"I could do with a cigarette, I think," Sherlock said after they spent a moment in quiet contemplation.
"Are you sure?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow.
"Some things in life are never sure. I just feel like it," he shrugged.
With exaggerated impatience, Mycroft handed over the goods. "It's full tar," he he snapped.
"You only smoke low tar," Sherlock remarked, staring at his brother.
The latter didn't answer.
"Won't you take one too?" Sherlock asked.
The older man regarded his brother, hearing the unsaid please. He inclined his head, and they both made their way to the back garden to indulge.
"Did you ever think what could have been, if things had stayed the same?" Sherlock asked contemplatively.
"Impossible to tell. Nothing ever stays the same, Sherlock. Things could have gone differently, in various ways, and every variable could have changed the picture completely." Mycroft puffed thoughtfully. "I can't tell whether the future is predetermined, but I do know that the past cannot be altered."
"Let's say you would contemplate the possibilities for the sake of a mental exercise. Excuse my language please, I know you consider exercise a dirty word," the younger brother couldn't resist a jab. " Could you imagine us in the present, leading ordinary lives?"
"Ordinary..." Mycroft let out a sound that was half-scornful, half-astounded. "Meeting with mates at the pub for pints and football games on the telly?"
"Working nine-to-five and going home for dinner with the family," Sherlock smirked, playing along.
"Bringing the kids every weekend to Grandma and Grandpa," Mycroft was starting to get into the swing of it.
"Inviting each other for barbecue dinners with the wives and kids," the younger one added.
"Birthday parties and graduations, Christmas dinners with enough mess and noise to send one into catatonic shock," Mycroft grimaced.
"That doesn't really sound like our cup of tea, does it?" Sherlock mused.
The older brother noted his use of the inclusive adjective. "We were always a bit different than the ordinary, Sherlock, and our lives were never going to run in that direction. Do you remember, when it was just the both of us, you and me against the world?" Mycroft reminisced in an unusual sentimental moment.
"There's nothing wrong with being ordinary," Sherlock said sharply, and Mycroft winced. He had momentarily forgotteno how he had used that description to insult Sherlock's best friend.
"Nor is there anything wrong with being different," he said firmly. "And by the way, Dr. Watson always was an extraordinary man."
"You don't have to pretend to like him," Sherlock shot back.
"No matter my personal relationship with him, it is the truth. And if I may be honest with you, I'm glad you have him."
Sherlock stared at his brother. "You're glad you found and adept handler to hand me over to," he said accusingly.
"Well, if you want to put it that way. You don't want me to interfere with your life anymore, so I don't. What exactly more do you want?"
"Nothing. I actually came here to tell you that... never mind. I don't think you'd care."
"Why would you think so?" Mycroft gritted his teeth, feeling his patience stretched thin.
"You're going on holiday. To Greece. I saw the stuff you packed. Beachwear and suntan lotion, casual wear and trainers. This isn't just a conference. Who are you taking along? Anthea? Lady Smallwood? Isn't it nice that you can take a holiday with your family?"
"Oh, so that's it," the older one's patience finally did snap. "You can't stand the fact that there are people who can stand to be in my company without ulterior motives, such as stealing from me or drugging me senseless. You have made a good life for yourself with your various associates, why does it bother you if I have a life, too?"
The younger one looked as if he had been physically slapped. "I didn't quite mean it that way," he said, a hint of apology in his voice. "I'm just saying, it seems that you're finding less time these days for some of us."
Mycroft grabbed Sherlock's sleeve and turned him around to face him. "I made a promise, Sherlock, and I never intend to renege on that. I will always be there for you. You just have to let me know when you need me, because I don't always know, despite what you may believe about me. No matter what happens, we remain what we always were. You and I, against anything we might face, together."
Sherlock looked away. In a matter-of-fact voice, he said, "I told them. Everything."
"You did?" Mycroft asked in disbelief.
"It was time. They were shaken up, but it got them thinking. Will you give them a chance if they try?"
"You know how much I've tried to protect them. In the end, they're the only parents I have, and they most likely did the best they could. Still, I don't think that things will ever be the same."
"That's not necessarily a bad thing," Sherlock smiled. "You know, I sent Lestrade over that night, to make sure you will alright."
Mycroft suddenly recalled the DI's visit, his inquiries and Anthea's reassurance that she had things in hand. As he was leaving, Lestrade remarked to Mycroft that Sherlock was worried about him. At the time, Mycroft hadn't taken it to mean anything more than polite reassurance.
"That was you," Mycroft said thoughtfully. "Your concern is appreciated," he added with a hint of a smile, amusement in his voice. He was nevertheless moved by the sentiment.
Sherlock stuck out his right hand, and Mycroft bemusedly shook it. "Have a great trip, brother mine, and send me some photos. I won't believe you've actually worn swim shorts until I see it," he said mischievously.
"See you soon, brother mine," Mycroft replied, and for a moment, they just grinned at each other in a sort of rueful accepting way that said more than words ever could.