Secretly I Think You Knew

The Things That Must Be Done

Sherlock POV: Sherlock was relatively used to being dragged around by his brother; he had grown up this way. But when Mycroft dragged him into the house, Sherlock feared for his life. His brother's hand was clenched so violently around Sherlock's windpipe that he was struggling for air, clawing at Mycroft's fingers in an attempt to save his own life. Finally the door shut and Sherlock heard a motor start, obviously that was John running for cover. Because why would someone like John really care about someone like Sherlock? Mycroft threw Sherlock to the ground, landing painfully on the hardwood floors and scrambling desperately away.
"WHAT WAS HE DOING HERE?" Mycroft roared. Sherlock scurried into the living room, away from his brother and his poisonous wrath. Mycroft followed, as fast as Sherlock crawled there was no escaping him. He was terrified of what his brother might do, what his brother might make him do...
"I'm sorry, I didn't invite him, he just showed..." Sherlock started, but he stopped when Mycroft's umbrella caught him hard in the stomach, making the poor boy squirm and gasp for air.
"I'm sorry!" Sherlock exclaimed, crawling behind the coffee table in an attempt to protect himself. All he could see were his brother's shoes, polished, not a speck of dust on them, his umbrella swinging like a mace by his side.
"I TOLD YOU NOT TO TALK TO THAT BOY, I TOLD YOU THAT YOU WOULD FALL IN LOVE!" Mycroft yelled.
"I didn't invite him, he came, I forgot my lunch box at school and he found it, he delivered it to me!" Sherlock insisted. "I promise."
"Then why were you talking to him?" Mycroft growled, kicking aside the coffee table and pulling Sherlock roughly to his feet by the neck of his shirt. Sherlock squirmed but knew better than to fight his brother off, he was no more than a doll in Mycroft's hands, a doll that Mycroft had no care about breaking.
"I thought it would be polite, he came all the way over here, he skipped soccer practice." Sherlock insisted, trying not to look directly into his brother's cold dark eyes. There was pure rage in them, not a spec of love. Mycroft claimed he was protecting his little brother when all he was doing was abusing him in every way possible.
"You're not supposed to be polite Sherlock; you're not to care about other people's emotions! So what if he came all the way out here, missed his little sports practice, it doesn't matter to you, it doesn't matter to anyone. His life is his business, and you're not to try to make it your own!" Mycroft insisted, talking so viciously that spit came flying out of his mouth. Sherlock cringed, closing his eyes to try to prevent the tears from falling. If he showed signs that this was hurting him he would be in a lot more trouble.
"I'm sorry." Sherlock muttered, feeling like a broken record.
"Sorry isn't going to fix it Sherlock, nothing will fix it." Mycroft growled. "Remember what happened to your other boyfriend Sherlock? Do you remember dear old Victor Trevor?"
"How could I not Mycroft, you keep making me!" Sherlock insisted. "You don't think I want to forget?"
"He was your biggest mistake Sherlock, you fell in love, you let your heart lose when you knew you shouldn't. You had to have realized he would've hurt you Sherlock, he would've left you for dead, humiliated you!"
"AND WHAT DO YOU DO?" Sherlock asked. Mycroft threw Sherlock onto the couch, the boy falling painfully onto the armrest. Victor hadn't done anything to harm him, it was Mycroft, Mycroft that inflicted the pain.
"I AM YOUR BROTHER!" Mycroft shouted, looming over Sherlock like a shadow.
"You're supposed to teach your brother to be happy, to follow their heart, not to hide from it! You're supposed to love your brother not hurt them!" Sherlock insisted.
"I don't love you Sherlock, you're my burden. I need to teach you how to behave and in turn you have to listen to me. I'm the only family you have left Sherlock, respect that." Mycroft growled.
"I could make my own family; I was willing to make my own family before you tore that opportunity from my hands!" Sherlock yelled.
"I wasn't the one who killed him." Mycroft said. Sherlock shut his eyes tight, trying to block the memories, trying not to think, to picture...
"You made me!" Sherlock yelled desperately. "You forced me to do it!"
"He was asking for it, that swine, that...that abomination, if you hadn't so graciously taken his life I would've done it myself." Mycroft laughed. Sherlock covered his ears, curling into a ball on the couch and squeezing his eyes shut, no, not now, he couldn't show weakness... Victor's cold form shuttered on the floor, the ice starting to accumulate on his hair, his eyelashes...Sherlock walked into the freezer in horror, feeling Mycroft's reassuring hand on his shoulder, except it wasn't reassuring, it was terrifying. That hand was the one thing that was going to drive him to murder...
"You stay away from that Watson boy or he's going to end up the same, Sherlock you're going to have to slit his throat..." Mycroft yelled. Sherlock screamed in agony, writing on the couch as he saw, as he saw it all, playing back in his head like a film.
"Sherlock...Sherlock what are you doing?" Victor asked desperately, scrambling into the far corner, shivering madly.
"It's alright Sherlock; you know what you need to do." Mycroft whispered. Sherlock nodded, staring at Victor's frost bitten face, the beautiful skin turning slightly blue. His eyes, those eyes that used to shine like suns, they were so dim, they were terrified. Sherlock pulled out a knife, a regular kitchen knife that Mycroft had provided him with, from his pocket, examining the blade as the condensation froze into small ice particles.
"Sherlock, I...what is that?" Victor stuttered, his voice dripping with fear. 
"I have to do this Victor." Sherlock muttered, holding up the knife to watch the blade gleam in the soft light. "I can't fall in love."
"But...yes you can, you have to, I love you!" Victor exclaimed.
"You're lying." Sherlock muttered, so blandly, as if reading lines from a script.
"I've always loved you Sherlock, I never knew your intentions, I could only hope..." Victor muttered.
"He's lying of course, no one can love you Sherlock, because you can't love them back." Mycroft insisted.
"NO, DON'T LISTEN TO HIM!" Victor exclaimed.
"You don't understand Victor, I have to do this. I have to stay safe, and you're going to hurt me." Sherlock sighed. Mycroft let go of Sherlock's shoulder and the boy wandered ever closer. Victor flattened himself against the wall, fear in his eyes, not knowing if he should fight or try to run.
"I have to." Sherlock repeated.