So when I said I was going to make it longer and funny... I lied. Sorry I was in the mood for angst. But now we've got this over with, I will write a nice happy, comedic chapter next I promise.

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Scarlett xx

Chapter Ten

"Two days, really Brother Dear I thought you would have learnt your lesson, you do remember '91 I hope."

Mycroft Holmes was sitting in John Watsons chair with a smug smirk and a pack of cards shuffling from one hand to another. Sherlock Holmes was sitting in his own chair, an annoyed scowl on his face and a cup of coffee in his right hand. Both were sitting with their feet up on the coffee table between them and both were thinking completely different things.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh I think you do Sherlock, I think you do. And I think you know you're not going to be able to win this"

"Oh I think I will. Regrettably you know me better than anyone; you know what a stubborn arse-hole I am."

"I also know how pathetic you are when it comes to attention. You crave it; why else would you do what you do"

"Pathetic" Sherlock hissed, "You're calling me pathetic?"

"Yes I am" Mycroft raised an eyebrow, "Oh don't start Sherlock, we both know it'll do no good to argue about it now."

"We've never stopped arguing about it Mycroft" Sherlock said, the anger bubbling up inside him suddenly. However these feelings were quickly replaced with old ones, old feelings of fright and humiliation. Sherlock was quick to banish them, close the door on his emotions like he had done so many times before. Mycroft would not do this to him. He wasn't a child anymore; he had decided a long time ago that he would lock those memories away. He refused to give Mycroft the key. But Mycroft had always had the upper hand psychologically; he knew how to play with people's heads. And he'd had a lot of time to get to grips with Sherlock's complex mind.

"Mmm, I am of course still winning I
believe?" Mycroft queried with a final shuffle of the cards.

Sherlock replied with a sharp laugh and a sip of coffee; "You wish"

"Sherlock for god sake it was nearly 25 years ago, get over it. Stop acting like such a child"

"Get over it?! Get over it!? How can you even dare say that Mycroft? HOW?" Sherlock didn't even try to contain his anger this time. He threw his Coffee cup onto the table with such vigour that the liquid splashed all over his pristine suit trousers and Mycroft's pack of cards.

"What did you expect me to do? Stand up to him? Use your common sense Sherlock can you imagine what he would have done to me?"

"I'm your brother, I was 13 years old you did nothing, nothing to help me. You just let him do what he wanted. He shut me in that room for a week Mycroft, a week!" Sherlock's eyes were welling up at this point, and for once he didn't care. Just once, he didn't want to contain it, just once he wanted to cry and not be judged. He wanted to be a normal person just for a minute; he didn't want to think of himself as a freak, he didn't want to be thought of as a freak. He just wanted to cry and not be judged. He wanted to cry and show his brother that he really had hurt him, he really had.

And so he did, he let the tears spill over and he didn't care as Mycroft looked taken aback and he barely noticed when he saw him put down his ruined pack of cards. And before he knew it Mycroft was by his side and his arm was around his younger Brother's shoulders, a repeated 'sorry' escaping his lips like a mantra. And for the first time in twenty four years Sherlock felt comforted and he felt human. He had missed his Brother, even though he never dared admit it to anyone, especially himself. But at that moment none of that mattered, all that mattered was that he needed to let it all out whilst he could.

"Sherlock, I know that what I did was possibly the worst possible thing I could ever do, but you have to understand if I had done anything to stop him, it would have been worse for both of us. You know that I'm sorry, no matter how much you do not want to forgive me, just know that I am sorry, I always have been. You're my Brother Sherlock, I love you. No don't look like that, you know I do, I am not going to say it again, you more than anyone understand how hard it is for me to admit this. Just please Brother Dear, try to forgive me, and try to forgive yourself. This feud between us is childish, and we both know it."

Mycroft said all this without shedding a tear but his arm stayed around Sherlock's shoulders, even after he had sunk to the floor. Sherlock knew that Mycroft would rather die than have to say any of that again and so he stored it in his mind palace.

Walking through the corridors in his mind he passed the door labelled "John" A shiny sheen of varnish covered the door and a brass sign, recently polished hung on the middle. This room was stacked high and low with information, and the most entered by Sherlock. He often sat here and reviewed the information about his Boyfriend and laughed at his little quirks and habits. But now was not the time for such things. He briskly walked past the room and carried on down the corridor. He passed a few doors, "Case Clues", "The Woman" and "Moriarty" before he reached his destination.

The door with the sign saying "Mycroft" stood in front of him, worn out and cobwebby. This door had not been used for quite some time and it almost daunted Sherlock to open it. However open it he did. He quickly found the section of folders saying "Emotions" an unsurprisingly empty selection. He then found his subfolder "2014" and deposited his new file into the folder.

"Sentiment" He muttered to himself "Chemical defect"

He put the file back into its place and backed away, coughing on the dust which had been disturbed by his entrance. He then turned and ran out of the door, slamming it shut behind him and running back down the corridor and out of his own head.

Coming back to reality was sudden and disorientating. Mycroft was still next to him and Sherlock could feel the tears still sliding down his cheeks. He realised Mycroft was still probably waiting for his answer. Looking up into his older Brothers face he said the first thing that came to his head.

"I missed you"

Sherlock could see he was quite touched by this uncharacteristic little gesture. Well all of this conversation was uncharacteristic but this phrase seemed to touch him the most.

And then Mycroft did something which, if Sherlock had not been so emotional, would probably have led to a broken nose for Mycroft. He kissed him on the side of the head and hugged him tight but briefly, before standing up and grabbing his umbrella.

"I missed you too, think about it" Leaving his pack of cards on the coffee table to curl at the edges due to the coffee they had absorbed, Mycroft Holmes walked out of the flat. His emotions bottled up inside of him that, unlike Sherlock, he could never release.

Sherlock however stayed in his position on the floor, feeling numb and not caring that he had let the person he had vowed to never let in, see behind his walls.