- Sherlock, get up! Mycroft yelled from the other side of the door, Sherlock sighed but kept his eyes closed. Sherlock, get up! Now! He called once again. Sherlock threw his pillow at the door right before it opened. Brother dear, you are going to be late for breakfast.

- I do not care, I do not want any breakfast. Sherlock said with a sleepy voice.

- And I do not care about what you want or not. You are coming to the canteen for breakfast. He was about to protest, but Mycroft held up a hand to hush him. No arguing, brother dear. With that he left and shut the door behind him. Sherlock sighed again and wrapped his sheet around himself and got up. He started to walk towards the canteen, but someone grabbed his shoulder.

- Would you mind putting some clothes on? Mycroft asked.

- Yes, I do mind. Putting some clothes on means that I have to put some effort in it. And why exactly do you care? He sighed and shook his head.

- Always so aggressive. Has it ever crossed your mind that we are on the same side? He asked with a tired look on his face.

- Um, let me think... No! He tried to walk away, but Mycroft stopped him.

- Clothes, Sherlock. He said before he started to walk away.

- Why? Would you be embarrassed if I did not put any clothes on? Because I would not be. When Mycroft didn't answer Sherlock sighed and went back to his dorm.

To an ordinary person it looked messy , but to someone like himself it was in perfect order. It was chemicals placed on the tables and a microscope standing not far away from the window. He picked a clean black shirt and a pair of black jeans.

When he got to the canteen, he saw everyone sitting around one of the large, round tables. The headmaster greeted him.

- Ah, Sherlock, how nice of you to join us! Your brother told us that you'd like to come in your sheet. Sherlock looked nonchalant at him, and sat down next to his brother. The other kids, Anderson, Sally, Greg and Molly were giving him strange looks, but no one seemed to surprised. Except from a sand-haired, short, blue-eyed kid. He was new.

- Who are you? Sherlock asked the new boy rudely. He didn't mean to be that rude, he just felt angry. But before the boy could answer, the headmaster interrupted.

- It's the new boy, John Watson, we have been talking about the last two weeks. The headmaster gave Sherlock a smile that said; be nice.

- Why does everyone think that I am incapable of behaving? Sherlock asked as he felt the anger rise.

- Experience. Anderson mumbled.

- Sherlock. Mycroft said warningly, throwing a look at Anderson. He put his hand on Sherlock's arm, but he shook it off. He stood up harshly and turned around to leave the crowd. He decided to go back to his dorm where he could disappear into his mind palace. Before slamming the door, he could hear the new boy, John, ask with anxiety in his voice.

- What was that about? Was it me? He could hear how close to tears the new boy was, but he couldn't care less.

- No, it was not you, John. It was my brother's temper. You see, he has always been so aggressive. You can imagine Christmas. Mycroft said and sighed.

- Yes, no. God no. Everyone around the table laughed loudly, Sherlock felt sad for not being able to participate in it. But, why do I care, he thought. Please, I do not want to care again. Feeling is a disadvantage that others can use to get to you. Mycroft's words ringing as a reminder in his head.

Hours later, he heard someone knocking at the door before opening it.

- Who is it? He moaned into his pillow.

- Sherl... What are you doing on the floor? Mycroft asked curiously.

- The pillow was here...

- Well, yes, ok, whatever. I came here to ask you; what the hell, do you think you are doing? The new kid thought it was his fault that you got angry! Sherlock gave him a nonchalant look.

- Perhaps it was him... I do not know, ok? I am just tired of everyone treating me like a kid that easy gets out of control. Sherlock muttered.

- If you do not want everyone to treat you like a kid that easy gets out of control, stop being one! Mycroft dragged Sherlock up on the bed.

- Get out! Sherlock said, gesturing towards me the door. He looked a bit...high.

- Sherlock, are you high? Mycroft asked, the concern for his brother just grew. He continued to point at the door.

- It has started again. You know, the... He couldn't bare himself to say it. The depression. Why was so hard to say?

- No, damn it! I thought you got rid of it the last time. Mycroft pointed accusingly at Sherlock.

- It is not anything I can do about it, nor affect it. Sherlock himself pointed accusingly at Mycroft.

- You need help this time. If you won't accept it yourself, I will make you. Mycroft turned around and left the room.

- Mycroft! You won't tell Mum and Dad right? Sherlock's panicking voice stopped him. Why was he afraid of me telling them? Mycroft turned around again. Now he had a chance to get some clearness of his little brother's life.

- Why shall I not? Mycroft asked, wanting to have more information. Sherlock's eyes was terrified.

- Be-because I do not think they will be happy with me then. Mycroft's heart broke when he saw the tears in Sherlock's eyes. He felt so sorry for his little brother, knowing he had had a bad childhood as younger. The problem was that he didn't know what had happened to him.

- Oh, Sherlock. What have they done to you? Mycroft went back to his brother, hugged him for the first time. Sherlock froze for a second but then relaxed.

- Wh-when you weren't at home, they beat me. They abused me, especially father, mother was only looking but not interacting. Sherlock collapsed into Mycroft's arms. But you can not tell them I told you! It will only get worse then.

- Okay Sherlock. But you have to let me help you, you are only eleven, you need help. Sherlock nodded and sat down, crying.

- Th-thank you, Mycroft. Mycroft smiled and hugged his brother even tighter before letting him go.