break, Sherlock?"

Sherlock walked across the playground to the furthest bench away from the school building. He watched every other kid run and play. In the corner of his eye he caught sight of a very angry looking boy and his group of 'friends'. It was Anderson. What did he want this time? "Sherlock Holmes? My sister went to school with your brother, Mycroft." Sherlock smiled. His brother was well-known then? "She said that he was a very strange person, and to watch out for his equally mad brother. That's you." He pressed his sausage looking finger against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock started to see red. His fists started to clench, but he managed to hold it together. For once, Sherlock's anger didn't control him. He was proud in a way, although he didn't show it. He didn't have to anything in the end.

"GET HIM!" All Sherlock could hear were those two words repeated by 5 different boys. He felt his ribs cracking under the pressure of their stomps.

Anderson had started it off with a right hand around the nose. The bruising could be felt underneath Sherlock's skin. He knew what was coming. He then re-hit Sherlock's eye with a left-hook. Sherlock had fallen to the ground. Then the others started. Kicking. Punching. Stomping. Sherlock curled up into a ball, protecting his chest and head. Not that it would do much good, but he'd had worse at home.

"What do you think you're doing?" An average height girl pushed through to help Sherlock up. Her hair was auburn and her smile showed all of her baby teeth perfectly aligned. "Come here." She picked up the boy that lay in front of her. "You're a monster Anderson..." All Anderson did was laugh at her. He let her take Sherlock, but she'd pay for it eventually.

Sherlock's eyes remained tightly closed, he didn't know that someone had saved him. He could still hear their shouts and feel the kicks. With one swift motion, Sherlock punched the nurse. She screamed. Sherlock's eyes opened slowly, they were heavy and he couldn't see clearly. It was mostly blurry; but he could make out the faint shape of a girl standing over him. "Hello?" Her voice remained like he'd heard before. He could tell that she was caring and brave. No other girl would take on a bunch of boys like that. She must have been strong-hearted.

"Who was it Sherlock? Who saved you from those bullies?"

"They were not bullies Mycroft," Sherlock was agitated now, "They simply beat the crap out of me."

"I'm Molly. Molly Hooper." She held out her weak looking hand towards him. He didn't accept it, only looked at her up and down. Who was this mysterious girl? "I'm in Class 3, just like you." She smiled at him. He could see her eyes straight through the long eyelashes that fluttered at him. He started to deduct who she was from his own research.

Height: Average

Hair Colour: Auburn

Eye Colour: Brown/Hazel

Family: Rich-ish, could afford to buy a 4-year-old a horse and 7 rabbits

Personality: Likes to look out for her fellow students. Afraid of being bullied herself. Was bullied earlier in the day-Could see bruising on her left arm.

Sherlock enjoyed the chase through Molly's life. "Thank you, for erm... What you did." Sherlock had never really said thank you to anyone, so saying it to someone he'd only just met was a very hard position to put himself in. Molly smiled into Sherlock's eyes, and then merrily skipped off back to her classroom.

"That was the first time you met Miss Molly Hooper. Is she still as dear to you now?" Mycroft smirked at his brother.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock snapped back. "You've always told me, since the day I was brought back home, that I shouldn't have 'emotions' or 'feelings'." Sherlock was now annoyed with the amount of information Mycroft was telling him. "Anything else I should know about, Mycroft?" Sherlock rose again.

"Your first day at Boarding School. That was a BEALTER. In between this and your First School it is mostly Anderson bullying you and Molly helping you with your experiments. Oh and Father beating you. You were in hospital a few times after that..." Sherlock's eyes squinted at his brother. He didn't understand how he could be so blunt about HIS childhood.

"Did he beat me everyday, Mycroft? Did you not stop it?" Mycroft's eyes widened and looked at his brother.

"Yes he did Sherlock, but that is none of your concern until later on..." Sherlock's fists were slammed against the table, making his coffee almost fly from where it sat.

"What!? None of my concern. This was MY life, Mycroft, not yours!" Sherlock replaced his body to wear he sat before.