Sorry about the delay in posting. Been working on prompts and also I've been a bit nervous about this chapter. Thank you all for your patience and your continued support.

Trigger Warnings: This chapter deals with sibling abuse, harm to a child (mostly psychological) and animal death. Unfortunately there was no avoiding this, Ford's not a very nice character. If any of these things could upset you please don't read this one.

Big thanks to Miz for all her help. I own nothing.

Sherlock took a large drink of the alcohol as he tried to find the right place to start. He didn't really want to go through his entire history with his brother, but at the moment it was absolutely necessary. Perhaps he'd just hit the highlights. Finally he turned to Molly and asked, "Do you know anything about Sibling Order, Molly?"

"Not really."

"There are theories that propose that the order in which we are born," He paused and looked at her. "Those of us with siblings, affects our personalities. These are just theories, understand."

"And you agree with these theories?" she asked somewhat incredulously.

He smiled, understanding that she would doubt Sherlock buying into anything so obvious. "There are some interesting ideas involved. In our case, Mycroft, being the oldest would be the 'alpha', the care-giver. That seems to fit, to a point, does it not? Then there's me, the 'baby' so to speak. Always seeking attention, always getting my way. Typical." He took another fortifying drink. "And then there's Ford. The classic middle child. But he had been the youngest for seven years until I came along." He sat down his glass. "It doesn't really matter if I believe the theories, Molly. The point is that Ford latched onto the idea; got a hold of a book, some research material, something and decided that I usurped his place in our family. Made me the enemy. I'm certain that he'd always felt animosity toward me. But he's a Holmes. Having scientific proof, even psychological theories, only validated it for an already ailing mind."

A few minutes passed and he drew his knees up, hooking his arms around them. That had been the easy part...

"Locky! You have to go to sleep. Mum and dad are dead. Car crash, there was loads of blood. I'm in charge now." Ford said to a four year old Sherlock. "Oh, the fun we're gonna have."

Tears were falling down Sherlock's face. Ford had been trying to convince him that his parents were dead since he'd come into the room several minutes prior. "No! I don't believe you! Where's Myke?"

"He's busy, Locky. He has more important things to do than deal with a little baby and a crazy kid." Sherrinford stood next Sherlock's bed, leaning against the wall. "It's just us now. Just you and me," he said, looking far too pleased with himself.

Even four year old Sherlock could see something was amiss. "You're lying Ford. Just like you always do. I don't believe you!"

Sherrinford pushed off of the wall and leaned over Sherlock. "Doesn't matter if you believe me, Locky. It's still the truth. I could do whatever I want now and no one would know."

Sherlock stood up on the bed and charged older boy, trying to get out of the room. Ford pushed the child down, easily knocking Sherlock on the floor. "I'm in charge and you have to do..."

Just then Sherlock heard his parents come into the house, calling out to him and his brother.

Ford turned to the little boy. "You'll keep your mouth shut about this, Sherlock. It was just a game anyway."

Sherlock stayed on the floor as Ford greeted his parents downstairs.

"My parents didn't want to believe that Sherrinford was unbalanced. Excuses were made, many. But after an incident at my uncle's farm one summer, they had no choice." He paused once again. Molly was just waiting patiently. "I was seven. Ford said he wanted to take me for a walk. I shouldn't have trusted him; he'd done many other things- cruel things. But he could also be kind at times. It was very confusing."

Molly put her hand on his arm. "You were a child, Sherlock. How were you to have known?"

He nodded. "My Uncle Eric had this barn on his property, several hundred yards away from the rest of the buildings. Mycroft wasn't there, he rarely attended family events, and my parents were at the house with the rest of the adults. Ford tied me and gagged me in a horse stall, then left me there. I wasn't found for nearly five hours. It was terrifying. Evidently he had told everyone that I was playing at a neighbor's house. It was plausible. We knew the family, they had children around my age and I'd played at their home before. Ford always knew how to cover his tracks." He could hear the bitterness in his own voice.

"My parents confronted Ford afterwards. He said he'd been kind. That he'd had every intention of killing me that day. But decided that death was too good for me. They finally had no choice but to deal with the fact that he needed to be removed. He was placed in a psychiatric facility."

Sherlock took another drink of his whiskey then a very deep breath. "I had nine long years of peace. Even when Sherrinford was released, when he turned twenty-one, we didn't really hear from him. Mycroft always handled the 'Sherrinford problem'. He got him a flat and a job in the city, far away from myself and our parents. I suppose between the meds and years of therapy, they all assumed he was... better. But he turned back up, of course. Eventually."

I was sixteen, mummy and dad were away for a short holiday. Mycroft was living in London. It was summer so I was home by myself. Well, not completely alone, Redbeard was there." He couldn't help but smile. "Sorry, he was my dog. Anyway, I woke up one morning to the sound of someone in the house, and I instantly knew... he was back."

Sherlock slowly made his way downstairs trying to be as quiet as possible, but the floorboards in the old house weren't co-operating.

"No need to sneak about, Locky. We all know you're there," Sherrinford called out.

Sherlock rounded the corner to see his brother sitting in the lounge holding Redbeard by the collar, a hunting knife in his hand.

"Come on, join the party." He motioned with the knife for Sherlock to sit across from him.

"Ford..."

"I go by Alex now."

