From the day he'd come squalling into the world, William Sherlock Scott Holmes had been both the bane of his older brother, Mycroft's, existence, and the center of his entire world. With parents who were constantly busy, Mummy with her job as a professor, and Father with his government position, Mycroft felt it his duty to take Sherlock under his wing.
Sherlock smiled first for Mycroft, laughed for him… Sherlock's first word was MyMy instead of either Mama or Papa. When Mycroft Holmes presented as an Alpha at twelve, he had no doubt Sherlock would follow right along, as he always had.
OoO
Sherlock sobbed into the pillow as his first heat started. He cried for Mummy to fetch Mycroft over and over again. Mycroft, despite reassurances everything was in hand, came straight home from Oxford.
Mycroft found Sherlock sitting in the bottom of the tub when he got home. He settled on the edge and stroked Sherlock's hair tenderly. "I'm here 'Lock. I'll stay as long as I can."
While the heat would not affect Mycroft as it would a normal Alpha, due to their familial bond, he knew his brother would not appreciate having been seen in such a state later. As Sherlock ranted against his biology, Mycroft grew silent and listened.
"It's not fair! I'm meant to be an Alpha… You said I'd be an Alpha!" Sherlock sobbed at Mycroft as he laid his head on his knee. "Please, make it stop. Make it stop! I don't want it. Please, My! Please."
The words broke Mycroft's heart as he sat trying to soothe Sherlock. "It will pass, 'Lock. I promise it will pass." He lifted him from the tub, allowing Sherlock to nuzzle into his neck and calm himself as best he could. The hardest thing Mycroft had ever done, was turn around and leave his brother after he settled him in bed.
Mummy met him in the hall and touched his shoulder before going in to ready Sherlock for what he'd need to do.
OoO
Five years later, as a stroppy nineteen year old, Sherlock still hadn't quite accepted being an omega. He consistently bucked societal norms and made Mycroft's rise in power, sometimes, difficult. Still, Mycroft watched him and still, Mycroft was the one who Sherlock went running to when life became difficult.
That was until Sherlock found cocaine.
OoO
Mycroft was running. He never ran. The familial bond that had been there since he'd first held a squalling, pissed off, two-hour-old Sherlock was missing. A salt and pepper detective caught him as he plowed past a nurse toward the room he'd been told Sherlock was in.
"Oi, mate. Ease up." The man with his hand around Mycroft's wrist spoke gently.
A low snarl escaped Mycroft before he could help it, and only then did Mycroft scent the man under a heavy layer of suppressants and scent blocker. Omega.
"My apologies-"
"Detective Inspector Lestrade. New Scotland Yard. And I assume you're Mycroft Holmes?" He inquired as he looked up at Mycroft, challenge in his eyes.
"My brother, where is he?" Mycroft's voice held a desperate edge to it.
"Resting. He's heavily sedated and on suppressants. I take it you lost the bond?" Lestrade asked in a gentle tone.
"Yes- I am afraid I panicked." The words were near bitten out as Mycroft calmed himself.
"Found him in a drug den, nothing on him, he's not technically in any trouble. But he was sick, is sick…" Lestrade cleared his throat. "He's been on the streets probably four months."
Mycroft looked stricken. "He's supposed to be at Oxford! He's just shy of graduation!"
"I assure you, Mister Holmes. He's not been anywhere but the streets and questionable living arrangements for at least two months… But I'd estimate four." Lestrade returned, still as gentle as he could be. "Whoa there, easy- Let's sit down… Come on, right here." He guided a pale and trembling Mycroft to a seat nearby.
"He's going to be alright Mister Holmes. He is… but he needs help." Lestrade cleared his throat in apology.
Mycroft took a slow, steadying breath. "Sherlock will have the best possible care. I am afraid I have neglected him for too long."
"It's not your fault. You can't think like that. He's mostly grown…" there was a small shake of Lestrade's head. "He got himself into it, he has to get himself out… I'm not saying don't help- I mean. Look, just don't blame yourself, yeah? Not your fault."
"When can I see him?" Mycroft asked, in control of himself once more.
Lestrade sighed. "Soon as the nurse tells us."
OoO
Two years later Sherlock was yelling at Lestrade on a crime scene. "Don't be an idiot!"
"Look here, Sherlock. Don't make me call Mycroft to come haul you off somewhere. Christ. Get off my bloody crime scene!"
Sherlock stalked off in a strop, shouting about the way the corpse was positioned and how it told Lestrade everything he needed to know.
Five minutes later, Lestrade actually saw everything Sherlock pointed out and swore.
OoO
"Hello, Mister Holmes office, may I ask who's calling?"
"It's Greg Lestrade… DI Lestrade? I- I have some news… about Sherlock."
"Hold Please."
OoO
Mycroft met Greg in the waiting room, looking more harried than usual. "Where is he?"
"Calm down." Greg nearly staggered under the weight of the pheromones Mycroft was putting out. He couldn't help the soft whine that escaped him, or the way his head bowed for a moment.
The whine stopped Mycroft short and he looked at Greg. "Lestrade?" He stepped closer. "Greg? Are you alright?"
Greg cleared his throat and nodded. "Yeah- yeah, I'm fine. He's alright- We got to him before anything happened. Got a blow to the back of the head. Concussion, a few stitches. Been whinging about his hair having to be shaved. Tiny amount… hasn't shut up about it."
"What happened?"
"He- the suspect, I don't know it's a chemical of some sort. Anyhow, it almost overrode the suppressants. Mine, Sherlock's, a couple of the guys from the morgue. Sherlock took off after him and, Jesus, so much blood from such a small cut. Christ. It about took my knees out." Greg confessed softly.
Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg and pulled him close, tucking Greg's head in against his neck. "Shh, it's alright… You're both okay. I cannot tell you how relieved I am."
Sherlock's voice cut across the waiting room. "Oh for God's sake. Please tell me this isn't what I think it is."
OoO
The reception hall seemed to hold half of New Scotland Yard and more than a few members of Parliament. Mycroft took in the scene with ease as he squeezed his newly bonded partner's hand. Greg whispered in his ear. "Husband mine, I think our best man might do a runner."
He looked up at Sherlock who was fidgeting as he drew the attention of the gathered people. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak and seemed to freeze.
Mycroft was ever thankful that the bond he shared with Sherlock had come back stronger than ever after the near overdose situation. He tugged on it gently in reassurance as he felt Sherlock's nerves get the better of him. His mouth quirked up in the corner as he watched him settle. Soothed, Sherlock set about giving his best man speech.
OoO
The surge of happiness through Mycroft's bond with Sherlock caught him off guard. His mouth twitched up as he recognized it for what it was. Soon he was pulling up CCTV. His hands steepled under his chin.
It was time to see what this Doctor John H. Watson was made of.
"Anthea? Cancel the meeting tonight. You're going to pick someone up and meet me at the warehouse…"