The Sussex students had left the school and while Sherlock appreciated the space, he was annoyed he hadn't got the chance to question them all before they returned to their home.

The swimming event had been the talk of the school. A young boy, Carl Powers, had drowned in the pool during the competition. Had some kind of fit.

Sherlock had almost kicked himself for not going to watch. Many students had and his mother had tried to convince him to go socialise. For once, Sherlock admits he should have listened to his mother.

If he had gone, he would have so much more to go on. If he had seen the death or the body, he'd be able to convince the police.

Sherlock couldn't believe the idiotic nature of the police.

Carl's shoes were missing! He didn't walk to the pool bare foot. All his clothes were there but not his shoes. Why didn't they see that it was obviously connected?

The boy had some unexplained fit and his possessions go missing the same day! Sherlock shouldn't have to spell it out any clearer. Carl's death had not been as much of a mystery as everyone seemed to think.

But the police were happy to rule it an accident. Less work for them, less heartache for his family.

Sherlock could do nothing about it, though. Without access to the swimming pool and any evidence or information on Carl's death, Sherlock could nothing more then try to think up a reason for stealing the boy's shoes.

It was a clue. It had to be.

Or it could be a coincidence and someone just stole Carl's shoes. He was from a well off family, he'd likely had designer shoes or whatever was 'in' now.

"No" Sherlock snaps at himself, staring up at the ceiling. "The universe is rarely so lazily"

"Rarely, brother mine" Mycroft's voice suddenly breaks through Sherlock's walls.

Sherlock straightens and swings his legs down from the sofa cushion, making room for Mycroft. As always a chess board was set up on the small table Sherlock had put in front of the old sofa his mother had allowed him to have in his bedroom.

Mycroft crosses the room from his previous place in the doorway, as he passes Mycroft makes his first move on the chess board.

"What are you trying to wrap your idiotic brain around then? Is the construction of your memory palace going horridly?" The older Holmes questions, taking a seat beside his baby brother.

Sherlock rolls his eyes at his brother's description of his brain before replying. "Carl Powers. Died in that swimming event-"

"I heard" Mycroft nods as Sherlock glares and takes his go.

"Yes, I assumed you would have. Anyway, his shoes were missing" Sherlock watches for his brother's reaction. 

Mycroft was looking at the chess board and barely reacts to Sherlock's words. His eyebrow raises a tiny bit before lowering as he reaches out to take his go.

Sherlock remains silent and takes his go.

Five minutes later Mycroft had put Sherlock in check four times and the younger Holmes was ready to throw a strop, despite being fifteen years old.

Mycroft makes his move, putting Sherlock in Checkmate. He says nothing about the game and turns towards his brother. Sherlock meets his glaze, automatically sitting straighter.

"I think, brother, that this is one of those rare times the universe is lazy. The boy was rather well off, had some fancy shoes that many a jealous student would want. It's extremely likely one of our rotten peers stole them"

Sherlock nods, knowing that nine times out of ten Mycroft was right. Although Sherlock was yet to see that one time he wasn't.

"Alright, Mycroft. I won't waste more time on it. A shame really, I thought it'd be a good start to my career" Sherlock almost pouts. Instead he looks to the chess board and glares.

The older Holmes stands and ruffles Sherlock's curls. "Checkmate, little brother"

Mycroft leaves the room then and Sherlock allows a smile to slip onto his face. While Mycroft may not be the nicest brother of all times, he certainly taught Sherlock a lot.

Had it not been for both their pride and stubbornness, Sherlock was positive they'd have been the greatest of friends.

Many thought that Mycroft was mean because Sherlock got more attention from their parents. That was far from true. Sherlock got babied and spoiled rotten, Mycroft got that and a nickname.

People were too stupid to see it was purely their intelligence getting in the way of their friendship. That and Mycroft had long ago taught Sherlock that caring was not an advantage.

Sherlock dismisses his disturbingly brotherly thoughts and returns all the chess pieces to their original position.

Had Sherlock not taken Mycroft's advice and dropped the case, he would have come face to face with Carl's murderer much much sooner. The curly haired boy had planned to sneak into the pool later that very night Mycroft changed his mind. Had he gone, he would have caught Jim Moriarty snooping around and building his web.

Had he gone, things could have been very very different.

*-*

I gave up on the case. For my brother. To this day, I can't decide if I want to thank him or slap him.

Perhaps I'll do both.

Had he not convinced me it was stupid to chase leads that supposedly weren't there, I'd have met him sooner.

..I'm not sure if that would have been good for anyone. I may have even followed him into the darkest and away from the side of the angels. That certainly wouldn't have been good for anyone.

England would definitely have fallen, with or without Ms Hudson.