Mycroft Holmes pulled his jacket tighter around himself and shivered. A harsh wind blew incessantly from the north, throwing flurries of snow at him and his brother as they crossed the open area that was the Thames Bridge. They had been in town buying presents and Mycroft was exhausted. Having to contain his brother Sherlock when he was interested in something was all but impossible and the bustling sights and sounds of London had Sherlock abuzz.
Sherlock was walking backwards across the bridge, trying to catch a last glimpse of the big city lights and the hubbub that so captivated him. Their family lived in the country in a large estate with sprawling grounds to play on, but nothing compared to the crowds that possess London on Christmas Eve.
Mycroft watched Sherlock intently, interested in how openly he was displaying his amazement. Even as a seven-year-old, Sherlock was a Holmes and Holmes' were detached. Sherlock got into moods like none ever seen before and could talk about his 'experiments' that he liked to conduct for hours on end. But now he was breathless, a ghost of a grin playing across his features as he stared at the city. His steely blue eyes were alight, flecks of snow caught in his delicate lashes.
"Isn't this great Mycroft?" Sherlock didn't turn his eyes away from the city lights.
"Wonderful. Now watch where you're going or you're going to fall right over the side of this bridge and into the Thames.
At this Sherlock turned to look at him and smirked a seven-year-old smirk. "I'm not going to fall over the edge silly."
"If you say so."
Sherlock turned around though and peered up at Mycroft. His piercingly analytical gaze caught Mycroft's. They walked in silence for a moment. "Mycroft, this year-," Sherlock cut off, unsure.
"What is it?"
"It's nothing Mycroft. Won't Mummy be so happy with the earrings we got her and I know Papa will love his new rolling bag for his travels." Mycroft saw that Sherlock was trying to change the subject, but something in his younger brother's eyes made him want to peruse the subject.
"What were you saying?" Sherlock looked away and at the ground, skating around Mycroft's gaze.
"I said it was nothing." He mumbled to his feet.
"What have I taught you about mumbling Sherlock." Sherlock stuck his tongue out at his elder brother and then looked down again.
"Sherlock, what was it? You can tell me." Mycroft was going to pressure it out of Sherlock but at the last second something about his brother's posture indicated to Mycroft that maybe he should try a different approach. Sherlock looked up at Mycroft in apparent surprise, his eyes wide once more.
Sherlock looked at his feet and Mycroft nudged him playfully. "Mycroft, do you think our family is whole?" The question caught Mycroft off guard.
"Well, I suppose our family is a bit rough around the edges, but we cope." It was a lie and he knew it wouldn't get past his whip-sharp brother. Their family was broken, and Mycroft knew it as well as anyone did.
"What I want- what I really want this year- I-." Sherlock stopped walking and Mycroft watched him scuff his shoe against the ground, eyes to the floor. Suddenly, the young boy's head snapped up and snow fell from his dark curls; resolve like fire in his icy stare. "I just want our family to be together this year." There was such a strong longing and hope in his little brother's face that Mycroft felt a tug of pain at his heart.
This was going to be the third year in a row where Sherlock and Mycroft would be spending the holidays alone at the estate. Presents would be mailed and cards would be sent, and Sherlock would be left to stare into the fire until he fell asleep. Mycroft knew that there was no way he could lure his mother back from vacation and his father would never come home from his business trip. They were to be alone at Christmas. Again.
"Sherlock. Our family isn't like other families, just like you're not like other little boys. We may not all be together all the time, but I'm here for you. I love you Sherlock." The words were out of Mycroft's mouth before he could stop himself. Sherlock's eyes went huge and he sucked in a shocked breath. Sherlock launched himself at Mycroft, wrapping his arms tightly around his older brother. Mycroft hesitated and then wrapped his arms around his brother's thin frame.
"I love you Mycroft." Icy tears trailed their way down Sherlock's cheek. The two stayed there, grasping each other fiercely, for a long time. It wasn't until the tear froze that Mycroft realized he'd been crying as well.
"Come on Sherlock. Let's get home."
More is coming! A look into what the present Mycroft and Sherlock are doing on Christmas Eve.