Just a little something I wrote during a few classes today. I figured it would help stretch my writing skills just a little bit; and because of the new Sherlock episodes, it seemed like the perfect time. Not to mention I refuse to believe that Mycroft and Sherlock don't have a great relationship internally, alright? Buon divertimento!

Bandit

"But When Have I Ever Listened to Mummy?"

A five-year-old dragged his feet down the dusty hall, sniffling, his messy hair skewed every which way; knocking slowly on the big wooden door before him, he whimpered softly, and looked reluctantly up at his older brother, eyes watering, sporting a blood-caked knee. "Mycroft, Mummy said I should just get over it."

x-X-x-X-x

Rain poured down onto a solemn house, the pounding as loud as the crackling thunder that roared nearby; weakened coughing could be heard from the eight-year-old curled into an impossibly small ball on the cold, wooden floor. He lifted his head from his knees to face his older brother, shivering sickly. "Mycroft, Mummy said she wouldn't leave me here alone."

x-X-x-X-x

Dead-faced and dull-eyed, the curly-headed nine-year-old slumped against the window his older brother was relaxed, reading beside. He released a heavy, saddened sigh. "Mycroft, Mummy said that I'll never have any friends."

x-X-x-X-x

The eleven-year-old's head fell with a resounding "thump" against his older brother's locked door; with one hand, he reached skeleton fingers out to knock, only to swallow back tears and a sob, hesitating, and instead, whispering quietly: "Mycroft, Mummy said that I should leave you alone because I bother you too much."

x-X-x-X-x

Fingers working to fold over the note he'd written for his older brother, a frustrated glance flickered momentarily over the fourteen-year-old face. Kneeling, he slipped the letter under the glowing crack of the door, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "Mycroft, Mummy said you aren't worth my time."

x-X-x-X-x

Wind churned harshly around the sixteen-year-old's hunched frame as he jogged up the steps, darkness encasing him, seeing as the sun had gone down hours ago. His eyes were downcast as the front door creaked open to reveal his older brother's house. "Mycroft, Mummy said I'm not allowed back home."

x-X-x-X-x

Picking up his cellphone with fumbling fingers, an eighteen-year-old boy struggled to dial his older brother's all-too-familiar number, movements stressed with pain as he shifted his leg, covered in a cast and elevated on a hospital bed. "Mycroft, Mummy said I have to walk home."

x-X-x-X-x

It was storming, clouds billowing when a twenty-year-old raced up the well-beaten staircase that lead to a looming house, sighing up to his waiting older brother for what seemed like the thousandth time. "Mycroft, Mummy said I'm not welcome back home—and she meant it this time."

x-X-x-X-x

Shadows stretched along a darkened alleyway, dim streetlights just barely revealing two figures—a grown man and his older brother. With a leisurely shift, the younger flicked a smoking cigarette, sending a shower of bright ash cascading down to the sidewalk, covered in the pitch from the night air. "Mycroft, Mummy said I shouldn't forgive you.

"But," a mischievous pause, with a hint of a smile, "when have I ever listened to Mummy?"

Thank you for reading, and pleeeeeaaaase leave a review!