Mycroft was surprised by how refreshing he found university life. He was, of course, among the youngest there, yet for the first time he found himself surrounded by people close to his own intelligence. Certainly, Sherlock was brilliant. He was just a boy, however. Seven years was a large gap, and thus he could hardly carry on an intellectual conversation with his little brother.
For the past ten years, he had played teacher to his eager sibling. While he had not disliked the role, he could not deny the pleasure he felt at finally being allowed his time as the student. Here he was not the protector, the mentor, the eldest. Here he was simply another man, an eager participant (and frequent victor) in many rousing political discussions. At home, he was defined by what he could do for his brother. At the University, he was defined solely on his mind, on what he could one day do for his country and even the world.
Even as he reveled in the chance to explore his interests, Mycroft kept true to his promise to Sherlock. He set aside a few hours twice a week, to be devoted solely to keeping in touch with his little brother. Even as he fought to preserve their relationship, however, he could feel it changing.
When he attempted to speak to his brother about his new experiences, Sherlock simply proclaimed his words boring and steered the conversation back towards himself. Mycroft couldn't fault the boy for it. He was still too young to care much beyond his own problems, and he had never quite learned to politely feign interest in others. Sherlock cared only to discuss his life and his scientific experiments; Mycroft's political interests bored him and he did not hesitate to show it.
"Politics are so dull." Sherlock whined to him over the phone. "It's just a bunch of dense people with power. Someone sneezes improperly and the next world war starts. It's too touchy."
"That's what makes it interesting, brother. You have to learn to manipulate the imbeciles out of their own way, so that they all get along. You must make them think they have the power, when really-"
"Dull. People are too variable. Not worth the brainpower. Yesterday, I was experimenting on..."
And so it went; every conversation following a similar pattern and ending in the same way.
"You should go to bed. It's getting late."
"But I wanted to tell you about-"
"You can tell me when we speak again, Sherlock. Mummy would have a fit if she knew you were still awake. I will speak to you in a few days, brother."
"But what if-"
"Stop stalling," Mycroft chuckled. "You know my promise. If you need me, I will answer."
"Always?"
"Always. Now off to bed."
"Alright. Goodnight, Mycroft."
"Goodnight, mon frère."
Mycroft waited for Sherlock to hang up before doing the same. He worried about Sherlock, and couldn't help but feel a twinge of longing to see his little brother. Pulling on his coat and heading to a debate, his concerns were quickly forgotten.
He was in the midst of verbally conquering his opponent, when his phone rang. Sherlock's ringtone. The other debaters glared at him as he politely excused himself and hurried from the hall.
"What is it, Sherlock?" Mycroft was slightly out of breath from rushing outside. Curse those extra pastries he's been eating in the cafeteria.
"I can't sleep." Sherlock's voice was small and unsure, reminding him of the first night he had heard those words.
"Alright. Deep breaths, brother. Calm your mind..." Mycroft spoke in a soothing voice. It was more difficult to sedate the boy without physical contact, and required considerable time and effort. By the time Sherlock's snores could be heard, Mycroft's peers were exiting the debate hall, giving him strange looks as they passed him by.
Over the next few weeks, Mycroft learned to anticipate a call from Sherlock at any moment. They had agreed to stick to their set call schedule except for emergencies, but Sherlock seemed to be having more and more "emergencies" each day. He sat in the back in his classes, to avoid the judgmental looks when his phone began to ring. Those he associated closely with learned to respect the phone. No plans made with Mycroft were set in stone, as the shrill sound of Sherlock's ringtone always took precedence.
Mycroft did not regret his promise to always answer his brother's calls. He did, of course, dislike missing so many important things and losing opportunities to gain connections, yet this could not be avoided. He would not abandon his brother, and if Sherlock needed him at important moments, then so be it.
Before long, however, Mycroft began to feel that his brother was abusing this privilege. He understood when Sherlock couldn't sleep, when he broke mother's most expensive vase and panicked, and when he was threatened at school. Those were all matters he willingly advised his brother on. The longer Mycroft was at University, however, the less dire Sherlock's "emergencies" became. He had been in a meeting with a professor when Sherlock had called to ask where he could buy a scalpel. He had done poorly on a quiz because Sherlock kept him up the previous night to discuss all two hundred forty-three types of tobacco ash. His debate group had lost a seemingly simple debate because he had been too preoccupied attempting to communicate the definition of "emergency" to Sherlock to prepare properly.
Mycroft knew that if he wanted to be a successful politician, he would need allies. Friendship was useless, but he needed the loyalty and trust of others, preferable of those with power, to achieve his goal. He sought to only align himself with those for whom he foresaw a bright future in the government. Those with the highest probability of success were given the most of his attention, which was why he was now having a meeting with one David Cameron. This man was going places, and Mycroft hoped to work very closely with him, which meant he could afford no distractions. He had even gone out of his was to call Sherlock that morning.
"But why can't I call you this afternoon?" Sherlock's voice was muffled as the boy continued his experiment while talking.
"I will be in a very important meeting. I really must ask you not to disturb me."
"But what if I need you? You promised!"
Mycroft sighed. "Please just try and stay out of trouble for a few hours. For me."
Sherlock had begrudgingly agreed, and Mycroft had hung up before the boy could change his mind.
The meeting was going well, and drawing to a close. It would appear that Sherlock had, for once, listened to Mycroft's instructions. Then, just as he began to relax, the sound he had been dreading echoed through the room.
Mycroft closed his eyes with a sigh. When he opened them, Cameron had raised an eyebrow, obviously offended.
"Apologies." Mycroft spoke quickly, pulling out his phone. He hesitated. If Sherlock was deliberately sabotaging him just to talk about tobacco ash again, he would strangle the boy. He hadn't had a true emergency in months. Pushing away the twinge of guilt in his gut, he made his decision.
"I must've forgotten to turn it off. Forgive me." Not giving himself time to think twice, he switched the phone off and replaced it in his pocket. What ever it was, he was sure Sherlock was perfectly capable of handling it on his own.
Putting on his most charming smile, he turned back to Cameron.
"You were saying?"
A/N: Again, sorry for the delay. I had a tough bit of writer's block. The beginning was easy, and I've already got four of the last chapters done, it's just the middle part that's tricky.
Thanks again to my unofficial beta, for pushing me through and not letting me post until I'd written something worth the story.
Please review! They encourage me to work faster!
