16 years earlier
Mycroft woke slowly, his eyes gradually becoming accustomed to the dim morning light of the bedroom. He turned his head to watch his lover sleeping alongside him.
A contented smile spread across his face. He was so lucky to have found someone like Jerry. The Irishman had been brought up in a good Catholic family. His single mother had struggled to provide for her only son, but she had always loved him. Even when Jerry came out and found himself on the receiving end of bullying and hatred in their small Irish home town, she continued to support him and to make sure that Jerry had felt nothing but loved. A love which Jerry had in turn shared with Mycroft. He felt truly blessed.
He slipped an arm across Jerry's waist and began to draw slow, lazy circles across his stomach. The Irishman stirred and rolled sleepily onto his side, facing his lover.
"G'morning, my love." he said, leaning in for a long, passionate kiss that grew more intense and needy. Mycroft moaned into the contact and pressed his body length against Jerry's.
The morning passed in a haze of languid kisses and slow lovemaking. Neither man needed to work on a Sunday, and there was an easy calm in the house.
This was their life now. Mycroft and Jerry. This man who Mycroft had grown to love so deeply, who had offered his continuous support through the difficult times at home and who had offered a bolt-hole, an escape from the abuse.
Mycroft spared a thought for his little brother, left behind in the family home without love or protection, but Sherlock was nearly 20 years old. He was at university himself now and was spending less and less time at home himself. Thinking about his brother however, made Mycroft realise just how much he still missed him. He made a mental note to give him a call that afternoon.
3 years later
"Too important to call your mother nowadays?" Siger walked away muttering as Sherlock entered the Holmes residence for the summer break. Sherlock knew better than to try to find the right answer to his father's accusations, and he crossed to the drawing room, where his mother sat reading.
"Mummy." he greeted her, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. She looked tired and worn, and Sherlock worried for her. Despite the years of abuse with his mother watching on, playing blind and ignorant as her sons were repeatedly beaten by their father over the years, Sherlock still felt a warm affection for his mother. She was a victim too, and Sherlock had little doubt that during the years that both Mycroft and Sherlock had been absent from the family home, Mummy had become Siger's target on many occasions.
"Welcome home, Sherlock." Mummy answered, not looking up from her book. Sherlock knew this was so she could avoid her son's deductions. Sherlock also knew that this meant that he was right. While he never quite forgave her for letting it happen; for looking on as her children; her babies were beaten and abused, he understood. He always understood that Mummy had been as much a victim as he had.
Siger appeared in the doorway, and Sherlock failed to suppress the shudder that ran through him on seeing his father's stern face.
"Problem, boy?" he growled, crossing too quickly to Sherlock's position. Sherlock hastily shook his head, but even his quick move was too slow. Siger grabbed at his hair, wrapping coarse fingers into dark locks and pulling his son's head backwards.
"You fucking waste of space." he spat, dragging his son towards the stairs and laughing as Sherlock tried desperately to find purchase with his feet on the tiled floor. Sherlock pressed his eyes closed as Siger continued to pull his son up the stairs, and as the door to his bedroom opened, he stifled the sobs that were threatening to come.
He didn't manage to stifle them for long however, as the first blow that fell crossed the young Holmes' cheek and broke his nose. The blows that followed left dark bruises forming on his ribs, thighs and cheeks, and Sherlock cried himself to sleep for the first time in several years.
2 more years later
"Did you already tell him?" Jerry asked, placing the opened wine bottle on the dining table and setting out the 3 glasses.
Mycroft turned from his position at the front window, where he was waiting for Sherlock's arrival, "Of course not." he replied, giving a warm smile, "I wanted it to be our surprise,"
Jerry returned the smile, straightening the glasses a second time and crossing to join his lover; his partner; his fiancé.
As they both watched Sherlock exit the taxi and approach the front door, Mycroft felt his new start to race. How would his little brother take the news? Would be be excited? Angry? Happy? He really wasn't sure.
"Sherlock!" Jerry exclaimed, wrapping his arms around the younger, yet taller man and pulling him into a now familiar hug, "Mycroft has been so excited about your visit!"
Sherlock eyed his brother suspiciously. He could sense that something was... not wrong... but different.
"Mycroft?" he enquired, approaching his elder brother and clasping his hand in an awkward half-embrace.
Mycroft's face broke into a wide smile.
"Sit, Sherlock, sit. We have news."
Sherlock looked towards the chair that Mycroft was motioning at and took the seat. Jerry poured three glasses of wine, passing one to the younger Holmes and a second to his partner before lifting the third and standing alongside Mycroft.
Sherlock could tell that his brother was struggling; trying too hard to keep his composure. Finally, he cracked and the words spilled forth from his mouth.
"Sherlock, we have wonderful news. Jerry and I are engaged!"