A Complex Man

Part: 1- Playing Big Brother

"So baby brother, how have you been?" Mycroft asked, his voice like silk.

"Sod off Mycroft." Was all he got in return. Well that and a middle finger. Charming.

Outwardly, he permitted a serene, mild smile. Sherlock could be such a child. He was annoyed, of course, but showing even a hint of that would be a mistake. The last time he'd ever let Sherlock see him perturbed, he'd been 12 and had merely frowned and looked down when Sherlock insinuated for the first time that he'd put on weight. They were middle aged men now and still never a meeting went by without some crude fat joke.

The truth was, Mycroft's feathers were positively ruffled at the moment. This lack of communication was hardly new. It became clear to Mycroft at a very young age that he and his brother were going to have a rather tedious pattern for the rest of their lives. Sherlock would make a mess. Mycroft would clean it. Sherlock would resent him for it. Mycroft would do it again anyways. And he had decided, all those years ago, that he would not fight this dynamic. Because his little brother was certainly smarter than the rest of the world. But he was not smarter than him. Sherlock would never see the simple truth: he needed tedious. Like a drowning man needed a life perserver. Tedious was safe, predictable, and (most importantly) dependable in a world he would never be able to depend on. A world that would forever be against him. And if Sherlock hated him for providing this, all the better.

Sentiment kept Mycroft in this terribly unhealthy, depressing position. Caring made him weak enough to keep swooping in to save the day no matter how unappreciated. Yes. It was certainly better Sherlock never learned the burden of sentiment. Caring is not an advantage. Ever. It had always been some measure of comfort to Mycroft, that his strategy was such a double edged sword: Play 'Big Brother' and protect Sherlock from himself, while at the same time teaching him to despise such sentiment, thereby protecting him from everyone else.

And yet, one short, fierce little ex-army doctor had managed to make his strategy practically obsolete. And therein lied the true origin of Mycroft's agitation.

A/N Wow, okay, so I've been working on a different story the last few days, but essentially, I suck at silly little details like "plot development" or "background information" or "how much time has passed" or "setting." Haha Which explains why everything I write is usually a character study. It's not that I can't do the other stuff, It's that I find climbing into someone's head infinitely more interesting!

So I decided to treat myself to a little of Mycroft's headspace as a break from the other fic. It's still going to happen eventually, because seriously folks, I need the practice. It may be slow going/awful… but I'm determined.

Please review! Mycroft's a hard man to read lol so let me know how I faired! Part 2 will probably be up tomorrow :)