Title: The Mycroft Holmes Story

This is not a story about Sherlock Holmes, nor is this a story of death and mystery. No, this is the story of Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft's story is a sad tale and does not have a happy ending as Mycroft does not believe is such fluffy sentiment.

Mycroft was born on a cold winter's night on the 7 November approximately 11:42pm. The rain had been heavy and his mother had been exhausted after 26 hours in labor. That night his mother and father had cradled him close with all the love and affection a parent could hold for a child. His mother had turned to his father and asked, "What should we name him?"

His father had gently smiled, running his large hand over the new born's head, "Mycroft, after my grandfather." Mrs Holmes had simply smiled in return.

Mycroft's Grandfather had been a great man serving in the British Army as a General. But despite Mr Mycroft Holmes Seniors icy exterior he was a very loving man who cared for and loved his wife since the day they meet (at age 16) until he passed away at the age of 87. He had lived a long, loving and fulfilling life who had quite the effect on Mr Holmes. Mr Holmes had been practically raised by his grandfather as his own father had stepped out on his mother the day he had found out she was pregnant.

It was not long before Mr and Mrs Holmes discovered that they had given birth to an exceptional child. At the age of 6 months Mycroft was able to build lego block buildings, including colour coordination and details such as windows.

By the age of 5 Mycroft was reading at a university level.

By the age of 8 he was fluent in 12 languages, publishing 17 research papers in science and politics and tutoring University Master students.

By the age of 10 Mycroft had completed his second university degree and began working on three master's degrees in politics, international relations and science focusing on physics.

Within Mycroft's first ten years of life he had very little interaction with children his own age and had very poor social skills. He had not made a single friend as all his peers within the university where over double his own age. But Mycroft did not mind as he had his studies and Mummy.

Mummy was his saving grace. Always there to speak about maths and politics and to play the observation game. The observation game was his favourite game. They had discovered this game when Mycroft was three years old and had found that by the age of four he was better at the game than his mother ever was or would be. But despite this he still respected his mummy.

He had a complicated relationship with his father as he was unable to connect emotionally with him, but his father was there emotionally for him nonetheless. Mycroft's fondest memory of his father was when he was 6 years old. Mycroft had been readying in the park when a bully aged 10 had come up to Mycroft and started teasing him. The boy, Louise, had ripped the book from Mycroft's hands and thrown it into the mud before pushing Mycroft also into the mud and calling him 'Freak'. It had not been the first time that Mycroft had heard someone call him this and he knew it would not be the last but this did not stop the hurt feelings from the 6 year old. He had clenched his fists picked up his book and ran all the way home. His father had found him in the bathroom trying to clean his cloths and book in the trash can. His father had smiled and wrapped Mycroft into his arms tightly (making Mycroft feel safe) for the longest time allowing Mycroft to cry. Then when he had finally stopped crying Mr Holmes stepped back and said, "Let's go book shopping". This was Mycroft's fondest memory because even though there had been few words that hug had made him feel the safest he had ever felt. Mycroft at the age of 6 new no words would have made that feeling of being called a 'Freak' any better.

At the age of 11 Mycroft became a big brother to Sherlock Holmes. Mycroft quickly became jealous of the attention that his younger brother was getting.

At the age of 14 Mycroft was recruited to work for MI6. With Sherlock being 3 years old and showing similar signs to Mycroft's genius, he took the job offer.

Between the ages of 14 and 18 years of age Mycroft continued to live with his parents and as MI6 would only giving him so much away time from home. When Mycroft was at home and not at training or on a mission, Sherlock would follow Mycroft around everywhere. Sherlock was also a cry baby who would cry every time Mycroft would yell at him or Mycroft had to leave.

When Sherlock was four years old, he ran up to Mycroft crying. Mycroft 15 years old was very confused and asked what was wrong. Sherlock said that a boy at school teased him and called him a 'freak'. Mycroft decided right then as his arms tightened protectively around his younger brother that he would protect Sherlock know matter what. Thus, despite only being 14 years of age, he began to take on a more parental role which included having MI6 ensure that the boy who had picked on Sherlock never did so again.

However, despite wanting to protect Sherlock, Sherlock was still able to go down a very dark path.

Mycroft would always blame himself for this.

Whilst he was 18 years of age until 20 he was away on longer missions that allowed very little time with his family. However, he would ensure to check in at least once a week where his parents were happy to hear from him and his brother would beg him to return home.

