TW Pet death, description of a dog body, grief, messed up sibling relationship.

Mycroft struggled with understanding how emotions worked and how normal people felt them. He was accustomed to this. For example, most people felt romantic love, which led them to stupid actions. Blainbridge loved his wife so much he'd gotten a vasectomy immediately after the birth of his third child, and still hadn't told her about it after she'd birthed the fourth. Harry loved easily and unconditionally, Mycroft loved his family and his country.

On some days, he even thought that Mummy, Father and Sherry might love him back. He had no such compunctions about Eurus.

Eurus loved nobody and nothing, except one purebred poodle that Mycroft had given her. From the moment he'd pressed a puppy into Eurus' waiting arms, Mycroft had known the day would come. He should have been expecting it.

It had been inevitable.

Johnny's death struck the Holmes household like a derailed freight train.

To Mycroft's deep shame, his first fleeting thought when Eurus called was, 'Thank God the dog lasted the academic year.' He could picture Mummy's sneer too clearly: 'The first Holmes at Oxford and she flunks out, what a mess.'

Instead, Eurus had stellar grades to show for her first attempt at pursuing her own interests—stellar grades and the corpse of a poodle that hung limply from her arms as she stood before the flat's door.

It was the first time she hadn't been able to pick the lock, Mycroft realised as he let her in. She sat herself on the settee, dog clutched tightly to her chest.

Mycroft didn't know what to say. She could deduce how sorry he was all by herself. "I'll go make up some tea." He retreated to the kitchen with immense gratitude for the excuse to take a few bracing breaths. Mycroft had known Eurus all her life, and while he couldn't always predict her, he did know how she thought. He'd given his sister the dog to love and cherish, and now he had inadvertently taken Johnny away again.

The water boiled much faster than usual, proving Einstein's theory beyond all doubt.

As luck had it, Harry and Sherry were out at Hyde park for the day, where Sherry was most likely feeding pigeons and picking pockets. It meant Mycroft had to deal with his sister by himself, like the good old days.

She'd never grieved Sherlock the way the rest of the family had. Mycroft had read the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders cover to cover, rereading it when the third edition came out. Sociopathy wasn't a listed condition, no matter what Uncle Rudy liked to say.

Mycroft had never bothered to tell his sister that he'd diagnosed her with antisocial personality disorder; there was no point. He neither expected nor required her to relate to the world the same way others did.

But seeing her so numb—so empty of even grief—it was jarring. Her hand was cold as Mycroft pressed Harry's favourite mug into it. Even without being there, perhaps Harry could bring some much-needed warmth to the situation. Eurus was still stroking the dead dog's fur.

"He died in his sleep."

Mycroft had already deduced that.

"You were asking me about love," Eurus continued, "and I told you I didn't know. But this…Johnny…he was my dog. Why would you do this to me?"

Mycroft wasn't sure it'd make the situation better or worse if she'd cry. Johnny's head lolled to one side as if his neck were broken. "I'm sorry," Mycroft whispered. "I'm so, so sorry."

"What are you even doing? You're the government, you should be working on this, you should be…"

"Stopping death? Eurus, I can't do that. You know I can't do that. Please, you have to understand..."

"Don't tell me what I can or can't do," she barked out.

The air smelled of ozone. Mycroft swallowed, suddenly glad that her hands were preoccupied with her tea and her…corpse. "Sorry," he said again. "I wish I could fix this, I really do. Please, Eurus."

She cradled her cup with both hands and sipped. One of Johnny's eyes slid open. Mycroft wondered how long it would take for the body to stiffen, or if it had already relaxed. For all the things he'd studied and learned, he'd failed to preoccupy himself with the inner workings of death.

It was an oversight that he wouldn't be resolving today. He looked up as Eurus did, turning towards the flat's door. Harry came in with his wand raised and a wary look in his eyes.

