Hi~

I think the relationship between the two brothers are absolutely adorable. Mycroft understands Sherlock so well. They don't even have to say anything, but they know how each other feel. It's such a sweet bond.

White drops of soft fresh snow fell in tiny little stars from the sky.

A young boy with a head full of dark curls stared out of the window of his family home watching with his piercing blue-gray gaze at the other little children dancing around in the fluffy whiteness.

His eyes darted back and forth, noting each movement, each puff of air released in the cold winter air.

Tiny fingers traced intricate little snowmen on the frosted glass, imagining the real snow in his hands.

A rough hacking cough erupted from his lungs, the warm blanket around his shoulders shifting slightly

"Sherlock, it is your turn." An older boy with similar features pulled a young Sherlock Holmes to the present.

Sherlock waved his hand at his brother and went back to looking out the window. His mind still vaguely among the playing children outside. "Chess is getting so boring. I want to play another game." His soul yearning for the freedom his sick body prevented.

Mycroft Holmes only scoffed and shook his head. "Are you tired of losing? Already?"

The younger boy's head snapped around to glare at the gibe. "I have not lost at all." Then he moved his chess piece into position. "Checkmate."

Mycroft looked at the board, then back at Sherlock. "Think again, brother." He moved his piece. "Checkmate."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and tugged at a lock of incessant curls, desperately trying to hold in yet another cough. "You are not allowed to do that. I just said 'checkmate'."

"Then look carefully because I am winning."

Sherlock scowled fiercely at his older brother. "No, I am winning. Stop being such a sore loser."

"Stop being such a child and I will."

Folding his arms across his chest, Sherlock jut out his lip slightly and faced the window once more. He was not going to bother with such a ridiculous statement, even though he knew it wasn't just directed at his own comment. His body shuddered and he brought his fist up to his mouth as he cleared his heavily clogged throat. He was seven years old, stuck being a child for the next six years at least. The least Mycroft could do was to remember that.

As if reading his mind, Mycroft sighed heavily and joined Sherlock at the window. "I am sorry, that was wrong of me to say. I do forget sometimes, little brother."

Sherlock glanced at his brother. He hardly ever apologized. Especially to him.

"Fine. Just refrain from doing that again." A gruff nod, curls bouncing slightly.

"Although I do recall you saying you wished to be treated more like an adult." Mycroft's tone was teasing even though his face remained the picture of calmness.

"I never said that." Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed, his mind searching for that particular moment.

"Of course you did."

"Well, I certainly would have remembered if I had."

"So you would rather I not treat you like an adult?"

"I never said that either, Mycroft!"

A smile danced around the corners of Mycroft's lips as he looked down fondly at his little brother.

"Then hurry up and get well. I have been having the strangest urge to build a snowman."

Sherlock blinked in surprise. Then grinned widely and nodded vigorously.

Despite all his faults, Mycroft genuinely cared for him, that he knew. And he would always care for Mycroft too, despite his own faults.

So the two boys sat by the window in a warm comfortable silence of their family home watching the white soft drops of soft fresh snow fall in tiny little stars from the sky.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.

Hope you liked this little short story : ).