Crashed Out

...

Martin sighed as he spotted the one lonely light still on in the hall, and resigned himself to another round of trying to get the better of his younger brother and inevitably failing. It was like this almost every other night, now, this close to the exams, and although Martin couldn't say he didn't understand, that didn't mean that he had to like it one bit.

Mycroft was undeniably smart. No one could doubt that. Not even Mycroft himself. No, the problem wasn't whether or not Mycroft was smart, but the fact that he hated doing any of the work involved in showing it so that people could see. Which had, unfortunately for the Holmes household, resulted in several sleepless nights as the middle child was forced to cram in too much work into too short a period of time.

Martin creaked the door open just a little, hopefully not enough to garner too much attention straight away. No commotion - no scraping of the chair or throwing of pen or pencil or the entire stack of papers (as had happened once). Not entirely sure if this was a good sign or not, he went in further, trying to keep quiet, yet not too much, in case Mycroft was suddenly startled. He didn't want to be accidentally (or not) hit in the face (again) for disturbing precious study time.

Except... Mycroft wasn't moving. For a moment Martin panicked, thinking that something unthinkable had gone wrong and his little brother had become unwell, before realising that the whole idea was silly, and anyway, he was breathing just fine. He was just asleep.

The ginger Holmes let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, and, after securing the coursework carefully into a cohesive pile and prising free the pen from his brother's hand, bundled the boy up in his arms and carried him to his room.

Mycroft wasn't as young as he used to be. Or as small. And Martin wasn't all that strong, either. It wasn't as easy to pull off as it once was as a result, but that didn't deter him from putting him into bed and pulling up the covers.

They'd always joked that one day Martin would fly (somehow or other, he would), and Mycroft would run the country. Well, maybe once he found himself there, he could have someone to tell him when not to stay up all night and end up wearing himself out like this. He wouldn't always have an older brother ready to take up the duty, after all.

...

AN: Inspired by a picture I saw on Tumblr with Mycroft sleeping on his desk and someone putting a coat or blanket around him, all I could see was Martin and Mycroft.