It was on a mission at age 19 that Mycroft fell in love for the first and last only time. She was a beautiful woman from Russia who had enchanted him. After a night of passion Mycroft woke to find her gone, along with classified information. Mycroft had hunted her down and shot her in the heart along with the entire nest of spies (including children). He retrieved the classified information and never spoke of love again.

At the age of 21 Mycroft was offered a minor position in the government, which Mycroft took as it would allow him to stay in London closer to Sherlock. The position was no MI6 however, with his intellect, observation skills and dark wit, he quickly began moving up the political ladder. By the age of 24 he became the youngest man ever to reach the special' minor government position'. Mycroft was very proud of his position and very much enjoyed his job.

Mycroft for the next few years was content with his job, but he continued to worry about Sherlock. By Mycroft's 30th birthday Sherlock and his relationship had become quite strained. Mycroft unsure how to change this continued to keep an eye on Sherlock and would interfere when needed.

When Mycroft was 35 years old he had the body of Victor Trever disposed of after the past 2 years of him leading Sherlock down a path of drugs an anti-social behaviours. Sherlock hated him for this and Sherlock hated him for sending him to rehab. Sherlock at this stage had begun to refer to him as Sherlock's 'Archrival'. Despite this, Mycroft pulled some strings for Sherlock to begin working with the NSY as a consultant. Mycroft ensuing to have a private chat with Gregory Lestrade about his younger brother.

When John Watson came on board Mycroft was not expecting the young soldier to stick around long. But was presently surprised that after 3 months he was still residing with Sherlock.

But still, the relationship between Sherlock and Mycroft never changed. Christmas dinners would come and go with John also attending yet Mycroft continued to feel like an outsider within his family home. Though he would never show this. To the outside world Mycroft was the ice prince making decisions to take down countries and still be able to sleep at night.

Maybe Mycroft was the ice prince, but sitting at the family table Mycroft remembers that little boy crying in his father's arms and wonders how he ended up here. With a brother that hates him, a father that does not understand him and a mother that he can never please. No children, no partner – not even a friend.

Mycroft stood excusing himself from the table, making his way outside into the fresh air and there he stayed for the next few hours.

Mycroft noticed when Sherlock sat down beside him, but did not say anything, merely taking the offered cigarette. Both lit up and just sat there looking up at the night sky.

Then Mycroft spoke, "I was 16 years old when I first killed someone, and I did not cry nor feel anything at all." Sherlock did not say anything, nor did he leave so Mycroft continued, at least until Sherlock got bored and went inside. "It was an undercover mission and the person I was assigned to kill was a boy only 7 years old. I did my job and never asked why the British government needed a 7 year old dead. After I completed the mission I returned home feeling numb. My handler had said the job was perfect and that I had been perfect agent due to my ice cold heart. I remember coming into your bedroom that night, just to check on you, but you were awake. You knew what I had done the moment you saw me which is why I had hoped you would be asleep. I will always remember what you told me that night. But it had been years later I had found out you had deleted it from your memory. In fact, you had deleted most things about me during your Vincent stage.

But it does not matter, sentiment is after all a weakness that we cannot afford." There was a silence that moment and it was not uncomfortable merely long.

"I have not cried since I was 6 years old, but right now if I had the ability I feel I might. Perhaps it is the holidays. I remember my first and only Christmas away from home, I was in a jail cell being tortured by the North Korean's and remember thinking 'I'm missing mummy's famous Christmas pudding'. I would have given anything to be home at that moment. When I returned home, you had yelled at me stating that you hated me for missing Christmas, and then you cried." Mycroft smiled for a moment, "You were such a cry baby as a child. " Mycroft did not know if Sherlock was listed or deleting as he spoke, but he did not care just wanted to tell Sherlock things that he had always wanted to.

"I can live with the world hating me and calling me a freak. I just wish that we were able to be brothers. But neither of us know how, not anymore –if we ever did." Mycroft sighed, putting his cigarette out and standing up. "It does not matter now."

"Are you ready to die?" Mycroft looked up through bruised eyes at James Moriaty.

Mycroft just smirked ignoring the copper taste of blood filled in his mouth, the flashbacks of his life and the dream of Christmas that never was. Mycroft knew he was not one to die of old age in bed after all he had far too many enemies, so he had been ready for this moment since he was 14 years old.

"Where is Sherlock!" James tried one last time as he pointed the gun at Mycroft's temple. Mycroft knew his brother was alive, in fact, he had aided in his fake suicide, but there was no way he was giving his brother up for real.

"Just shoot me already." Mycroft closed his eyes and waited.


Mycroft waited, but nothing.

