Song: Brother by Jane Taylor

Summary: Harry and Mycroft consider the difficulties of their little brothers.

Warnings: Sherlock/John implied romance.

Spoilers: Implied for The Great Game.

Disclaimer: As usual, I own nothing.

Author's Notes: Another of my favourite songs. I hope you enjoy reading it. Thanks to my wonderful sister for reading this through for me an thanks to all those who have reviewed or added this story to their allert.

All across the water, oh little brother, what did you find?
And did it all make sense, outside of the room you left behind?
Was it easier on you without me in your life?
I didn't realise I was so guilty of letting you down

Time all this time, and I still don't know what I did
Time all this time, and I still don't know why

Harriet Watson watched her brother's slow, steady breathing. He was unnaturally pale against the hospital sheets. When the doctors said he was out of danger Harry had almost laughed; he would never be out of danger. He had been thrown out of one war only to fall into another, more personal one. Against his brother's orders, Sherlock had told Harry everything, either out of sympathy (for her) or out of spite (for his brother). They had spent a night together in the hospital, waiting for news. She couldn't hate him. She wanted to, for putting her baby brother in danger, but she couldn't. Not after seeing how broken he was behind his walls. One broken soul immediately recognises another; there's something in the eyes. Sherlock's eyes were sharp but cold and empty. Except when he looked at John.

She wished she had been there for John, but she knew it wouldn't have made any difference. He was addicted to this life of risk and war, as much a she was to the bottle. The difference between the two of them was that her addiction had cost her her love; John's might just win him his. If it didn't kill him first.

Staring at your picture, you're getting older; I didn't know
She said your name out loud. I swallowed it down into the hole
You were once forever, you were my laughter; my home
Does none of this mean nothing to you any more?

Mycroft watched Sherlock pace restlessly around 221B Baker Street. He tried to match this driven man with the child he remembered, but it was almost impossible. Sherlock had been a curious child but unfocused. If he couldn't find the answer to one problem then he just moved onto the next. That had changed when he heard about the death of Carl Powers; he had become more aware of the consequences of failure, more desperate to find the truth, less willing to move on. They had been closer then, Sherlock asking Mycroft everything, Mycroft reading late into the night so that he could have the answers. Things were different now. Sherlock depended on no one. Well maybe that was not true anymore. Mycroft watched as John walked over to Sherlock, forced him to stop pacing and pulled him into his embrace. Mycroft felt a stab of jealousy that John could comfort his little brother when Sherlock pushed everyone else away. He wished things could be different, that they could return to the summer of their childhood, before betrayal and circumstance had torn them apart.

But it seems, all in all, I guess I can't make this better
Little boy, are you still hiding under your hood darling?
Through it all I guess I'm still chasing shadows
Little boy I thought you knew
I was a child too

Author's Note: Thank you for reading, please take time to review to help me make my writing better. Until we meet again, Fireheart93.