The story of the Holmes brothers

What were you guys like before

Greg
I'm sitting with John and suddenly a thought occurs to me. "John how much do you know about Mycroft and Sherlock's past? Do you know what's caused there hate for each other?"

"I don't really know. They never talk about their past. It's just something that happened but we will more than likely never know the answer to." He says and suddenly the door to the flat opens.

"Oh honestly Mycroft why would you even care? You didn't care to write when you left me at home with Mummy and Daddy for years! You have no idea how much I went through after you left!" Sherlock yells at Mycroft and Mycroft slams the door behind himself.

"I do care you git! I alway have but you don't know why you never heard from me! Damn it Sherlock you don't know what I went through just to find out if you were still even alive!" Mycroft yells and John clears his throat to get there attention.

"If you two keep this yelling up and wake Rosie up, I will murder you both and make it look like an accident." John says a bits of venom slip into his voice.

"Why don't you guys calm down and explain to us what the cause of your argument is." Sherlock moves to his chair and Mycroft sits next to me on the couch.

The room is quiet other than the occasional shifting of a person in there seat. John sighs and slams his hands on the arm rests of his chair. "Alright I've had enough of this. If you two won't talk to us then I'm going to make an appointment with a therapist and you can talk about your problems with a complete stranger. What would you prefer to happen?" He says.

Mycroft sighs and looks at Sherlock. They stare at each other for a while and silent conversation seems to pass between the two of them. "Fine. We'll talk." They say and Mycroft sits up a bit more and begins.

Mycroft
"Sherlock is there anything that I should keep out of this? That being what I'm aware of anyway?" "No." He says and sigh before explaining what happened.

"When we were younger our parents never called us Sherlock or Mycroft. Instead they called us William and Alexander. We both hated the names and chose to go by our second first names. I just put up with it knowing I was only going to be with them a few more years. Sherlock on the other hand hated it when mummy and daddy called him William. They always got into arguments and as years went on Sherlock stopped joining us at dinner. I was working at the Queen's side on certain tasks at the time so I was never home that much. The times I was home he was always distant from our parents and clinging to me. I alway went with the idea of him missing me or just another argument, but it took me two more years to find out the real reason. Over the course of those two years I was told that Sherlock had already eaten dinner when it was only 5:30 pm and he rarely ever came out of his room anymore. It worried me tremendously but every time I went to try and talk with him he always slid a note under the door. Each time it said that he would speak with me another day, so I left him alone. One day I came home because the queen let me go home early to be home on Christmas. I didn't tell mummy or daddy that I was coming home that day but I wish I had. After I had been dropped off at home I walked up to the door when I heard father's yelling. I had opened the door just as mother had slapped Sherlock across his face and father sent him to his room for the night and telling him he wasn't going to get dinner. I had stood in the door way shocked and only made my presence know after knocking into the coat rack when I heard Sherlock's door slam shut. Our parents looked at me and I slammed the front door before running past them and to Sherlock's room. When I got to his door I heard sobbing and muttering on the other side, so I opened the door and my heart broke at the site in front of me. Sherlock my 8 year old brother what carving words of hatred and cutting his body. When he saw me he jumped and the small blade he had fell to the floor. I shut his door and quickly walked over to him before leaning down and hugging him tightly. That night he had ended up crying himself to sleep in my arms with blood not hardening on my suit and on his arms. After that night I let him sleep with me any time I was home until I moved when I was officially hired to work as part of the British government. I know nothing of what happened to Sherlock during all that time between the last day I was home with him, to the day we met up again. Since then the hate between the two of us has never left."