"Harry, it's Johnny, he's…" Mycroft said, and tried to convey the entire situation with a gesture of his chin. 'I know the wards told you I'm in danger, but I'm safe now. Eurus isn't feeling very well, that's all. Still, I don't want Sherry in here, so if you could please—'

Harry nodded once. Behind him Sherry stumbled into the room from under Harry's invisibility cloak, his own very much alive dog wriggling in his grasp.

"Alright," Harry said, reaching for Sherry's shoulder and calming the puppy with a touch. "Come on, off to your room now."

Sherry didn't argue. Either he felt Eurus' predatory gaze on little Medusa's back, or perhaps had already moved on to the experiments awaiting his attention.

"Hullo," Harry said, keeping his wand on his lap as he sat beside Eurus. "I'm sorry about storming in like that, you scared me. Do you know what you want to happen next?" He stroked a hand over Johnny's head, closing the dog's eyelid.

Mycroft marvelled at how natural Harry made it look. Touching the body; it must be quite cold by now. The dog's eye slid back open, staring into nothing like only the dead could.

Eurus was impossible to read. Mycroft looked down at his tea, hoping Harry would handle this, because he bloody well didn't know how to fix it.

The phone rang. Mycroft jumped to his feet, upending his cup. He heard himself swear as the china shattered against the floor. Wet heat bloomed across his lap. He felt like a child waking from a nightmare.

It was Anthea on the phone: a hostage situation at the Bosnian embassy required immediate attention.

"I'm sorry," Mycroft stood behind his armchair, not meeting Eurus' eyes. "I have to go. Eurus, I swear." He looked up and winced at the accusation screaming back at him. "I'll find a way to fix this for you. I always do, remember?"

She stood. Johnny fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Eurus stepped over the dog and strode for the door. "You can't fix this," she said, turning as she yanked it open. "You knew this would happen. You had twenty years to try, and you failed me."

Mycroft watched her leave. He walked over and pushed the door shut, then put on his shoes and straightened his tie. "Harry, if you would, a spell for my trousers please?"

The smile Harry gave him wasn't quite right, but Mycroft wasn't feeling quite right either.

"And," Mycroft added, his voice barely trembling. He pressed the balls of his hands against his eyes, then slipped into his jacket and chose his most formidable umbrella. The lion roared silently into his left palm, while his right reached out to take a hold of Harry's arm. "Would you apparate me to Lexham Gardens? There's a situation I have to take care of."

He turned away so he didn't have to see his son peeking at him through his cracked door. Harry squeezed his hand and then they were squeezing through apparition.

"I'll take care of Johnny," Harry said before he left Mycroft on Cromwell Road. "It'll be alright, I promise. Between the two of us, we can do anything."

Then he apparated away, leaving them each to solve the crisis they were most suited to.

.oOo.

It had been a week. Harry burned the dog, saying it was the only sensible choice for a witch's familiar. Mycroft did not want to contemplate dark magic involving bits of beloved pets, so he delegated to Harry the act of turning what used to be Johnny into ashes and dust.

Sherry seemed entirely unbothered, which was even more unnerving than the fact Eurus had vanished. Little boys and girls who didn't know how to empathise with others…well, suffice to say there was a reason Mycroft had given Sherry a puppy of his own, even if he wasn't taking to Medusa with quite the same level of attachment.

Perhaps it was better that way. After all, it was only a matter of time before the dog would also die. While Mycroft struggled with fatherhood more from day to day, Blainbridge remained unshakable. Somehow, over the course of parenting four children past toddlerhood, he'd figured out how to successfully watch over even a boy as picky as Sherry was.

Mycroft arranged some tutors for his son, to distract them all from Eurus' absence and to keep Sherry from growing bored. The tutors all said the same thing: startlingly bright, but uninterested in lessons. Harry seemed convinced that this was fine, that Sherry should be allowed to follow his own heart, but Harry didn't have Mycroft's experience with raising Holmeses.

