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A bit of kid!lock here again, a lot of angst.

I did my best to edit this chapter (nearly ten proof readings, argh…), but I still have the feeling it's not as good as it should be… Never thought it's so frightening to post a story!

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Chapter 9. Memories

John couldn't hide his stunned astonishment: "She's dead?!"

Sherlock was the one who answered: "Never found. Doesn't mean dead." Then he suddenly rushed to his room and slammed the door. Somewhat confused, John looked at Mycroft, who sighed deeply.

"Now that the cat is out of the bag, I might as well tell you, John…" He sat down in the chair and silently beckoned Watson to do the same. What he was about to reveal was clearly something he always tried to forget. "Victoria was an… unexpected child. She never met our father, and then took me and Sherlock as her model. However, she was a person of rare kindness." Mycroft stopped to take a breath, and John didn't hurry him to continue. "One day she went missing. No note, nothing. Ten-years-old kids usually don't go for a wander alone. We searched everywhere, even contacted the police. But the only thing found was her coat with traces of blood, dumped in a trash can in the middle of London. I personally witnessed DNA tests. It was her blood." He sighed again. "Sherlock was at his boarding school during the incident. He found out about Victoria disappearance by reading newspapers. He resented me for not telling him immediately. But at that time I just didn't want to endanger my brother as well…"

While talking, Mycroft kept gazing at bookshelves. As the older sibling, he must have borne a sad feeling of guilt and a heavy responsibility of preserving his brother from the same fate as their sister. Somehow, John felt sorry for him. Besides, he understood a little better the reasons of the elder Holmes' awkward carrying for the irresponsible World's Only Consulting Detective. As Mycroft stayed silent for a while, Watson dared to ask:

"Do you think it would be impossible for her to have survived?"

Snapping out of his dark thoughts, the elder Holmes took an annoyed expression: "You mean, is it possible for Rita Sorrel to be my sister? No, it's not."

"But…"

Mycroft cut him off: "Rita Sorrel is an orphan. Raised by a nice couple who received a fair amount of money from an anonymous relative to take care of the child, most likely its own father. According to my information, this anonymous donator was no else than Robert Mercier."

"Mercier?! The victim?!"

"Exactly…"

"And do you know who the nephew of the victim is?" Sherlock had soundlessly left his room and stood behind Mycroft, balancing a laptop on his left hand.

"What does it have to do with this case?" Mycroft was not surprised, but annoyed again. He didn't even look at Sherlock.

"Oliver Sorrel. Does it ring a bell, brother dear?"

"What?!"

"Scotland Yard broke into Robert's computer. They sent me a copy of his mails." Sherlock looked jubilant while Mycroft turned pale.

"Am I missing on something?" John asked, feeling out of the loop once again. Mycroft was the one who answered, anticipating his younger brother's replica.

"Oliver was my classmate in university. Always desperately trying to surpass me in everything we did. He emigrated to France decades ago…"

Sherlock couldn't hold back anymore: "And he took his mother's name, Mercier. Take a look."

He placed his laptop on the dining table so everyone could see the screen. The last mail of the dead businessman was displayed as following:

"Oliver, whatever you say, I will not change my mind. I covered for your dirty doings for too long. Now my son is the same age that this girl was when you nearly killed her. I still have nightmares about that day, her head soaked in blood, her empty eyes and her feeble voice asking me her own name. I covered for you. I took this child away and stole her memories. And now I'm wondering what I would do if someone did the same to Eric. I saw this girl last week. She's working in the police now. She will figure out something. But you are not allowed to continue your traffic under my name anymore. Adieu."

"Dramatic, isn't it?" Sherlock commented.

His brother muttered in response: "It doesn't prove anything…"

"It proves everything! Oliver didn't dare to kill our sister, but hurt her enough for her to lose memory. Then Robert Mercier carried her out the country and placed in a host family. And years after that, Robert was moved by some sentiment and tried to reveal the truth. That's why he was killed, that's why Victoria was abducted today. Can't you see?!"

"Are you telling me I did not do enough to find her?!" Mycroft stood up with rage and coldly faced his sibling.

"No… But you gave up on her."

An oppressive silence fell in the living-room. You could almost feel electricity crackle around. John wisely didn't interfere with the wordless fight. In the end, Mycroft looked away, surrendering.

"She was closer to you than to me, but I DO care for her. Don't turn me into the guilty one."

"I do not" Sherlock responded slowly.

Ignoring his brother, Mycroft turned to John: "Make sure he doesn't go wild."

"Count on me" he replied, half-serious and half-ironic.

Then Mycroft went to the door without saying anything more. They waited until the door slammed to exchange irritated glances – Sherlock was angry because of his older brother, and John was mad at both of them because of their eternal misunderstandings, but they didn't comment on each other.