"You can open your eyes now, dear brother." Mycroft opened his eyes and looked over at Sherlock.

"About time, I could only stall him for so long." Sherlock's eyes sparkled knowing the truth. "It's time to return home, I think brother."

"Of course brother dearest." Sherlock began unwrapping the ropes that had strapped Mycroft to the chair.

Mycroft's eyes began to close heavily, three weeks of torture finally taking his toll. "I had a dream about you when we were children…..Playing observation in the park." Another pause, "How much we both hated people and how close we once were. It was a happy dream." Mycroft could not hear Sherlock's words as he spoke Mycroft getting closer to passing out, "That is my happiest memory of my childhood, you were my best and only friend, brother dearest."

With those words Mycroft's world went black.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Mycroft slowly opened his eyes, wondering why he was not dead. But as he was a genius quickly figured it out when he found himself in Bart's hospital alone.

Mycroft sat up ignoring the pain and as he waiting to go to his 'mind library' aiming to discover which memories were real and which had been a dream.

The door opened and John Watson came in looking mad. This did not surprise Mycroft as last time he saw John he had been blaming Mycroft for Sherlock's death. "You bloody well could have told be you faked the whole bloody thing!"

Mycroft paused for a moment and then went to speak, but no words came out. John stopped his yelling and began examining Mycroft's chart, "Says you might not be able to speak for a few days." Mycroft nodded, annoyed at the situation. "Look Sherlock explained the whole thing and I'm still made at him, hell at both of you, but I get it so you're forgiven."

Mycroft was glad he could not state that he had not been asking for forgiveness. Nor could he say that he had never expected to see John again. He had looked after John from a distance aiding with money and jobs, but he never expected to see him. In fact, he had truly prepared to die, but best not tell John this, he would worry.

Unlike certain little brothers.

"I'll go get you some water." Mycroft nodded his head as thanks. When John left Mycroft went to stand up, but found his body too weak to do so. Instead Mycroft laid back down. Mycroft looked around for a moment until he spotted his blueberry. He picked this up and smiled, sending his assist a thank you text.

She had quickly replied stating, 'Korea elections next weeks.' Whilst Mycroft waited for his water, he worked, what else did he have to do? He knew his parents would not have been told as his assistant is instructed to only do so when confirmed that he was dead. Thus, they would not be worrying, John was getting him water and Sherlock was well Sherlock, what else was there?

The door opened and expecting John to return was surprised to see Sherlock holding a jug of water and a glass with a straw. Mycroft raised an eyebrow in question as he placed his phone onto the bed beside him.

"Oh, shut up!" Sherlock snapped pouring Mycroft a glass of water before thrusting it in Mycroft's direction. If Mycroft had been capable of laughing at that moment he would have. He took the glass, but cursed himself as the glass slipped through his hands and onto the bed. Mycroft lifted his hand to observe it for a moment. Covered in bruises, bandages and marks that would scare but it was the shacking that concerned him. Too weak to hold a glass of water. Mycroft cursed himself.

"I will get the nurse to clean this up." Mycroft wanted to shout that it did not matter, but before he could Sherlock was outside the door. Mycroft new the look on Sherlock's face. It was the same look that Sherlock had given Mycroft when he had missed Christmas. That look of disappointment and that Mycroft was only human.

Mycroft closed his eyes, wishing that he had died rather than have to see that face of his baby brother again. His legs began to feel cold and wet so he lifted the blanket from his body pushing them as far away as he could. His legs were black and covered in bandages aiming to cover up the burns and knife wounds. But Mycroft new it was his chest that would disgust him most as Moriaty had enjoyed playing with his body and carving words into his chest.

Weak, alone and failure as a brother. Why had he lived?

The nurse came and left. John visited over the next few days, but Sherlock did not return. John said it was because he was on a case, but they both knew better. If Mycroft was capable of speech he would have voiced so.

Mycroft was required to take off work until he was able to speak again and his face had healed, so over the next four weeks Mycroft sat at home. Readying, paper work and updating his will. He received a visit from his parents who had heard of Sherlock what had happened and they insisted on staying until Mycroft could walk steady on his feet, Mycroft is currently using a cane to stay steady. But still Sherlock did not return, not even a text.

Mycroft felt pathetic about how much that hurt.

By the fifth week at home, he was going crazy with boredom and his mummy's nagging. He went for a walk by himself to cool his head. It was a nice walk along the streets of London and he enjoyed making his way through Hyde Park. His legs ached so he decided to rest in Hyde park until the pain subsided.