Thus, Mycroft took to another avenue of entertainment. His heart ached at the idea, mostly because Sherlock had been such a virtuoso, but the needs of his current child were more important. Mycroft had mixed feelings when Sherry rejected the piano and flute. His heart both shattered and soared when Sherry adored his violin.

An older lady from next door collected him for lessons, first once a week, then twice a week, then every other day. Sherry took to Mrs. Hudson like nothing else. Little Medusa, on the cusp of adulthood, would lie on the floor by the door every time, waiting for her master to return.

Meanwhile, Mycroft succumbed to the necessity of putting sheets over Eurus' furniture when Christmas was around the corner and she still hadn't come back. He told Harry he'd stop looking, but he got MI6 to approve his budget for better surveillance of the borders, just in case. There'd been a word here or there that she'd been seen in Germany, neither creating scandals nor causing collateral damage. No news was good news, Mycroft told himself, but that didn't change how much he missed her.

He missed having her around every weekend. He missed sitting on his armchair with Sherry on his knee, listening to Harry and Eurus debate magical theory that went well above his head. It had been a humbling reminder that there were things he couldn't understand. Secretly, it had thrilled him to see the most important people in his life getting along so easily.

Harry had a knack for talking to Eurus as if it was effortless. He, somehow, wasn't scared of her. Mycroft admired that, and he took comfort in it. Thus, when Harry told him to let Eurus grieve however she needed to, Mycroft almost took his advice.

Once the two MI6 agents he'd assigned her case went missing, Mycroft actually took his advice.

Due to Sherry's intelligence and his acting ability, Mycroft and Harry decided to brave a Holmes family Christmas in Henley. Sherry's ability to charm Mummy certainly wasn't from Mycroft's side of the family. Amusingly, Harry had the same forced smile for Mummy as he did for American politicians. It was the first happy Christmas Mycroft could ever remember in that house, and that made Mycroft's chest ache with a burst of loneliness.

Eurus should have been there with them. She was family. She was his sister. Mycroft drank until he was flushed with alcohol and the heat of too many logs on the fire, then fled to father's room, dark and stuffy and familiar. Sitting at his father's desk he still felt small, regardless that he was the largest Holmes in four generations.

"Mikey," Father's voice croaked. He'd let himself in and was standing in the door, leaning heavily on his cane.

"Papa." Mycroft helped him into the reading chair and sat himself on the floor, back against the armrest and welcoming his father's touch in his hair.

"You are a good son," Father said.

Mycroft swallowed and closed his eyes. The fingers in his hair felt thin, like the time Eurus had made Mycroft hold a dead squirrel. Its bones had been so frail. "Are you alright?" Mycroft asked the darkness.

"He is good for you. A fine choice," Father continued.

The hand didn't stop moving. Mycroft's thoughts jolted. "You're not dying."

He could hear Father's smile. "I'm sure your mother would like that very much."

His health hadn't been worse lately, Mycroft was sure of it. He compared the images mentally. Father's skin might look like a wax figure left out in the sun, but his organs functioned relentlessly.

"You two have my blessing," Father said. "Now, go stop your son from breaking your mother's heart. She raised Eurus, and she'll catch on to the way he's manipulating her soon enough."

Mummy hadn't raised any of them. Mycroft pushed himself to his feet and pressed a kiss against his father's hairless scalp. "I'll do right by him," he said.

It wasn't until he'd made it halfway down the stairs that his mind caught up. Mycroft blamed the eggnogg, because he was many things but slow wasn't one of them.

Mycroft might be getting married. His stomach felt like champagne bubbles all coalescing into a burp.

.oOo.

Just because Mummy would hate it, Mycroft made sure to take Harry and Sherry on a walk down Market Place the day after Christmas, when the most obnoxiously pious were just coming out of church. For all that he was proud of his child and his…his Harry, Mycroft still couldn't bring himself to hold hands. He'd meant to, he'd firmly intended the trip to bring a solid scandal down on Mummy's shoulders.