He studied his brother for a moment. He looked so different than Sherlock remembered. In his dreams, Ford always looked like a monster. Sitting there in their father's favorite chair, he looked like a Holmes; like he belonged. The hunting knife offered a sharp contrast to the picture. "Okay, Alex. Why are you here?" Sherlock asked.

Sherrinford smiled that awful, fake smile that Sherlock remembered. "You got it all, didn't you?" He leaned forward. "You're nearly as smart as me except you're not insane. Nearly as smart as Mycroft yet you have a soul. How is that fair, Locky? Hmmm?" He leaned back again. "I don't think I would have ever realised how crazy I am if I didn't have you to compare myself to." He paused and studied the young man."Ya know, I've been dreaming about killing you since you were born. When I was a little kid I thought about smothering your little bawling face with a pillow. But even then I knew that was too easy. I had to make you pay."

"Pay for what?"

"Living!" Ford screamed causing Redbeard to bark. He turned to the dog. "Shut the fuck up."

"I didn't ask to be born, Ford."

"Alex!"

"Fine, Alex!"

"And I didn't ask to be crazy! But thems the breaks, Locky. I can take care of one of those problems, nothing I can do about the other."

"So, you're going to kill me?"

Ford rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

Sherlock paused the story, lost in his memories, until he felt Molly's hand on his.

"What happened Sherlock? How'd you get away?"

"Redbeard." He smiled. "Ford released his hold on the dog when he stood up to lunge at me. Redbeard attacked him. Ford stabbed him six times before I could stop the him. The damage was done... to both parties. My brother had a huge tear to his left shoulder and chin. I knocked the knife out of his hand then punched him three times, knocking him out cold. Must have been the adrenaline. It was too late for Redbeard. We couldn't save him."

A minute or so passed.

"Ford was arrested for attempted murder. Mycroft managed to get him put in the facility that he just escaped from." He poured himself another glass and studied it for a moment. "Do you have any idea how angry he'll be, Molly?"

She didn't respond.

"All these years- locked up. He'll blame me, of course. He'll have been plotting and planning." He swallowed. "He came after you, for God's sake." He knew he was getting emotional, but somehow he felt safe with Molly. So he allowed himself to just feel it for once. It had been years since he'd thought about that awful day. Ford's anger- his rage, what he was capable of... Silence descended while he thought of the implications of his brother's recent actions. Sherlock pondered his next move.

"Yeah, I still don't understand that," Molly said after a few minutes

That pulled him out of his thoughts. "What do you mean?"

"Well, John's your best friend. Jim nearly killed him lots of times. If your brother was going to go after someone, why not John? Why me? There was nothing going on between us at the time, we were just friends. John's the obvious choice."

Sherlock thought over what Molly said. She had a point. How would Ford have known that there was something brewing between him and his pathologist. He wouldn't have. So, what was the point of having Molly attacked? Unless... unless it was to pull Sherlock's attention off of something else...

Sherlock stood up, slightly shaky after the nearly two glasses of whiskey he'd drank. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and dialed.

"Yeah. What's going on?" John answered.

"I believe that you're in danger."

"You're my best friend, Sherlock, I'm always in danger."

"No. Immediate danger. You need to leave your house. Come here. You can sleep in your old room,"

"Sherlock, it's late, Mary's had a long day..."

"John, do this for me. It's- I need you to do this," Sherlock stammered.

There was a pause then John answered, "Fine. I assume my old room's already made up. Where will Molly sleep?"

"Ahh, it'll be ready. I'm having Mycroft send a car for you, don't take a cab." Then Sherlock rang off.

He turned around to find Molly standing next to him. "You think I was a distraction to get to John?"

He nodded and took a moment to enjoy the fact that Molly was so damn clever. "Can you go ask Mrs. Hudson for clean sheets for John's old bed?"

"Of course," she said before dashing out of the room.

Sherlock called his brother to have him send a car and bring him up to speed on his theory. Mycroft agreed that the Watsons would be the next logical targets and that Molly's attack could have been a diversion. He was still standing in front of the dwindling fire considering the many ways Sherrinford could harm him through his friends. He had no idea how long he'd been thinking when he turned to see Molly smiling up at him.

"Hey, you've been standing here for almost forty-five minutes. The bed's made and I dusted, a bit. I also put fresh towels in the bathroom up there. I didn't even know there was one." She laughed.

"I was going to make the bed... your wrist."

Molly made a strange face. "I can't believe you'd even think about my wrist right now. Once was a time..."

He stopped her with a kiss. "Once was a time, Molly Hooper... but that time is no more." He kissed her again, slipping his hands down to cup her bottom and pull her tightly into him.

"Whoa!" John said from the doorway. "Bloody Hell!"

The pair broke apart, Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh calm down. I've had to see you kiss all sorts of women."

John nervously looked at his very pregnant wife. "N-not all sorts... necessarily."

Mary swatted his arm. "Right, because I thought you were a virgin the first time we shagged." She crossed the room and kissed Molly on the cheek. "Nice job, Molls." She pulled Molly closer and whispered, "I want details."

John cleared his throat. "Okay, I'm taking our bags upstairs, then I want to know what this is all about."

Okay, once again, thank you for so much for reading. I'd love to hear your thoughts... this was a tough one to write. ~Lil~