Mycroft sat quietly in his kitchen, barely eating what little breakfast he made for himself. His tea was getting cold and the time was getting later. Mycroft began to wonder if Sherlock would ever come out of the spare room. He wasn't one to avoid people after having an argument. Normally, really, he'd act like normal, like it hadn't even happened, because he had better things to do than waste time arguing more.

And but of course Sherlock would have known Mycroft had done it. Even John figured it out for God's sake. Surely Sherlock would have gotten it, too. And Mycroft really shouldn't have been surprised his brother had carried on like normal all while knowing he was almost wholly responsible for the final domino that forced Sherlock to jump. It wasn't entirely his fault, and both knew that, but both still weren't very pleased with each other.

Mycroft snapped his head up abruptly at the sound of Sherlock's door closing. His footsteps sounded softly in the hallway as he drew closer to the kitchen. Their eyes met when he entered the kitchen, and Mycroft uttered a half-hearted, "Good morning."

Sherlock didn't respond and merely advanced forward to get himself some food and drink. As he buttered a muffin, he announced, "I'd like to get my things, today, Mycroft."

"Yes," Mycroft replied, getting up to stand next to Sherlock, "I've cleared up my next two days for you. We will get everything you need and then perhaps you can come back alive soon."

"I have a list of things I require."

"Fetch it. I'll have it sent to Anthea."

Sherlock paused. "You trust her enough?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I? You know she's been unwaveringly loyal for all these years."

"And if she is suspicious as to why you need new firearms?"

"Then she will be suspicious and not bring it up."

Sherlock looked his brother up and down took a bite of muffin, and retreated back to his room. He returned not five minutes later wearing an obnoxiously huge pair of sunglasses and a ridiculous fedora on his head. He handed Mycroft a folded piece of paper and instructed he'd need everything on his list within the next week. Mycroft nodded and excused himself to make the call to Anthea.

She picked up after two rings and answered with, "Good morning, Mr. Holmes."

"Hello, Anthea," he greeted. "I have a few things for you to get." He rattled off the items on the list, waiting an appropriate time for her to write down each object.

"Is that all?" she asked. Ah, good old Anthea. Not a trace of suspicion in her voice.

"Yes, Anthea. I need them by the end of the week."

"Yes, sir. I'll place the orders now. Anything else you need, sir?"

"No, thank you."

"Fantastic, sir. I will be by your flat at seven tonight to drop off the papers from today's meeting you'll be missing. Is that all right?"

"Yes, thank you, Anthea."

"Goodbye, then, Mr. Holmes." She hung up after and Mycroft placed his phone back in his pocket. Sherlock was waiting impatiently behind him, tapping his foot and picking at the buttons on his coat. Mycroft rolled his eyes and huffed, but lead the way out of the flat anyway. They hailed a cab, gave the driver the address, and settled into a scarily uncomfortable silence. They reached their destination quick enough, and Sherlock bolted from the cab, leaving Mycroft to pay for it again. Sherlock, remembering what cell they owned, called forth the attendant and snatched the key from his grasp. Mycroft followed closely behind him until they reached the matching door. Sherlock jammed the key in, turned it roughly, and wrenched open the door.

Boxes and boxes was all Mycroft could see. They were lined, stacked, toppled everywhere. A few lame and falling apart bookshelves sat to the corner, and even they had boxes on them too.

"Father's things are in the back," Mycroft shouted to his brother, since Sherlock had already dove into the sea of cardboard.

"Well of course, Mycroft!" he answered hotly. "Where is my microscope?" he demanded a few moments later. "Help me."

Mycroft sighed and dropped his umbrella and suit jacket and began digging around in boxes just the same as Sherlock was doing.

"Besides your microscope, what else?"

"All of my journals, books-"

"We are not taking all of your books back home," Mycroft interrupted.

Sherlock stood up tall suddenly, like a meerkat. "Why not?"

"You owned hundreds, Sherlock."

"Oh, get Anthea to bring them back."

"No. Take your select few needed ones. We'll come back later if you missed something," Mycroft huffed as he bent back down to fish through piles of junk. Oh, why did he keep everything his brother owned? Why, in his grieving state, did he decide this? What was going through his mind? Sentiment? Heaven forbid.

"I saw you and John at my grave," Sherlock announced a good half-hour later. He'd sat down on the dirty floor and was going through a large stack of folders and papers.

"When?"

"When else, Mycroft?" he scoffed. "The one year anniversary."

Holmes the older stood up and stretched. "What have you to say about it?"

"I'm glad you didn't bother John too much," he muttered. "And it was time for him to go, anyway. He'd been there longer than he needed to be."