A warm, familiar body sat beside him, "Cheating on his wife with the mailman" Sherlock stated firmly looking at the couple having a picnic under the tree.

Mycroft paused for a moment, wondering what an earth Sherlock was trying to do. Repair their relationship? Relive a happy memory? What did it matter now? Both new neither could happen.

"Sherlock-" Mycroft began, but was quickly cut off by Sherlock.

"Play brother." Mycroft sighed but did as he was asked as he would do anything for his brother. Except for the one thing that Sherlock wanted, Mycroft out of his life. They played for hours until the sun had set. When they were done, Mycroft of course winning, they headed towards Mycroft's street. "You do not need to walk me home Sherlock, I am sure the case that you have been working on greatly requires your expertise."

Sherlock's hands clenched, "I had a case" Mycroft nodded, not in a mood for a fight.

"Goodnight Sherlock, thank you for this afternoons game". Mycroft turned, intending to leave Sherlock behind knowing that his brother did not want to be there and his house was only a few blocks away. He had not expected his right leg to give out at that moment coursing him to stumble towards the hard concrete, but before he hits the ground Sherlock's arms were around him. "You idiot walking around so much whilst you are healing."

"I am fine." Mycroft snapped.

"No you are not." Sherlock walked Mycroft home in silence, neither wanting to speak up next.

Once they got to the flat Sherlock walked him inside both surprised that the house was quite. Sherlock sat Mycroft down onto the couch and sat beside him.

It was that moment that Mycroft worked it all out and it only had one word for it, "Sentiment brother, really?" Sherlock denied it moving to stand up, "You do not need to feel guilty Sherlock."

"I do not feel guilty!" Sherlock snapped back in return.

"Then what do you call this? Avoiding me, sending mummy and father to look after me, making John check on me every few days, walking me to the flat, coming inside and let's not even mention the park."

"Are you saying you did not want to re-live that moment in the park?" Sherlock through back.

"No Sherlock, I just want my brother not to hate me, but we both know that is a little too much to ask." Mycroft shock his head calming down, "Just delete it, all of it like everything else about me and we can go on as normal." Mycroft picked his book up from the coffee table and pretended to read as he waited for Sherlock to leave.

After a few moments it was clear that Sherlock was not leaving, "Delete everything?" He questioned.

"Yes, the day you decided you hated me, you deleted a lot and then the three weeks into your friendship with Vincent you deleted the rest. It's fine, I came to terms with this knowledge many years ago."

Sherlock looked shocked, almost hurt when he replied, "I did not delete memories of you brother."

"No?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow, "Alright, how old were you when I missed the only Christmas that I never went to?" A paused with no reply, "Do you remember playing in the park? Do you remember crying in my arms at age 6 begging me to look after you and to never allow anything to happen to you? Do you remember me finding you so high that you almost died? Do you remember cursing me for putting you in a rehabilitation center? Do you remember the first word you ever spoke was 'Myc'? Do you remember how I gave up everything to stay close to you and mummy? Do you remember me helping you practice for your violin competitions? Do you remember studying together and making fun of the people around us is Latin because we could? Do you remember any of it? Anything?" Mycroft did not notice the tears running down his cheeks, but he did notice the pause where Sherlock was unable to answer.

Mycroft shook his head, "Go home Sherlock." Mycroft stood up slowly and made his way to the bathroom, he needed a long shower.

"No matter what, you will always be my big brother Myc." Mycroft stopped and turned to see Sherlock looking at him, "I may have forgotten or deleted many things Mycroft, but that night when you came into my room after having killed someone for the first time, I remember that. I remember saying," and then the next sentence they spoke together, "No matter what, you will always be my big brother Myc."

Sherlock then spoke on his own, "And then I hugged you." A moment later Sherlock had Mycroft wrapped in his arms, "And I said I would never forget that" Mycroft hands slowly moved up to embrace Sherlock in return. "I am sorry I broke my promise Myc."

"It was not your fault I am a terrible big brother"

"It's not your fault I am a worse little brother." They both laughed.

An hour later Mummy, father and John came through the front door with takeaway and big confused smiles at the sight of Sherlock and Mycroft arguing over an old case.

Mycroft knew that things would never be perfect between him and his brother or his family. Mycroft also knew that there was never going to be a happy ending in his future as he does not believe such sentiment. However, Mycroft was happy for the first time in many years. He mostly got along with his brother, saw his family regularly and even began attempting to date. Mycroft still loved his work and would most likely be there the rest of his life and although it was not a fairy tale ending there was nothing more Mycroft could have wished for in that moment; for this is the Mycroft Holmes story.