And yet.

He could hear a whisper here and there, a pointed, 'Isn't that Mycroft Holmes?' as if he wasn't the same miserable fatty that he'd been twenty years ago returning from Eton for break.

Harry, bless him, knew exactly what to do. He set the three of them down at a window seat of a cosy café where an unfortunately acne-riddled waitress took their orders. He shuffled his seat so that their thighs were touching and pretended this was just a normal day in their normal lives.

Sherry, the little bugger, smirked at Mycroft like he knew exactly what he'd been planning and thought nothing of his powers of execution. While they waited for their orders he ducked under the table and used his usual small bursts of magic to make Medusa sit, lie down, roll, and shake.

The strawberry cheesecake was mouthwatering. Mycroft washed down small bites with steaming hot chocolate, feeling the lingering anxiousness from being around Mummy melt away bit by bit.

"I was thinking," Harry said, putting an arm around the back of Mycroft's chair, "Maybe we should go on a holiday. We deserve a break."

"Germany?" Mycroft asked.

Sherry bumped his head against the table, letting out a muffled, "Ow!" His face was bright red as he sat back up.

"Mycroft," Harry said, voice gentle and smile kind. "Eurus will come back when she's ready. No, I was thinking about France? The Blacks have a summer house that I want to send Sirius to when he gets out. Now that Bella has decided to leave it, there might be a few curses to break, but it'll be fun."

Eurus would have loved to practise her curse-breaking, Mycroft couldn't help but think. Except—

"I'm sorry, I must have misheard. I thought you said your deranged cousin has broken Lord Black's direct orders to remain on his property?"

"There's a cottage in the Austrian Alps, don't ask me. Anyway, d'you think our countries could spare their governments for a long weekend?"

Mycroft had the aftermath of the miner's strike to sort and the SDP–Liberal Alliance making waves, but there might be time for a holiday after easter. He put down his fork and left his hand palm up on the table right beside Harry's. It was strange how different the simple action they'd done so many times at home felt, now that it was out in the open. Mycroft looked up and down the street, relieved that the main crowd of churchgoers had moved on.

Harry's touch was warm and light as he rested his hand in Mycroft's. Distantly, their server let out a little 'Oh.' Looking at her, he deduced that she'd just finished school and was telling everyone about her gap year when actually her university'd rejected her. She'd be breaking up with her boyfriend soon.

Mycroft closed his fingers around Harry's and stood. He stood so fast his chair would have toppled if Harry hadn't caught it. They shuffled inelegantly out of their seats, with Sherry projecting all the judgement his four year old frame could convey. Mycroft was so caught up in his statement he forgot to pay, but thankfully Harry still had his wits about him.

They walked back towards the house with Sherry and Medusa up ahead and with Mycroft clutching Harry in a death grip that contorted their arms a bit.

It was perfect.

.oOo.

Sherry's first day of school should have been a blessing. If Sherry had been a normal child or even a normal Holmes, it wouldn't have been an issue. When Harry teleported their son off to his first day at his gifted program, Mycroft breathed out a relief he wasn't sure he believed yet.

For all his maturity, it would be very Sherry to accidentally set fire to his classmates for 'being stupid.'

Meanwhile, Mycroft had had the rings for a while now. He'd had the rings for longer than he'd had the legalities sorted out, as a matter of fact. Mycroft liked to be prepared; it enhanced his illusion of being in control. They'd been together for long enough; it was time.

"That's it," Harry announced, popping back in and collapsing immediately onto the settee. "I can't believe it's true."

"Yes," Mycroft said, swallowing. "Certainly." He wet his lips, fingering the ring in his pocket. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you about."

"If you're asking what I think you're asking: I'm not ready for that level of commitment."

Mycroft locked his knee halfway towards doing something monumentally stupid. "Er." He put his hands stiffly at his sides. "My apologies?"

