*I forgot to add that this fic is based on the third and fourth series and I will be using most of the source material except I will be changing some stuff here and there. Just a bit of my creative imagination.

I do not own Sherlock or anythingXXX

The music from the wedding reception was still audible from down the street. It changed from Franki Valli and the Four Seasons to a more subdued Lionel Richie.

Sherlock didn't notice the change though. He was way too deep into his own thoughts to notice anything.

A child. He…they are going to have a baby.

Those thoughts ran over and over in his head. He had finally come to terms that John was leaving him to move in with Mary, because he always knew that in the end there that John would always have time for him.

But now…now there is a third.

Sherlock stopped for a moment by a wall of a Chinese restaurant. He leant against in and slid down till he was sitting on the pavement. His breath was visible in the cold night air.

Many thoughts ran through his mind. He should have been happy for them, but there was something niggling at the back of his head. There was something about Mary that set off alarms. He shook his head, annoyed at how he could think of such a stupid thing

John chose well, yet I always thought it was going to be us solving crimes together forever and maybe one day we…we…

Sherlock leaned his head back against the red brick. He never was wrong with deductions. He was so certain that John was gay. Everyone could see it: Mrs Hudson, Irene Addler, even...

"Hello Sherlock."

Mycroft.

Sherlock looked up, and through his blurry eyes he could see the shape of his brother, leaning on his umbrella. Behind him was a cab with a driver patiently waiting.

Sherlock was surprised. It was not how he found Sherlock, because he is Mycroft, but why would he find him? There was no love lost between the two, yet there he was, standing in front of him (he obviously put on some weight).

"What do you want Mycroft." Sherlock lowered his eyes. He was lonely but not that lonely. He really didn't want to discuss his current situation with his brother.

Mycroft cocked his head. "You know brother mine, it is considered rude to leave a wedding reception early."

"Well it isn't when the guest is not welcome anymore." Sherlock said through clenched teeth. He pushed himself off the pavement and straightened his jacket, automatically flipping his collar up. A fond memory popped in his mind.

Sherlock and John were walking back to the car from the Baskerville Government Research Station in Dartmoor. They were finally on an interesting, challenging case. John named it "The Hounds of Baskerville" and, for once, it was a fitting name. It was one about a "hound" that haunted the village, that turned out to be some hallucinatory chemicals, sound effects and ordinary wolves.

While they were walking back, Sherlock flipped his coat collar like he usually did.

Can we please not do this this time?" John asked.

Do what?" Sherlock turned his head towards his friend.

You being all mysterious with your cheekbones and turning your coat collar up so you look cool."

"I don't do that!" He protested.

Yeah," John opened up the car door, "you do."

Sherlock had a poker face, but he could feel his cheeks heat up. There were many words to describe Sherlock, but "mysterious" or "cool" was not on top of his list, but, he supposed, it was a complement.

Like usual, Sherlock's brain worked immediately, dissecting the sentence. Not many males would mention something as random about a person's facial structure, especially such a part like cheekbones which many consider attractive, to another male that they consider their friend. Or noticing something as small as the way one dresses and vocalising his opinion in a exaggerated manner, unless...

Sherlock stopped thinking and glanced at his friend while they were driving. He always seemed to forget the complete obvious about John even if John himself did not know.

It was only later, at the moment when John nearly left him in the village, was when Sherlock realised how much he took his friendship with John for granted. He realised that he would not survive one week without his companion. He realised how much he had fallen in love with him.

Mycroft's voice broke through Sherlock's memory. "You are thinking of John."

Sherlock snapped his head around, about to open his mouth but Mycroft held his hand up.

"Don't try to deny it, dear brother, I know. You have a certain smile when you think of him."

Sherlock was quiet. For once there was no witty comeback or snide comment. He knew his voice would betray him. He could not let his brother, out of all people, see how weak he was then.

Usually he would ignore such trivial feelings, because after all his work came first. But now he regretted all the times he could have told John the truth and now there is nothing could be done about it.

It was the feeling of hopelessness that destoryed him. Sherlock always managed to figure it out in the end. This time though, he could not get what he wanted.

The only thing for him to do was to be happy for his friend, because seeing him happy that night meant a lot to Sherlock.

Sherlock took a deep breath in and pushed past his brother. His throat was sore and his head was dizzy from holding back the tears. He just had to get away far enough so he could let go of those dreaded tears.

Before he could get away, Mycroft grabbed onto Sherlock's sleeve and did something that no respecting member of the British government did.

He pulled his little brother in for a hug.

Sherlock was so emotional that he did not register the awkwardness of the gesture. He clutched Mycroft tightly as he cried.

For a full five minutes this happened until Mycroft pulled away, his face betraying no emotion. He clasped his brother's shoulders and looked him in his eye.

"What we just did, never happen." For a split-second he glanced over Sherlock's shoulder as if something spooked him. He quickly turned on his heel, walked to the cab and drove away, leaving Sherlock alone again.

Did Mycroft just hug me? Am I in a coma? Did he find out news that he was dying? What just happened?

Sherlock was barely trying to register what just happened when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Sherlock?" John's voice said gently from behind him. "Is it true?"

Hello my bokkies! I am back again.

Wow I haven't written a Sherlock fic for a while, or any fic for that matter, so I apologise if I am a bit rusty.

If there is enough support I will be more than willing to write the next chapter. Please tell me if you do in the comment section.

Before I sign off, I should mention that I remember reading this off a post on Tumblr. If I find the name I will add it here.

Love from thecapefangirl