"His problem is that he doesn't want to forget," Mycroft added quietly, almost as an afterthought. "He clearly is trying to move on, but he almost forces memories of you on himself. You were, Sherlock," Mycroft said stronger, "his best friend."

"Yes, I know, Mycroft," he said tiredly. "I am trying my best to get back to him, now shut up." He tossed a few files to the side and stretched like a cat. "Thank you for the cigarettes by the way, Mycroft," he said, walking by his brother to begin rifling through another box. "Lovely gift. Better than a pathetic speech. Or an apology."

Mycroft held his tongue.

Probably another two hours later, Sherlock finally decided he had enough things to take back with him. They called a cab and returned back to Mycroft's flat to dumb all of Sherlock's things in the sitting room.

"I've also stored some things in the Vauxhall Arches," Sherlock said, standing behind Mycroft as he tiredly collapsed into a seat.

"Later, Sherlock."

"No, now."

Mycroft turned to glare at his brother, but Sherlock did not waver and kept standing there, waiting for Mycroft to get up. He finally gave in, though, and he reluctantly followed his brother out of the flat again. Sherlock stopped the cab back a few blocks and decided to just walk the rest of the way. Mycroft followed him, but said earlier in the ride there that he would not follow Sherlock down there.

They walked briskly, but Sherlock suddenly stopped at a voiced calling out to them.

"It's Inspector Lestrade," he hissed, stepping around Mycroft and ducking into an alley before Lestrade really got a look at him.

"Afternoon, Mr. Holmes!" Lestrade greeted Mycroft happily, shaking his hand. "What brings you into this dingy part of town?" He paused. "Weren't you walking with someone?"

Mycroft smiled tightly. "I'm here on business. And no, surely you imagined them."

"No, but you walked right by me," Lestrade insisted. "There…wasn't someone with you?"

"No," Mycroft answered strongly. "I'm afraid you're mistaken." He looked across the street and noticed various police cruisers and people milling about in uniforms.

"A gruesome murder, Inspector?" Mycroft asked, attempting to make conversation.

Lestrade smiled a little and said, "Oh yeah. Pretty nasty, actually. The head's gone missing. Can't figure out where it might have gone. Want to take a crack at it? I'm sure you're just as good as your brother was!" Lestrade was, of course, joking, but Mycroft figured that the force must be down on cases solved with the loss of Sherlock's massive brain.

Mycroft laughed lightly and shook his head. "No, thank you, Inspector. I have my own job. And I get paid for it, too."

"Hey, he never wanted the money."

"Well, that was Sherlock," Mycroft replied. His phone chimed a few moments later with a text from Sherlock, saying he would return back to the flat. Mycroft pocketed his phone again and began to tell Lestrade he had to leave, but he had already raced off to deal with some whining officers. Mycroft gave a nod and grabbed his own cab back to his flat.

Sherlock was, of course, already there. He'd removed what little disguise he'd had and sat on the sofa, plucking at the strings of his violin.

"Have a nice chat with Inspector Lestrade, Mycroft?" Sherlock practically sneered.

"Yes," he answered calmly. "He wanted to know who I was walking with and what I was doing there."

"And you probably convinced him there was no one with him, yes?"

"Yes, I did."

"Fantastic."

Sherlock, with a flourish, settled his violin under his chin and held it comfortably, and then dragged his bow messily along the strings, producing a screeching. But he slowly eased the pressure and rather glided the horsehair across the taut strings and created something that didn't make the ears bleed. Mycroft sat himself down across from Sherlock and picked up a large book and relaxed.

Hours passed, and true to her word, Anthea knocked on the front door at precisely seven P.M. Sherlock had already left at that point, off to take care of business, so Mycroft had nothing to worry about when he opened the door. So yes, he unlocked the door and offered for Anthea to come in, but she declined and merely handed the papers over with a smile. She bid him goodnight and promptly strolled from the building.

Sitting down comfortably again, Mycroft leafed through the thick bundles of treaties and contracts and agreements. He'd been at it for hours (the clock above the fireplace read 3:34 AM) and then suddenly the door opened. Sherlock strolled in, looking tired. He dropped his coat on the ground and bypassed Mycroft and went directly to the bathroom. The shower water turned on a moment later. When Sherlock emerged again, from the bathroom, his hair was soggy and dripping onto the gray shirt he wore to bed.

"It went well?" Mycroft asked his now-a-murderer brother.

"It did," was the short reply.

And well, that was the Holmes brothers' life for the next months.


Hello there! Hope you liked this chapter! Had fun writing it.

Thanks for reading and sorry for any mistakes! :D