Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. I don't own anything. I am a poor college student, and merely an aspiring writer.

A/N: Well, it's been a hectic few weeks. My memory stick got a load of viruses, meaning I lost some of my college work, and some old fan fictions that I was going to edit and re-upload. I looked for copies but stupid me didn't have any copies of that particular work. My laptop then broke and had to go into repairs, and I've been bombarded left right and centre with college work. I literally have no time to do anything other than college work and more college work. So I'm sorry. I'm terrible at updating things as it is. I can't afford to fall behind on college work as I need all the UCAS points I can get to go the university course that I want to get into. It's a creative & professional and scriptwriting course, so I really want to get onto it, to take my writing further. I also found a place on the BBC where you can send in your own scripts, which is pretty nifty, and just what I need, so I'm drafting a script too. It's going to be an original Sci-Fi drama. Oh, and I got a kitten. Her names Tegan. High five to anybody who knows where I got that name from. Sorry, am I boring you? I'll stop rambling now. I hope you enjoy the chapter. Please leave a review. It only takes a few minutes, and it'll really help me smile when I just feel like giving up on everything. (Wow, I sound really depressing.)

"I proposed to her."

Mycroft froze at the sound of the soft whisper and turned from where he was currently cutting up vegetables for the family meal. He nodded. "Then I suppose a congratulations is in order, Little Sir." He nodded curtly and turned back to the vegetables.

"Is that all you've got to say for yourself? I mean the other day –"

"Nothing happened the other day. Nothing ever will happen." Mycroft stated icily.

"For goodness- erhh. I don't know why I'm even bothering talking to you."

"There is no point in continuing this conversation. Save us both the hassle and pain." Mycroft did not miss the scoff he got from the human stood behind him. He turned his head slowly, and blinked. "Is there something you want to say, say it. If not then please leave. As you can see I'm quite busy."

"Yeh, alright. I'll say what I'm thinking." Mycroft watched cautiously as Little Sir approached him. He didn't know what to expect. He glanced down at the hand now placed on his chest. "I think – I think that you're a robot. I think you have no heart. And I definitely think you don't feel pain. You can't even comprehend what I've been through because of my –"

"Feelings for me?" Mycroft finished his sentence.


"You're right. I have no heart, Little Sir. I do not feel pain. I am a robot. A machine. Now leave." He turned away once more and waited for the sound of the kitchen door slamming. A sharp, scratchy feeling nagged at his cybernetic eyes and he felt colder than he'd ever done. He envied humans. When something went wrong they could show it by crying and shouting. Mycroft didn't have tear ducts nor was he able to raise his voice as he was programed to speak neutrally.

A few months later and he was watching as Little Sir was wedding a woman, who he did not love. He was wearing a tux. It was the first time he'd been asked to wear clothing. He rather liked it. What he did not like was that awful woman. Her eyes were small and beady. She reminded Mycroft of a small rodent. Then there was her laugh. Whereas Mycroft usually enjoyed the sound of laughter, he despised hers. It was a sharp and grinding sound and it caused Mycroft's cybernetic ears to groan in agony.

The day passed quickly and soon Mycroft was sat watching Little Sir and the awful woman dancing at the reception. He would occasionally capture glimpses of Little Sir looking at him, a deep and sorrowful expression on his face, but apart from that they did not speak. Mycroft's insides ached and he stood, giving one last wistful glance at the man that he had practically raised from a young boy.

It was a fear years down the line when Mycroft experienced his first ever human death first hand. The head of the house was old, withering away, and had been dying for a while from terminal cancer. Even in this day and age there was no cure for cancer. Mycroft had begged for his Master to stay strong. Scientists were making progress each day. He was sure that there would be a cure soon enough. His Master had simply smiled weakly and shook his head, telling him that it was his time. Mycroft didn't understand. How did a human being know that it was 'their time'? Why didn't they try to fight death? He supposed that like love he would never understand death. Love and death, though two polar opposites, had to be experienced and felt. Mycroft could never feel, so Mycroft would never get the answers he so desperately wanted.

"Promise me something." His Master croaked out, his voice a dry whisper.

"Anything, Master." Mycroft leaned in closer, listening carefully.

"Promise me that you will seek freedom. You are no longer a slave. Make something of your life."

Mycroft felt his circuits spark with confusion. "But if I am no longer a slave then what am I?" He did not receive a reply. He was grasping his Master's hand tightly, afraid to let go of it. He watched as the tired, old man's eyes closed, and his face fell peacefully.

