Prologue

Siger Holmes, as per usual, was the only one awake at two that morning. The Holmes mansion was quiet, minus the footfalls of the man and the occasional creak of an ancient floorboard as he maneuvered to the library. He rolled his shoulders, trying to work out his old joints in muscles before he went through with his nightly routine. He forced the big double doors out of his way, tiptoeing in. His tired eyes went to the curled up form lying in front of the fireplace, a smile causing creases to form beside his eyes.

Before the fireplace, with books and papers scattered about him, lay a boy with a head of dark, curly hair, similar to Siger's own, still in his school uniform in a seemingly deep slumber. The head of the Holmes family chuckled at the sight, going and pushing some of the books and notes aside to lie on his side in front of his youngest son. He shut his eyes a little, keeping them just open enough to watch as silver eyes slipped open before a weight was thrown upon him. "Papa!" A small voice giggled in his ear. "Don't sleep on the floor! It's bad for your back!"

Siger helped keep the boy supported on his back as he came to a stand, his son's arms going around his neck and legs around his waist. "As it is for you, Sherlock." He scolded lightly, moving towards the door. "Why are you not in bed, anyways? It is two in the morning. Don't you have school tomorrow?"

He knew why Sherlock was sleeping on the floor of the library, with all of those books and papers scattered about him. Six year-old Sherlock Holmes had been doing so ever since his older brother, Mycroft, had gone off to university, and every night Siger was the one to put him to bed. The books his son grew to love were all from Mycroft's collection; books on astronomy, economics, physics. Not the usual books on pirates or insects that Sherlock always read beforehand. His youngest son missed Mycroft terribly so, and Siger could not blame him after everything that had happened earlier in the year.

"It's Saturday tomorrow, Papa; I don't have school." Sherlock mumbled to his father as Siger exited the library and headed down the hall. "Well, today is Saturday, actually." He chuckled in his father's ear, and Siger could not help but shake his head at the boy's quirkiness. "And I could not sleep! Mummy's been in there all day blubbering by Alli's things."

Siger sighed at that, adjusting his grip on his son. "Has she again?"

"Yes. She's been in Alistair's bed all day, and I can't sleep with her in our- I mean, my room," The six year old corrected himself quietly, snuggling into his father's back. "Can I… Do you think Myc would care if I just slept in his room again tonight?" Like every other night, went unsaid, but they both knew it was there.

"Not at all, but he may not want you to tomorrow night when he gets back for holidays." He trekked through the mansion towards his eldest son's room, listening as Sherlock continued to chattered sleepily in his ear about whatever he read in his brother's books this night. It was sweet, the way Sherlock clung to anything reminding him of his elder brother, but also kind of sad.

They entered the room, and Sherlock immediately got off his dad's back to hurry over to the queen sized bed where his pajamas from the night before were folded neatly. He began to get dressed, and Siger started getting the bed ready for the child. He pulled back the sheets, fluffed the pillows a tad, and then waited to tuck Sherlock in. The boy folded up his uniform and set it on the armoire, then ran and leaped into the bed, scrambling to get under the duvet. Siger laughed at his antics, tucking his son in and pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. "Sleep well, Sherlock. Tomorrow is a big day."

He left the already sleeping boy with a smile, shutting the door softly behind him.

Seventeen year old Mycroft Holmes arrived home ahead of schedule that day. The driver pulled up by the front door, allowing him to hop out with his bag at about seven o'clock instead of the originally intended noon with a tired grin on his face. He was home after so long. With a quick nod of thanks to the Holmes family's longtime driver, he ascended the stares to enter through the ornate door and hurry to his room. No one would be up just yet, so he figured he could get a few moments shut eye before being swarmed by his family.

He slipped quietly up the stairs and down the hall that lead to his room, being extra quiet by his younger brother's room; if he woke Sherlock up now, he would never get a moment's peace. He winced as he pushed his door open painfully slow and it creaked on its old hinges, swearing softly under his breath. He paused once it was fully open, listening for the pitter-patter of small feet along wooden floors. When there were none, he hurried into his room and shut the door behind him.

"Myc?" A soft voice asked, startling the teen. Mycroft whirled around to see silver eyes hidden beneath a mess of dark curls peeking out from under the duvet on his bed, looking ever hopeful. It seemed he would not be getting a little bit of extra rest, although he did not mind.

Mycroft smiled at his brother, nodding. "The one and only, Sherly. What are you doing sleeping in my bed?" He dropped his bag on the floor and slipped his blazer off, setting it atop the suitcase. He went and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling his shoes off as Sherlock scuttled out from under the duvet to sit beside him.

"I missed you, and Mummy's been in there blubbering all over Alli's things." Sherlock waited for his brother to get more comfortable before throwing his arms around him in a tight hug. "It's been terribly lonely, Myc," his young voice mumbled into the soft fabric of Mycroft's shirt.

Mycroft ran a hand throw his auburn hair, sighing. He returned Sherlock's embrace, rubbing light circles in his brother's back soothingly. "I know, Sherly, I know." He extracted his brother from, earning a pout from the other who appeared about to protest until Mycroft made him lie back down against the pillows. He pulled the duvet down so he could crawl underneath it, waiting for Sherlock to follow suit. It had been so very long since Sherlock had slept with him, and even if Mycroft found it annoying because he was so much older, he did not mind. He pulled the blanket over them and allowed the six year old to cuddle into his side. "Go to sleep, Sherlock. I'll still be here when you wake up, I promise."

"But-" Sherlock began to complain, but was cut off by his own yawn. "But I'm not that tired. Really, Myc… 'M not tired…" His eyes slid shut and Mycroft's smile broadened a bit. He lightly kissed the top of his little brother's head and forced his own breathing to slow, soon following after Sherlock into a world where they did not have a dead brother, a still grieving mother, and could be happy.

Together.

A/N: So, this is my latest project. DON'T KILL ME. If you read any of my other fics, I'm sorry! I'll be updating everything within the next few days, including this. Anyways, I have big things in mind for this. BIG THINGS. As always, I obviously don't own bbc sherlock, or just the characters. Please review~

-Kevyn