It had been a further 3 years since Sherlock and his brothers relationship had finally come to a very definite end. Gone were the days of happy smiles and pirate games, replaced with hostile comments and cutting deductions. Mycroft Holmes had never claimed to have been happy with this rather melancholy arrangement, but did have to admit that it saved him the bother of interacting with his brother at school.

Sherlock was in first year, when everyone scrutinised your intelligence and usefulness, ready to pounce and form fake disparaging "friendships" no one was yet to approach the strange 12 year old with the knowing eyes and hardened facial expressions. Very little people knew of the relationship between Sherlock and his elder brother, and both seemed to prefer it that way. With Mycroft being in sixth year Sherlock felt he had little reason to interact with him.

And so their strange silent vigil continued, each night the sorrowful sound of the violin could be heard echoing out into the isolated hallway and down past the once lively living area. No one dared to stop the lilting sounds, as the young boy playing slowly lost himself expressing the emotions he had once shared with a caring brother.

It was approaching winter of the first year of academy for Sherlock; he had no friends in this place and despised those who clung to each other like limpets, unneeded appendages, hanging off from the coat tails of those who once seemed so promising.

So it was this observation that casually began the first day of hell for Sherlock Holmes. Not one for subtly saying anything he deduced all he could about his fellow classmates, trying to prove once and for all that he was as good as them. One word echoed against all the names he received that day. Freak.

As the chanting grew louder Mycroft struggled to concentrate on his physics papers, looking around to try to find the source of the disturbance, he spotted the bright blue scarf continually sported by his younger sibling. Suppressing a sigh of irritation he opened the door of the classroom he had been studying to come face to face with an upset Sherlock.

"For god's sake, what now?" he enquired, already beginning his speech on what to tell his brother.

"They don't like me Mycroft, they think I'm a freak." Tears threatened to overwhelm the young boy and he hung his head low.

Just as Mycroft opened his mouth one of the other seniors in the classroom came over, calling Mycroft by "Mike." Mycroft Holmes had a decision to make, care for his little brother and sort out this ridiculous problem, or uphold his own untarnished image. The decision he made would affect him for the rest of his life.

"God Sherlock, no one likes you, because you ARE a freak."

And with those words everything that remained sacred in the brothers relationship crumbled, all the good memories and happiness erased by a single stupid sentence. Sherlock Holmes knew then that it was the end, no more caring, no more love, no more happiness, he had expected it, waited for it, courted it with his own sense of morbid fixation.

Mycroft Holmes had sealed his brother and his own fates that day, one single act that dominated their every waking moment from that day forward. The single utterance that had spewed forth from his proffered lips had defied any feelings from ever creeping their way into Sherlock's heart again.

Sherlock raised his head, convinced now that he truly was better off on his own, looked Mycroft Holmes directly in his steely grey eyes and viciously uttered one final phrase, the hate filled words of someone who no longer desires someone's appreciation, a string of words destined to make Mycroft Holmes' world come undone.

"Well thank you Mycroft that has just indefinitely confirmed my suspicion that you truly understand me, after all, one freak is always destined to create another."

Sherlock Holmes walked away from his dumbfounded brother, an odd sense of victory hanging over him, overshadowed by the self inflicted feeling of loathing creeping up, sucking out his soul, and shrivelling his already rotting heart.

Mycroft Holmes waited until his brother had turned on his heel and left, seeing the flabbergasted faces of his classmates that Sherlock was his brother, he could tell by their faces that they didn't believe him, to be honest he didn't believe it himself sometimes, and yet here they were, two ships go awry on the vast ocean of loneliness, destined to crash on the rocks or fatally collide. Mycroft prayed it would not be the latter, for he had his reasons. He smirked; after all, you can't bruise someone's heart if they don't have one.HHH