Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Where will you send him?"

"A cousin on our mother's side, over on the other side of Series 12. She and her husband have volunteered their services to raise the child as their own."

"What does your mother have to say about this?"

"She has very little to say about anything. She's retreated to her study to concern herself with the mathematics of theoretical physics in the World Edge."

"And your father?"

"He hardly has the capacity to raise two intellectually extraordinary but non-magical children, such as his second child and myself, let alone a son who is a nine-lived enchanter. Especially as my brother Sherlock's behavior and attitudes have already begun to prove difficult to control. I have explained this to my father quite thoroughly. He has appointed me executor of the family’s business," Mycroft said, the practiced smile on his face audible in his words. The other man, whose voice Sherlock recognized from the television as the Minister for Related Worlds Affairs, sighed deeply.

"If your family has agreed to this, and the boy is provided for, then the Ministry has no objections to the transfer. The additional power will be provided to bind the child to World 12A so he will not fade. If you are absolutely sure you will not keep the child- I’m sure he could be raised without his abilities coming to light. Many families have successfully concealed magical offspring- though not, I admit, with anyone with the sort of power your youngest brother possesses."

"We have agreed to this, and the boy is provided for. Well, that settles it. He'll be sent to Miranda and Cosimo Chant. I will have the child brought to the entrance of the World Edge this Monday at 8:00 AM sharp. Thank you, Minister."

The noise of heavy wooden chairs scraping wooden floors warned Sherlock to hide, but he stood his ground and glared furiously at his older brother as the door opened.

"Sherlock, what are you doing out of bed?" his brother asked.

"Why are you sending Chris away?" Sherlock yelled, his four-year-old voice squeaking and shivering a bit. The Minister glanced uneasily at the teenage boy at his side, already more commanding and imperious than most senior officials. Mycroft frowned at the young boy in nightclothes, and stooped to carry him, squirming and complaining, out of the library on his hip.

"Come on, Sherlock, pull yourself together. I've spoken to Mummy and she's agreed that you can have that dog you wanted."

"I don't want a dog, I want Chris!" Sherlock shouted, his tiny fist making contact with Mycroft's ear, before being handed over to the nursemaid, and carried out of earshot of Mycroft and the Minister.

Mycroft turned his icy stare on the Minister.

"He won't remember any of this."

***

The baby was only a few days old, but already his head was covered in the same jet-black curls that grew on Sherlock's. His enormous pale eyes fixed on Sherlock as soon as the older boy entered the room, seeing far further than any child his age should have been able to. He stopped crying, and his blotchy pink cheeks plumped into a dimpled smile. Sherlock reached through the bars of the cot and let Christopher wrap his hand around one of Sherlock's fingers.

"Don't let them give you silver. You're allergic," the older boy whispered. He felt his heart rate increase and his hands grow cold, and even though he knew it only made it worse, he counted the beats in his chest while trying to count out sixty seconds at the same time. He and his little brother didn’t break their gaze. Their eyes latched onto each other, Sherlock’s staring as if any distraction would blink his brother out of sight. Christopher giggled and stuck his tongue out.

“I was going to show you how to look at things and you were going to show me how to make magic,” he said, pushing down the fear he felt rising. Tantrums are for babies, and look, even Christopher’s quiet.

The door to the nursery reopened, and Sherlock felt the older boy kneel behind him and place a hand on his shoulder.

“Why don’t you want to keep him?” Sherlock asked, refusing to look around.

“My darling, he'll be around people like himself. Mummy's cousin's an enchanter, too. They'll understand him. Teach him. I only wish I could do the same for you.”

“Then send me with him!”

“And leave me on my own here? We won’t be special there, Sherlock.”

“I don’t care.” Sherlock gently pulled Chris’s hand away from his finger.

“I wish I could go with Chris and never see you again.”

Sherlock ran out of Chris’s nursery and back to his own room. Mycroft stood up, slowly, and looked at his youngest brother with a mix of sorrow, shame and envy.

"Oh, brother mine. Where you're going, being different won't be such a difficult thing." 

Out of the three Holmes Brothers, only Mycroft remembered.