Harry ran a hand through his own hair, still smiling at the ceiling. "I know I swore to give the Black house another heir, but let's give ourselves at least another year, yeah? I don't think I could handle another toddler that's smarter than me just yet, and we have until he's ten."

Slowly, Mycroft's heart hoisted itself up from his stomach and returned to its proper place between his lungs. He took a smooth, measured breath. "That wasn't what I meant to ask," he said, then winced at the you idiot his tone had accidentally implied.

The answering smile was fond all the same. "Alright," Harry said. He patted the settee beside him. "Why are you standing like someone's charmed an umbrella up your arse?"

Mycroft wiped the sweat off the back of his neck and shoved his hand back into his pocket. There was no reason for his ridiculous anxiety; all prior deductions had indicated that Harry was amenable. Mycroft's parents had agreed. Eurus had liked Harry too, back before she'd gone and run off to Nürnberg.

There was no reason Harry should object to the paperwork Mycroft had already filled out and filed for them. No reason for them not to go in to work the next day wearing matching rings.

Anthea had suggested letting Harry sign his own paperwork, so Mycroft was pretending he hadn't already gone through with the formalities. All he had to do was hand over the golden band sitting heavily in his own sweaty palm.

Perhaps, this was what people meant when they talked about "having feelings" for someone. Fearing their rejection, tolerating their idiosyncrasies ad absurdum, seeking their company for comfort, enjoying mutual conversation.

Mycroft had checked to ensure this relationship was not merely a passing infatuation.

Recently, he'd even caught himself thinking that Harry was quite fit. Mycroft wondered if a sort of consummation of their marriage might even be palatable.

He took Harry's hand in his own and sank to one knee—bumping his elbow on the coffee table in the process.

"Bugger!" Right in the ulnar nerve. Mycroft blinked the tears from his eyes.

"Are you alright? Should I fetch some ice?" Harry had twitched for his wand twice already. "Shit, that looked bad. Wait, what are you—what are you doing?"

The suspicion hurt a bit. "What does it look like I'm doing?" he ground out, then took a few deep breaths as he rubbed his elbow until the pain subsided.

"Well, I know what it looks like to me, but you just told me off for assuming. Are you sure you're alright?"

Mycroft fished the ring out of his pocket and passed it over, then wiped his eyes dry. "Obviously, I'm asking you to marry me."

Harry, the bastard, laughed. He took Mycroft's sweaty hands in his own warm ones and pulled him onto the well-worn bit of settee beside him. "I thought you'd never ask," he said, sliding the ring into place. They sat side by side, hand in hand, looking towards the bookshelf.

Mycroft could hardly hold himself upright, so solid was his relief. "Is that a yes?" he said, even though he'd known that it'd be a yes for years.

"To be honest, I was sure you'd married us on paper already. You forging my signature looks nicer than when I sign it myself."

So much for Anthea's unnecessary showmanship. "I might have done that also," he said.

Harry laughed again. "You've been taking relationship advice from your secretary again, haven't you."

Mycroft handed over his own ring and let Harry slide it onto his finger for him. "You may now kiss the bride," he intoned. When Harry leaned over to peck him on the cheek, he found himself wondering if, now that they were husbands, Harry might expect a different kind of kissing too.

If he was being honest with himself, Mycroft wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Once again, he quashed the instinct to ask Eurus, and it got a little less painful every time. Eurus was probably just as unattracted to physicality as he was, and it wasn't like she was going to come back just to answer him.

Sometimes, love was a lopsided thing, like how he loved Mummy but she loved only a version of him that existed in her head. Like how Harry loved Sherry unconditionally, and Mycroft's love was filled with worry and concern. No matter how he loved and trusted Eurus, she had also been a problematic influence on his child, and Mycroft was, twenty-seven years too late, learning that she was never going to love him back.

Take a look at my other stories too if you like this one. As usual, wishing you a lovely weekend. Thanks for reading.