Very few things ever surprised Mycroft Holmes; one of them was catching his little brother as he sneaked into the nursery and picked up his newborn niece.
Sherlock would never admit his fascination with infants, no matter that he spent a fair amount of time around John and Mary's daughter; and while it was only natural that he took interest in a child that shared part of his genes, Mycroft had reckoned it would take longer for him to overcome his stubbornness around anything regarding his eldest brother.
"You're lucky, you know," he was murmuring at Miranda's ear. "Your mother's a sensible woman, and as boring as your father is he'll make sure nobody ever hurts you. He's done that for me on more than one occasion."
That was when Mycroft shook his head and silently walked away. It was only much later that he finally acknowledged the warm feeling that had settled somewhere inside his chest, though he didn't dare to call it by its proper name.