Lestrade arrived soon after and came directly to them. Mycroft had wrapped Sherlock in a blanket and the boy was slowly starting to recover himself, snapping at the police and emergency team that kept trying to take a look at him. When he saw Lestrade, his eyes lit up and he sat up quickly, untangling himself from the blanket.

"Lestrade! Thank God you've finally arrived. Tell these people to leave us alone!" Lestrade looked confused for a moment before the penny dropped and his jaw was left hanging.

''No. No, I was told the Holmes brothers were here but, no. No." He shook his head and looked around with a half-grin on his face, looking for someone playing a joke on him.

After a moment, he rubbed his face with his hand and sighed. "Alright, alright. Come with me, now. We'll go back to the Yard and I'll call John up." Sherlock's eyes widened in excitement and he gave Lestrade an exhuasted, timid grin, snatching Mycroft's hand and tugging him after the DI.

John arrived and stopped in the doorway, staring in confusion at the backs of two boys' heads as they sat in Lestrade's office. Lestrade pulled him aside and explained the situation, shaking his head.

"Really?" John muttered, screwing his eyebrows up and grinning. "That can't be possible. C'mon, you're taking the piss."

Another sigh escaped Lestrade and he shook his head. "If you don't believe me, go talk to them. They remember everything." John nodded and padded over to the office slowly, unsure exactly what he was going to say. It turned out he needn't have worried. When Sherlock saw him, he launched himself from his seat and tackled John's knees.

"Oh, well. Sherlock, you alright?" The little boy that barely came up to his waist nodded and grinned mildly, showing off his little teeth.

"Yeah, I'm fine. So's Mycroft. Just a bit younger than we should be." Sherlock shrugged, the anger boiling beneath his skin quickly smashed down for later when he was alone, and took his seat next to Mycroft again. John settled on the edge of Lestrade's desk and took a good look at the two of them.

Mycroft seemed to be about fifteen or so, a good height for that age, a bit gangly. He held himself unsurely, glancing around at everything but John. Nervous and maybe a bit embarrassed, then. His hair was fuller and longer than it had been a few days before, a brighter shade of auburn. His eyes were still the same, though. Icy and calculating, yet now shaded with fear and awkwardness. He seemed quite unsure of himself.

Sherlock was tiny beyond belief. He had to be about eight or nine, but he was small enough to possibly be mistaken for a six year old. His hair was wild and curly, his eyes giant and trusting. He was skinny and light and bounced around like he had the energy of a thousand suns, but he also seemed to be silently fuming beneath his energetic exterior.

"Oh, boys." John sighed suddenly, shaking his head. Mycroft's eyebrows knitted together for a moment before he quickly cleared his face into neutrality.

"What now?" Sherlock asked, staring up at John like his words were gospel. John quirked a grin down at him and ruffled his hair, much to Sherlock's distaste. Mycroft felt a knot beginning to form in his stomach. He had work to do. He had to get back to work, figure out what happened, and he couldn't watch over Sherlock while doing that.

"You'll go home with Doctor Watson. I have things I need to take care of." John saw Mycroft's eyes moving back and forth quickly, as if he were reading from a book. He knew that was what Mycroft looked like when he was thinking at an impossibly fast pace. He had better nip this in the bud right away. Later, though; let him think he'd won for a bit.

"Well, that's fine. Why don't you walk with us back to the flat, Mycroft? You can have someone pick you up there." Mycroft was deep in thought and just nodded in agreement, letting Sherlock take his hand and guide him out the door, becoming his eyes and ears while he thought.

Mycroft leveled an angry glare at John Watson, a glare he hoped was showing just how very stupid he thought John and his plan were.

It wasn't coming across very well.

He could see. He had eyes.

Damnit, these teenage hormones. Emotions.

John sighed heavily, throwing his hands in the air. "Mycroft, you cannot stay on your own and I wouldn't want you to think you should have to, closing yourself up in your study and continuing to run the government like you had flu or something." Mycroft faltered at that comment. That had actually been his plan.

John knew he had hit onto something when Mycroft flinched and looked away, uncomfortable. "Ah, so I do know something, don't I? Come on, it won't be too bad. You can even take my bed; I'll kip on the sofa."

At this point, Sherlock decided to voice his opinion as well.

"Oh, please. John, he doesn't need to take your bed. We can easily share; we did for some years. We can share, Mycroft. Yes? Come on, this isn't a hard decision. Just, stay with us?" When Mycroft didn't answer right away, Sherlock groaned and took a step closer to his brother, lowering his voice. "For God's sake, Mycroft. Don't make me beg you to stay in front of John." Sherlock sounded disgusted with himself, but his face was ernest, looking up at him with wide eyes and a slight pout.

And how could Mycroft resist that face. He may have built up defences against his brother over the years, but the last forty-eight hours seemed to have erased them all. And he was impossibly tired of being responsible all the time. Perhaps. . .

He knelt down to be level with Sherlock, who was now a good two feet shorter than him, and nodded, answering his brother in just as soft a voice. "Alright, Sherlock. I'll stay." The boy that was undeniably his baby brother grinned triumphantly and launched himself at Mycroft, tackling him to the pavement. Mycroft swept him into the air and held him close, pressing a light, timid, unsure kiss to Sherlock's hairline. Although, God, he hadn't felt this good in years!

It probably helped that now he had the physical appearance of a teenager. It made holding his nine year old brother much simpler.

John grinned at their show of affection and herded them into the flat, up the stairs and into the comfy domesticity of 221B Baker Street.