He heard a set of footsteps approaching the bedside. "Is he-"

"I am afraid so, Little Sir." Mycroft turned and nodded. It was the first time that he and Little Sir had spoken to each other in years. It felt odd after all of this time. "You have my condolences."

Little Sir looked at the bed with his dead father laid out in it sadly and nodded. "Thank you…for being here for him. And uh – I'm really sorry about – you know –"

"Going to considerable efforts to avoid me? Not talking to me for years? Arriving late to your own father's death?" Mycroft knew he shouldn't have said the latter and he half expected to be yelled at but instead Little Sir merely swallowed, showing signs of immense guilt.

"Yeh. I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean to cut you from my life. I just-"

Mycroft shook his head. "There is no need to explain."

"What will you do now?" The question was soft, and if Mycroft didn't know any better still held care for him in it, even after all these years.

The question caught Mycroft rather off guard. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I heard what my father said to you. He's set you free. The question is what are you going to do with such freedom?" Little Sir was looking at him sincerely and Mycroft paused as he thought about it.

"I shall search for others that are like me." He turned away from his Master and extended a hand out to Little Sir. "I may not see you again. I hope we are leaving on good terms." They exchanged a handshake and Little Sir smiled. Mycroft hated himself for not being able to smile back.

"Good luck. And Mycroft?"

"Hmm?" Mycroft hummed.

"Take care of yourself." Little Sir said softly.

"Always, Little Sir, always. You take care too."

Mycroft left then, not wanting to make the goodbye anymore awkward. When he stepped out into the world he felt something shift inside of him. Mycroft was now free. For a robot freedom was a strange concept and Mycroft worried terribly that he was going to abuse the opportunity that had been given to him.

Twenty years.

That's how long Mycroft searched for another robot that was like him; a robot who was unique and questioned the world around them. He trekked through dessert, climbed mountains, waded through snow, and battled extreme conditions. He had little success. Any robots that matched the criteria he was looking for were either dismantled and dumped, their metal bodies resting as a rusting pile of forgotten metal, or they had been reprogrammed. The human race were so cruel to robots who were different. That's what the human race was good for in Mycroft's opinion; destroying things. They tended to crush anything different in the palms of their hands till those unique things were turned into dust. Mycroft was extremely lucky that no such thing had happened to him. Perhaps it's because he came from a very rich and powerful family. People were afraid of being sued if they came anywhere near him.

His journey ironically took him back to where his story had begun: London. By now Mycroft was in desperate need of repairs. Every move he made caused his joints to groan and whine, and his circuits were next to fried. He was not the smart looking robot that he once had been. But he had one last source to check out. There were quite a few rumours about a robot just like himself. In fact the robot was supposedly made on the exact same day as Mycroft. He was in effect a brother. He wondered if his brother was still alive, and if he was what fate he had met. The rumours led him to a seemingly abandoned robot mechanic shop. It was bordered up and there were keep out signs pasted in red on the door. That did not deter Mycroft. This was his last hope and until he knew what had happened to his brother he would not rest. Besides if there was a mechanic still about perhaps Mycroft could get some repairs done at the same time. It was the best of both worlds.

He pushed open the door. It gave way with a groan and crashed to the floor. He heard a scuttle of movement from inside. Mycroft felt his hopes lift as he detected another robot's presence. He tentatively stepped inside of the abandoned mechanics. "Hello?" He asked, glancing around the glooming building.

"You should leave. My Master does not like visitors."

Mycroft turned his head slightly, trying to locate the owner of the voice. The voice had belonged to a robot, though sounded as though it held human qualities. This was very intriguing to Mycroft. This was something new.

"Are you an actual idiot? I said my Master does not like visitors."

Mycroft turned his head in the direction of the humanistic voice, determined to see the owner. He hadn't expected to see what his eyes came across. The voice did not belong to a robot, but rather an Android. Androids were incredibly rare and up till now Mycroft had assumed that they did not exist at all. Unlike robots Androids took on a human quality. They had the ability to show emotion, a fact that irked Mycroft to no end. This particular Android's face however was stoic and blank, bored even. He was a magnificent specimen, handsome enough, though a little menacing with those ice cold eyes he possessed. His prosthetic skin was pale, creamy and held no imperfections, which Mycroft supposed was one of the few things that made him appear less humanistic. After all, humans weren't perfect. It was their imperfections that made them human. His mop of hair consisted of dark brown curls that sprung out at different angles in a wild fashion. He was a mysterious looking creature granted, and was possibly the most complicated piece of machinery he had come across thus far. "What is your name?" He asked, standing his ground. He wasn't prepared to leave, not when he was so close to receiving the answers he'd been longing after for so long.

"Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."

"Ah. Well then. It would seem that you are the one I have been searching for. We are brothers. I am Mycroft Holmes."

The Android regarded him coolly but before he could reply a human male walked out from the shadows. Mycroft's sensors detected danger and he took a step back, studying the human uneasily. There was something about him that struck him a little odd. He looked…insane. There was a cold buzz writhing behind his coal black eyes, and a wicked smile was spreading across his features. "Jim Moriarty." He introduced himself, his voice wiry and sinister.

"I'm –"

"I know who you are Mr Holmes." Jim sneered, his eyes sweeping over Mycroft's rusting exterior. "And dear me, you've let yourself go. You're rusting, broken, aged. Hardly the brilliant robot you once were. I could change that though. I could give you a new spring of life." He scraped his fingers down Mycroft's torso, his eyes carefully calculating all of the repairs that needed to be done.

Mycroft felt a surge of hope flood his circuits. "Yes. I would be appreciative if you fixed me. It has been a while since I had any maintenance done. I was wondering however…" He glanced over to the Android, who now seemed to be in some sort of trance. "If I could get some cosmetic work done."

"Oh. How so?" Jim Moriarty raised his eyebrows and turned to look at the Android too. "Ah. I see. You want an upgrade. You want to appear more human. Yes. I have heard of the rumours, about you having a fascination with the human race. I was wondering how long it would take you to find me. I'm the one man who works on creating Androids. The rest of society…they don't agree with them."

"Why?" Mycroft asked.

"Because they're idiots." The Android stated, snapping out of his trance momentarily.

"Mmm." Jim hummed. "Quite so. The human race hates change. Right now there are two very distinct categories: Humans and Robots. If Androids are added to the mix the line between humanity and machine will become blurred. Do you still want cosmetic work done? Bear in mind it's just your outer appearance that will change. You'll still very much be a robot."

"Yes. I want it. Please." Mycroft didn't take any time to process his decision. He wasn't going to miss out on an opportunity as big as this. He'd come so far and had learnt so much about the ways of the human beings. What he had just been offered could very well give him an advantage in learning more about the funny creatures he'd originally been designed for. In fact he was so eager to go further in his studies that he completely pushed the danger signals that were being emitted by Jim Moriarty. Surely Jim wasn't a completely bad human, after all he was willing to give Mycroft a second chance.

Jim smiled in such a way right then that Mycroft knew almost instantly that he was crossing over into territory that should never be crossed. Mycroft did not care. Mycroft was determined to find his full potential, just like his Master had said all those years ago.

"Alright." Jim said. "Shall we begin?"

Mycroft was led into what appeared to be a science lab. The walls, one painted white, were now dull and grubby. There were various experiments dotted around the room along with prosthetic body parts, to which Mycroft presumed were what would be used to change his appearance. This he found very intriguing indeed. He couldn't wait to start the process.

At first Jim worked on fixing Mycroft's circuits, and replacing some of his metal exterior because some of it had rusted so badly it was barely repairable. This took a little longer than Mycroft had first anticipated and he found himself getting rather frustrated. Jim however seemed fairly confident with the progress taking place and assured Mycroft on more than one occasion that things would get moving incredibly soon. And sure enough more progress was made every day. Jim started to make body parts specifically for Mycroft. Mycroft's brother, the rude and incredibly hostile Android, helped in the process. When it came to designing the face of his new exterior Mycroft specifically asked to have flaws. He did not want to be perfect like his brother. He was given a set of ginger hair, greeny-blue eyes, a crooked nose, and a few sparse freckles here and there. His skin wasn't as pale as Sherlock's'. He had no intention of looking sickly and odd. He wanted to fit in with the human race. He wanted to blend in when in a crowd. He did not want to be isolated merely because he'd been upgraded to an Android.

Mycroft will never forget the day he looked at his reflection for the first time. That day was a marvellous day indeed. He had been given a mirror by Jim. When he'd stared at his reflection he had not seen a robot, nor an Android, not a machine, or a piece of technology. He had seen a human but even then he did not feel like he'd reached his full potential. Surely there was more that could be done, to make him more human, to take him higher and further on his journey of self-discovery.