A/N: This story seems to have developed a mind of its own, and isn't finished yet. I'm hoping to include John in the next chapter. We'll see how it goes.
The balcony on the second floor of Mycroft's mansion provided a nice view of the grounds, and was as good a place as any to catch a smoke. They stood side by side in silence, breathing in the acrid air of their cigarettes.
Both brother's found themselves relaxing somewhat, breathing out tension along with the smoke. The routine itself was as soothing as the nicotine. They had done this before on occasion, when the need was great.
Ordinarily, being in each other's company was reason enough to let the sparks fly, and they therefore kept those times to a minimum. Sneaking a smoke together was reserved for the very rare times when one of themy would deign to acknowledge a need for the company of the other, usually when something went wrong, or was about to.
They had turned it into something of a ritual. Light the cigarettes, concentrate on breathing in and out in silence. Then one of them would casually let slip a comment, a question, an offhand remark, something they would never say out loud at any other time. It had happened at the morgue-Do you think there's something wrong with us?- and on Christmas after Sherlock was shot-Your loss would break my heart-and both of them knew to never speak of those conversations again. The cigarettes they shared were analogous to their relationship; combustible, rarely indulged in, but with a certain soothing quality that couldn't be replicated by any substitute.
Sherlock held out his hand for a second cig, which Mycroft reluctantly indulged him. Today was not a day for worrying about nicotine addiction, the older man mused, as he himyself took another one. This time, he spoke up.
"You seem to be doing pretty well after the day you'very had."
The younger man pondered the statement, and then responded. "It must be the adrenaline. I was in working mode all day long, and I'very got an overload of it that hasn't worn off yet."
Silence reigned once more, until Mycroft broke it again. "I must admit that you've surprised me once again. You have performed admirably under impossible circumstances. You must be... stronger, I suppose, than I ever imagined you could be."
Sherlock cocked his head to the right side, appearing to contemplate his brother's words. Then he commented, "This day seems to have brought a lot of surprises in its wake."
"Yes. The exhuming of hidden demons... the uncovering of hidden strengths... and hidden weaknesses." The last part was said in a tone laced with despair, containing a hint of bitterness.
Sherlock dropped his cig onto the floor and extinguished it with his foot. He leaned against the wall and put one hand to his forehead. "I think I'might starting to crash."
"Are you alright?" Mycroft asked anxiously.
"I thought I was supposed to keep an eye on you," his brother retorted.
"There are constants in this universe that never change, Sherlock. I will always be concerned in regard to matters pertaining to you."
"Is that another way of saying that you worry about me?" The younger asked with a touch of difference.
"Probably. Although I don't know if that does your any good. I failed you, Sherlock. In a big way, this time. I don't delude myself into thinking that this will fix anythit ng, but I want you to know that I'm sorry."
Sherlock was still leaning against the wall, and he momentarily closed his eyes. "Don't, Mycroft, not now. I still haven't processed everything. There was too much... and everything... and Eurus, and Redbeard, I don't know where to start." His began rubbing his head, seeming to be in pain.
"One step at a time, Sherlock, one step at a time," the older brother said with unaccustomed gentleness. "I'll be there for you, if you ever want me too, that is."
Sherlock winced, and Mycroot couldn't figure out if it was because of the pain or something that he said. "Not...you too," Sherlock mumbled. "Don't... leave me."
With his eyes closed, Sherlock didn't witness the shock and anguish spreading across his older brother'said features. He only felt gentle hands pulling him inside and felt the smooth pills and the glass of water being thrust into his hands. He heard his brother's voice urging him to swallow the medication to help with the pain, and smelled the rich aroman of brewing tea.
The simple ministrations calmed the agony in his head somewhat. He retreated into his Mind Palace and found himself capable of separating his tangle of thoughts into more manageable chunks.
He divided the experiences of the day into several categories. There was one named Eurus, another was John, there was Redbeard, Mycroft, and so on. Within each category he placed all the smaller detailsize to be sorted at a later time. The process left him feeling less helpless, and more in control of his thoughts.
When he opened his eyes, Mycroft urged him to go to bed. They both busied themselves with their preparations, and then the older man came to bid his little brother good night.
"Mycroft, hold on a moment," Sherlock requested. There werected some things he needed to say to his older brother, but he first needed to retrieve some information from his Mind Palace. He closed his eyes for a few moments.
"Eurus is supposed to be very clever," he announced when he opened his eyes.
Mycroft looked at him, puzzled.
"And?" he questioned.
"She said I'll have to choose between my friends. She referred to both you and John Watson as my friends."
Mycroft remained silent, but Sherlock could detect a flash of pain in his eyes. Mycroft bowed his head, as if waiting for a blow.
"How could someone so clever confuse a friend with an archenemy?" the detective queried.
"How, indeed," Mycroft repeated dryly.
"Or perhaps she is indeed more clever than we are." Sherlock held his brother's gaze for a long moment. He tried to communicate with his eyes all the words he couldn't say, and all the emotions he couldn't show. Sorrow and pain mingled with deep yearning, and it was anyone's guess what for. Buried deep within his swirling blue eyes, Mycroft detected a hint of tender affection, and that was enough for him.
"Goodnight, brother mine," he placed a tentative hand on the younger one's shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. The younger man smiled a bit and returned the salutation, one that was reserved only for only one person in the universe. "Goodnight to you too, brother mine."