1 years earlier
Sherlock woke first, his eyes squinting with the brightness of the early morning sun through the drapes that didn't quite close fully.
"My?" he whispered, thankful that it was still early enough that nobody else in the house would yet be awake except, perhaps, for their housekeeping who would be down in the kitchen. "My, you awake?"
Mycroft rolled over with a sigh to find his brother staring at him, big blue eyes boring into his own but showing a worry and tenseness that belied Sherlock's anxiety about waking in his brother's bed. Mycroft responded with a sleepy smile and wrapped an arm across Sherlock's thin waist.
"Good morning, brother." he replied, pulling the teenager closer and nestling into his dark curls. "Did you sleep well?"
Sherlock moaned into the embrace and began to relax a little, letting tight, anxious muscles loosen and adapt to his brother's soft curves.
"I was... worried." he finally answered, allowing his own arm to curl around his brother's back and brush soft strokes along his spine. "I wasn't sure if you might regret..." he hesitated, fumbling a little for the correct word or phrase, "...regret this." he finished weakly, burying his face in the softness if the pillow, hiding from his brother's response.
Mycroft pulled his arm away and propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at his little brother. Despite being almost the same height, Sherlock's pale, gangly frame made him look small and vulnerable. Mycroft could not help feeling protective, possessive even. He reached his other hand around and turned Sherlock to face him again.
"Sherlock," he began with his face serious and voice convinced of its meaning, "you are by far the most important person in my life. I care for you... No," he corrected, swallowing hard and briefly closing his eyes before continuing, " no, I love you deeply, more than anything in this world, and I will always be here for you. I have no regrets, my dear brother. None. Ever. I promise you this."
As he finished, Mycroft dropped himself back onto his own pillow and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling while he waited for his brother to process the information.
After a few minutes that felt like an eternity, Sherlock spoke.
"I love you too, Mycroft."
6 months later
"Where's that pathetic brother of yours?" Father barked at Mycroft as the young man entered the dining room carrying the water jug for the dinner table. Siger Holmes did not tolerate tardiness, and being late to the dinner table was, in his eyes, a particularly heinous crime.
"Would you like me to check on him, Father?" Mycroft asked, mustering up as much courage as he was able to answer the man in a confident tone. Something else that Siger Holmes didn't tolerate was weakness, and Mycroft did his best to sound firm and in control.
Siger stood from the dinner table, letting his arm chair drag noisily across the polished wood floor. Mycroft notice Mummy stifle a wince as Siger slammed both hands down on the expensive lace-edged tablecloth.
" I shall go myself." he hollered, turning away from his seated family and heading towards the hall. Mycroft looked to his mother, his face silently imploring her to allow him to go instead. She wordlessly shook her head, eyes cast down.
"No, Mycroft." she whispered, and the footsteps on the stairs became louder, more deliberate, in an attempt to pre-warn the teenager of his father's approach and the impending punishment that came with it.
Mycroft closed his eyes and fought back the tears that stung behind his lids. There was nothing he could do now. He knew this. The only thing Mycroft could do was wait for it to be over and tend to Sherlock afterwards. His breath hitched involuntarily, and Mummy shot him a glare across the dinner table. Mycroft answered it with a terse nod, and they both waited for Siger's return to their evening meal.
4 months later
"You do understand, don't you, Sherlock?" Mycroft's face was worried as he sat next to his brother in their bedroom. "I need my own life too."
Sherlock's tangled his long fingers together, one hand in the other, and chewed on his bottom lip.
"You promised, Mycroft!" he replied angrily, not looking up, "You promised."
"I am not leaving you." Mycroft reassured, placing a hand over his brother's fidgeting pair. "It's just a date: an evening out with a friend."
Sherlock raised his head, his pained eyes meeting Mycroft's. "But you will leave me." he said, his voice small, "Someday, you will leave."
Mycroft let out a long sigh and brought his other hand up to cup his brother's chin. As he leaned in close and pressed their lips together, Sherlock let out a soft moan and pressed back in a long, needy kiss.
"I'll always be here if you need me, Sherlock." he began, pulling back from their contact, both brothers breathing heavily. "This man, Jerry, he is a good person. We have much in common, and I feel comfortable with him." Mycroft bent his head towards Sherlock, resting their foreheads together and feeling the younger boy nod.
"Have a good evening, brother." he muttered, tipping his head up briefly and placing a soft sighing kiss on Mycroft's lips.
"I'll be back." Mycroft responded confidently.