Disclaimer: nothing mine.
A.N. Prompt is Office romance. AU, journalist!lock. I feel like I cheated, but I had no idea what to write today.
In a different world
It made perfect sense for Mycroft to create a newspaper once his brother had expressed an interest in such a career. Anything to ensure that he didn't fall back to drugs. After all, who else would have endured Sherlock's presence for long? Sherlock, contrary as always, had resisted working for him at the beginning, but in the end he'd had no choice. And Mycroft let him work on his beloved crime news. Every time someone got killed in an interesting way, Sherlock had to pester the police about it. Of course, Sherlock would do a better job than the yarders – hell, Mycroft would have too (not that he wanted to) – so he was a bit justified if he made a nuisance of himself.
Then one day, out of the blue, Sherlock had declared that they needed a website in this day and age and told him that he knew who Mycroft should hire for that. He'd expected a young geekish boy, and seen almost the opposite. Now, as a rule, Mycroft didn't take on charity cases beyond his brother. But Sherlock wanted this John Watson very much, and as always, Mycroft had caved in.
It was a blessing. John – Mycroft discovered – didn't mind his brother's attitude overly much. He was probably the only man on the planet who did, too. He still got fed up with Sherlock sometimes – John was only human – but it was soon evident that his little brother had, for once in his life, found a friend. Ensuring that they spent all their working hours close together seemed the least that Mycroft could do. Especially since he'd not done anything to stop his little brother from letting his work swallow his life almost entirely. Now Sherlock had a reason to smile beyond triple murder.
It surprised no one – least of all Mycroft – when their friendship deepened and changed into a full bloomed love. When coffee and laughs, serial killers and updating became interspersed with kisses and hot whispers. (Mycroft needed to have a talk with his brother about the proper place for trysts, or at the very least cleaning up after himself, but he blushed only at the thought of having such a conversation with Sherlock.)
But no matter Sherlock's questionable initiatives. It was the first time in decades that Mycroft saw his brother deeply, emphatically happy. Sherlock didn't have just a work now, courtesy of Mycroft. He was starting to have a life now, one he fit in. Mycroft's permanent worry abated a little. A slow website and the occasional misuse of office stationery were so worth his little brother's blissfulness.