Sleep My Little One

Mycroft snapped up in bed, Sherlock resting on his chest, thumb in his mouth. A soft hand on his cheek made him calm again.

"Myc shhhh, he's OK, shhhhh, go back to sleep, John just wanted to check vitals overnight."

" Shhhh," Alistair repeated, running a hand over his face soothingly.

"I… I…" Mycroft gasped, the psychologist gently kissed him on the forehead, non-sexual, lovingly.

"I knew it would come to this, Mycroft.. He is everything and more, I cannot bare to see this continue; you are all he has, this could break him,"

"Rub my head,"

"Of course, love," Mycroft lay back, and enjoyed the soothingness of his former lover.

"Greg will hate me,"

"No, he only wants you to be looked after; I'm happy that you found someone to distract you, you've been through so damn much,"

"Alistair don't start now,"

"Mycroft listen, its nothing to be embarrassed about.. I didn't say anything, but he needs to know as your husband," the psychologist kept his voice soft, if only they had been polar opposites.

"Mikey…" they turned and Sherlock opened his eyes sleepily smiling at his big brother, snuggling into Mycroft's arms.

"Good morning, you," Sherlock grinned as the ahrink tickled him under the chin.

"Baba, why not go see if Anthea brought me the sugar shaker, I left it at mummy's," Mycroft hoped this would be a good distraction.

"Good move,"

"He's less wobbly then last week,"

"Go eat,"

"No,"

"Yes, I am still your therapist Mycroft; doesn't matter how old you are," the British Government rolled his eyes.

"Mikey, the shaker's in the cupboard," Sherlock laned against the door, looking like he was eleven again when Alistair and Mycroft had first gotten together.

"Thank you, baba.. Now come cuddle with me, I'm cold," Mycroft gave a soft grin.

"Kay," God Mycroft was lost in fantasy land all over again. The feet pattered on the floor, climbing up onto the bed.

"Mycroft you need to tell him-"

"Tell me what?" Greg appears in the door with Mycroft's favorite flowers and Sherlock's scarf.

"Nothing-"

"You pcked up my scarf," Sherlock smiles for the forst time in nearly 2 weeks.

"You're attached to this bloody thing, didn't want it to walk off," he hands him the scarf, kisses Mycroft on the head, and proceeds to put the flowers in a vase, filling it with water from the bathroom sink.

"Tell me what Mycroft," Greg asked putting the vase on the bed side table. Greg sat on the other side of the bed, next to his partner.

"We need to talk, Greg…" Mycroft whispered, tears in his eyes. He looked down, as Sherlock snuggled closer, nuzzling his night shirt.