Mycroft was a bright child. Of course, duh. He came from two great gene pools of academic brilliance, he was bound to be some kind of genius. It was all fine and good for Mycroft Holmes.

And then he turned 7 and Mummy and Father informed him that he was getting a new baby brother for Christmas. For some reason, they thought they could get it past him that Mummy wasn't pregnant, but of course nothing escaped him, even as a 7 year old.

On January 6th, Mummy and Daddy left Mycroft with the nanny to retrieve their new baby. Two days later he arrived, and they stared at each other for an hour until the baby fell asleep.

"What's he called, Mum?" Mycroft asked.

"Sherlock."

Mycroft made a face. "Sherlock?"

"Don't make those faces."

"What's it mean?"

"It means 'bright hair'."

Mycroft made a face again.

"Stop making faces, Mycroft."

Mycroft learned to like his baby brother just fine. The baby was quiet, which Mycroft appreciated, but he didn't do much which bored Mycroft. Mostly Mummy would let Sherlock roll around on the floor and Mycroft would stare at him, trying to study every single thing the baby did. Sometimes he'd take the baby into his room to read to him, or they'd sit on the second floor balcony and watch the stars.

When Sherlock began to talk, he provided Mycroft with more entertainment. Mycroft read to Sherlock all the time, Mycroft taught Sherlock new words almost daily. The toddler's vocabulary was almost better than most kids' Mycroft's age.

Mycroft did almost everything for Sherlock. Mummy would get them up for the day, Nanny would dress them, Nanny would make them breakfast, then Mycroft would take Sherlock to explore or teach. Sometimes Sherlock would be too tired to learn, so Mummy would read Peter Pan to Sherlock and Mycroft. They'd still be learning, yes, but Mummy's voice was always perfect for letting their imaginations soar.

Mycroft liked to do things for Sherlock. He liked to be in charge and the teacher and the caretaker. Plus, Father told Mycroft it was his duty to keep an eye on Sherlock and Mummy. Father would go to town every weekend for work, and he'd come back on Tuesdays. On the second Tuesday of the month, Father would bring the boys gifts. That's how Sherlock learned to count days and weeks, by his father leaving and coming home.

Before Sherlock's fourth birthday, Mummy and Father began acting very strange. Mycroft was eleven, and as bright and observant as he was he picked up on his parents' strange behavior. Every few afternoons, Mummy would go to town to shop. While she was gone, the phone would ring twice, then hang up, then it'd ring three times, then Father would answer. The house had two lines, one in Father's office and one in their parents' bedroom, so one afternoon Mycroft listened in on Father's call. It was a woman, and they were talking about weekend plans, which hotel they were going to stay and where they were going to get reservations. Mycroft realized that maybe Mummy and Father were acting weird because Mummy knew, but Mycroft wondered why she wasn't doing anything about it.

Mycroft began to cry and quietly hung up the phone. He ran out of his parents' room and down the hall to Sherlock's room.

"Mikie?" Sherlock asked, looking up from his puzzle. He looked alarmed at his older brother.

"Ssshh," Mycroft locked the door and want to Sherlock's bathroom. He washed his face and contained himself, and by then Father was knocking on the door.

"Mycroft? Are you in there? Open this door."

Mycroft hesitated before going to the door. Sherlock still looked alarmed, but Mycroft pressed a finger to his lips telling Sherlock to keep quiet about what just happened. Mycroft opened the door to his cross looking father.

"Yes, Father?"

"Why was the door locked?"

"It was? I must have accidentally locked it."

Father looked suspiciously at the boys, but asked what they were doing.

"Puzzles!" Sherlock shouted.

"All right," Father said, "Wash up for dinner. And if the phone rings, don't answer it."

Mycroft's eyes went wide and he said, "I won't."

A few months later on January 4th, Father left for work and never returned. Mycroft and Sherlock waited in the library, staring out the large window anticipating Father's arrival. Sherlock's birthday was two days ago and he was hoping to get a large, large gift.

"Do you think Daddy's going to bring me a big present, Mikie?"

"I'm sure he will."

They waited for almost two hours, and when he didn't show, Sherlock turned to Mycroft and asked, "Are you sure it's Tuesday?"

"Yes, Sherlock. It is Tuesday. Don't worry, ok?"

At dinnertime, Mummy came to the boys and made them have dinner. Sherlock pouted and didn't eat, and Mycroft felt like crying. He didn't cry, though, because he knew that if he cried then Sherlock would have a tantrum.

"Mummy," Sherlock asked during dinner, "Am I going to get a present from Daddy?"

"I don't know, sweetheart," she said. Sherlock began to pout, so she continued, "But I'll tell you what. Tomorrow we'll go to town and get any present you want. Will you like that?"

Sherlock's tiny face grew into a large smile, "Oh, yes! And Mikie, too?"

Mummy turned to Mycroft and ruffled his hair, "Yes, Mikie, too."

That night, Mummy took Sherlock from his bed and took him to her bed. He contently slept next to her, and around midnight Mycroft made his way to her bed, too. Mummy pulled Sherlock close to her and let Mycroft lay next to Sherlock. Mycroft realized that it was going to be that way from now on: just Mummy, Sherlock, and himself.

Mycroft felt awful because Mummy cried a lot, but he did what he could by helping out with Sherlock. He'd take Sherlock more and do things with him. They liked to explore the forest around their home. As they went, Mycroft would point out different things that Sherlock needed to learn: different trees, leaves, bugs, plants, cloud patterns. Everything Sherlock learned he learned from Mycroft.