All my life

Aged 7

Redbeard. Redbeard had been his only true friend all the way through his infanthood. The imaginary dog, a red and brown spaniel, had followed him everywhere and Mycroft had even bought a dog bowl and engraved the name on it, allowing him to put it on the floor every meal time. Then the animal had been replaced by John, until John...well. John had bought back Redbeard.

'I hate birthdays.' Sherlock grumbled as he took his place at the table, looking at the smiling faces of those he considered his family. Mycroft, fourteen years old now, red hair neatly parted, his lips in a slight smirk. Mycroft hadn't smiled much since his only friend, Greg something, had moved to the other side of London after his parents divorced. Although not that far away it seemed like continents to Mycroft, who'd been wearing a face like a smashed in cake ever since.

Sherlock loved central London. His family lived in Surrey, right on the outskirts of London City in the middle of nowhere, although the area was classified as London. When he was older, Sherlock had decided, he and John would move to an area in central London. Not his father's apartment, nowhere near that, but around Kensington or near the Tower.

To Mycroft's right sat their mother, smiling happily, her curly hair tied back and her green/blue eyes sparkling at her son. Father hadn't been home since that dreadful visit in December and now, seven months later, the bruises and cuts healed, the remainder of the Holmes family were beginning to relax a little.

Finally, next to Mummy, sat Siger, his brown hair swept backwards, smiling at the little boy with genuine joy on his face. Siger was the closest thing both brothers actually had to a father and Sherlock knew at least he, if not Mycroft as well, were closer to Siger than they were to their mother.

'I hate birthdays.' Sherlock groaned again, emphasising the middle word as Mycroft passed him a small, soft present, neatly wrapped. Sherlock sighed and picked it up, felt it, and frowned. 'I don't see it.' eagerly, he began tearing off the outer layer.

'I should have got you a book on deducing, little brother. You need to improve.' Mycroft sniffed.

Sherlock gasped as he took out a soft blue scarf, excellent quality, a deep navy colour. At one end, in gold thread, the letters 'S.H' were sewn and Sherlock grinned when he saw it. He had made a conscious effort to remove himself from the name William in the last few months and Mycroft seemed to have picked up on it.

'Thanks, Myc!' Sherlock grinned at his brother, who tried to hide his smile by saying sharply, 'Mycroft, please. Struggle on to the last syllable, Sherlock.'

Siger went next, taking out a large rectangular box. Sherlock didn't even have to touch it before he knew what was inside. 'Chemistry kit. The one we saw last month when we went to Bluewater.' Bluewater was the big shopping mall about forty minutes from Gyfrinach and Sherlock loved it. There were so many shops and so much to see, to do, to observe.

Finally, Mummy took out a tiny rectangular box and a small, soft parcel. Sherlock opened the soft parcel first and gasped as he took in the dark, leather gloves, the ones that had originally belonged to Grandfather Thomas, Mummy's father. Sherlock's earliest memory was sitting on his Grandfather's knee and pulling at the gloves, trying to put them on his own little hands, chubby with baby fat as Grandfather laughed and ruffled his hair.

'My father made me swear to give these to you when you turned seven. He was seven when his grandfather gave them to him, and his grandfather before him.' Mummy smiled anxiously at her younger son and he rewarded her with an eager laugh and a fleeting hug. 'Excellent, Mummy, thank you.'

Sherlock savoured his last present, looking at it from all the different angles, picking it up and shaking it, but he didn't know what it was. He never asked for anything for his birthdays or Christmas because he liked trying to guess what was inside the colourful packaging, but on this occasion he wished he had. He hadn't realised what the scarf was and Mycroft would laugh at him.