"Friends…" Mycroft couldn't keep his scepticism out of his voice. He looked at Sherlock, Sherlock stared back. The brothers considered the word, and everything Mycroft wasn't saying.
"If we can't be friends, Sherlock, how could I possibly have any others?" Suddenly incensed, Mycroft plunged into the sea of emotion that always simmered below his intellect.
Sherlock pulled back, looking startled at this turn of events.
"...There may be someone out there who...fits you. Like John does for me." Sherlock said, meeting Mycroft's unexpected honesty with some of his own.
Mycroft felt his mouth twist. "I tried to fit with both of you. Do you think my visits were purely for business' sake? And what do I get for it? I imitate your speech patterns, your posture, your level of familiarity, and you shout me down." He drew himself up, wishing he had his umbrella to grasp and tap on the ground, a shield between him and world.
Sherlock's eyes widened. "I...never considered you might- Your regular visits do not give you permission to be unkind to Mrs Hudson." He was squaring up unconsciously, matching Mycroft's posture.
"Unkind? When you regularly insult her, leave unclean dishes, deduce her attempts at relationships, take advantage of her goodwill by underpaying her-" Mycroft realised his voice was rising, and cut himself off to regain control. "One small remark is an unkindness?" He held himself rigid, refusing to let his breathing change.
"Only John and I may do that. We see her every day, Mycroft. I helped her in a time of need. She...takes an interest. In us both." Sherlock's eyes wavered at this admission of sentimentality.
"And you return that interest by protecting her." Mycroft concluded, feeling something in his chest compress, nearly to breaking. "I see. My mistake." His voice was too formal, too clipped, but he simply could not do better.
Sherlock whirled towards the window. "You should go."
Mycroft stared at the broad back, and cleared his throat. "I should." His steps were halting at first. He retrieved his umbrella, happy to have it back. His progress down the stairs started slow, almost shaky, but finished at the bottom firm and calm once again. Mrs Hudson opened her door as he descended the last steps, interrupting his progress.
"Oh, I was just bringing you boys some more tea…" She fluttered, the statement an unnecessary complement to the tray she carried.
"My gratitude, Mrs Hudson, but I'm afraid I must go." Mycroft's smile was crafted politeness, the degrees of condescension and sincerity a carefully judged balance. "I'm sure Sherlock will be glad of a refreshment, though."
Mrs Hudson laughed, "You boys and the way you talk!" She stopped in front of him. "I wouldn't mind having you around a bit more often, you know. You're good for Sherlock. Terrible for his mood, but…" She smiled, something in her face inviting him to share a secret. "I think he misses his brother when you stay away." Mycroft cleared his throat, and tapped his umbrella. "I highly doubt that, but I appreciate the invitation." He dipped his head. "Goodbye, Mrs Hudson."
"Goodbye! Come back soon." Mrs Hudson nodded and brushed by, making her way up the stairs. She paused on the second step, making Mycroft do the same. "I mean it, Mycroft. You and Sherlock…so stubborn." She shook her head and started back up again.
Mycroft felt adrift as he strode his waiting car. Then shook his head, putting the matter out of mind. However, Mrs Hudson was correct, Sherlock deserved all the misery his very presence apparently caused. "Anthea, schedule more regular visits with my brother, would you?"
Anthea looked up and nodded briefly, betraying nothing. Her utter lack of interest was a soothing balm on Mycroft's scalded emotional state.
They pulled away, and Mycroft put his mind to more important things. The world needed him, even if his brother didn't.