"I said NOT NOW, SHERLOCK!"
Mycroft Holmes heard his father's voice boom from his study. Moments after hearing the shout, the sound of small, bare feet echoed down the hallway, preceding the slam of a door. Sighing, Mycroft stood from his desk, closing his book and setting it back on the shelf. He walked out of his room and down the large hallway, stopping at the second to last door on the right. "Sherlock?" He called softly, tapping his knuckles on the dark wood. Receiving no answer, he turned the doorknob and peeked his head around the door. "Sherlock?" No answer. He took a step in the room, closing the door behind him. A small whimper came from the pile of blankets atop the smaller boy's bed. Mycroft walked across the room and took a seat at the edge of the bed, next to the pile. They sat in silence for a few moments before a small head peeked out from under the blankets. His dark curls were messy and his eyes wide and teary.
"Daddy yelled at me." he said in a small voice.
"I heard." Mycroft nodded, scooting closer to the boy.
"I didn't mean to make him angry." Sherlock said quietly, a tear rolling down his pale cheek. He crawled out from under the blankets and onto his brother's lap.
"I know," he said calmly, wrapping his arms around Sherlock and pulling him close to his chest. This situation was all too familiar to the Holmes boys. "He has a very demanding job." He looked down at his younger brother sympathetically. Sherlock nodded, nestling against Mycroft's chest.
"Daddy doesn't love me." he said quietly, tears soaking the front of the older boy's button down shirt.
"Nonsense." Mycroft said, giving his brother a small squeeze. "He loves you, mummy loves you, and I love you." He swallowed hard, trying to keep from breaking down, himself. It was true that Mr. Holmes was very rude to Sherlock sometimes- he could understand why he would think his father didn't love him.
"Then why does he yell at me?" Sherlock sniveled. "You never yell at me. Mummy either."
Mycroft reached a hand up to stroke Sherlock's curly hair. "Hush. You very loved, Sherlock Holmes, and don't ever forget it. Promise?" he said sternly.
"Promise." Sherlock said, wiping his eyes.
"Alright, then. No more moping. Do you want some lunch?" Mycroft asked cheerily. Sherlock nodded and Mycroft stood, holding him in his arms. "Afterwards, we can play if you'd like!" he suggested as he carried him out of the room and down the hallway, towards the kitchen.
"Pirates?" Sherlock asked hopefully, looking up at his brother.
"Argh, matey." Mycroft answered, making a funny face and looking down at Sherlock.
"Argh!" Sherlock giggled, shaping his hand like a hook. Mycroft laughed. He had gotten quite good at taking Sherlock's mind off their father. Ever since he had come home from a particularly long business trip, he had started taking out his frustrations on the younger Holmes boy. They ate their lunch quickly before making their way outside to Sherlock's "pirate ship" in his tree house where they played for another couple of hours before returning inside for dinner. Their father had shut himself in his study for the night and their mother was out, so Mycroft made dinner for the pair. After they had eaten, Mycroft picked Sherlock up off of his chair and carried him to his bedroom, tucking him into bed. "Mycroft?" Sherlock yawned as his brother drew the blankets up to his chin.
"Yes?"
"I love you."
"I love you, too." Mycroft patted his head affectionately before switching off the lamp on the bedside table.
