It wasn't until days after Sherlock and John had returned to Baker Street that Mycroft found himself in the music room again. He rarely entered the room, preferring to keep it sealed. Music had once been an important part of his life and a part of him, but now he found that it was an annoying distraction. It was unusual that he had any sort of time away from his work, but when he did he liked to sit in silence to rest his racing mind.
With a sigh, Mycroft reached out to touch the Stradivarius. He'd bought the violin as an investment for Sherlock and he'd never planned on playing it himself. He carefully lifted the violin from its stand and brought it to rest beneath his chin. It had been years since he'd played a violin, but he knew that his skill was still as good as it had been. He lifted the bow from its place on the stand and brought it to rest on the strings as he adjusted his fingers on the neck of the violin.
He held his breath for a moment as he played a single note. The violin sang and vibrated beneath his fingers, a feeling he'd never expected to be able to enjoy again. He began by playing single notes, warming up his fingers before he began to play simple melodies. He'd once composed his own music, but he didn't dare to play anything too complex on the ancient violin.
After a good few minutes of playing the violin, Mycroft carefully placed it and the bow back onto the stand.
"You should continue playing, you know." came Sherlock's voice from the dark hallway.
Mycroft turned and opened the door fully, looking at his brother, "How long have you been out there?" he asked.
"The whole time. I wanted to see whether you'd play it." Sherlock replied.
Mycroft suddenly couldn't control the years of rage that had built up beneath his skin. "Did you enjoy it? Did you laugh?" he snarled, "I know that everything is a game to you, Sherlock, but my life isn't a game! Music was something that I loved, something that I enjoyed and you ripped it from me!"
"Are you still upset about that violin? I apologized for burning it at the time!" Sherlock shouted.
"Why can't you ever see what's right in front of you?" Mycroft snapped, "It wasn't just a violin! It was memories! I spent hours with you, Sherlock, and then I left to further my life, my career, and it was like I had never even acknowledged you! You burned me out of your life, Sherlock!"
"You left me! You walked away from me when I needed you!" Sherlock argued.
"What choice did I have, Sherlock?" Mycroft shouted, "If I'd stayed then I wouldn't have a life! I gave you every second of my time when we were growing up and did you really expect me to just trail after you when I could have been at Oxford?"
"I expected you to be my brother!" Sherlock hissed.
"I am your brother! Do you not understand how hard I work to protect you?" Mycroft demanded, "I can't sleep because I worry that someone will hurt you while I'm not at my desk!"
"You are sentimental. Your blood relation to me is the only thing that you're capable of feeling." Sherlock replied, his tone harsh.
"What would you have me do, Sherlock?" Mycroft sighed, "I have given my life to you. Everything in this house is an investment so that when I die, you may live comfortably. Everything I have done has been to protect you."
"I don't want or need your help, Mycroft. Go ahead and get yourself a life." Sherlock replied, turning and walking away.
At first, John didn't notice that Mycroft was no longer meddling in their lives. He didn't notice the lack of idling black cars or the lack of random visits. It wasn't until he called Anthea to ask for a case from Mycroft that he realized that something had been going on behind his back.
"Hi Anthea, does Mycroft have anything for Sherlock?" John asked hopefully, watching as his flatmate worked on an experiment in the kitchen.
"Mr Holmes is currently on leave." Anthea replied.
"Oh. Okay. When will he be back?" John asked.
"I can't say. He's saved up a lot of leave over the last 15 years, so he might be away for months." Anthea replied.
"Months? Is there something wrong? Is he unwell?" John asked worriedly.
"No, Doctor Watson. He's just taking a break. Goodbye." Anthea responded, ending the call.
John looked down at his phone for a moment before he shook his head and walked over to Sherlock.
"Is something wrong with Mycroft? Anthea said he's on leave from work, possibly for months." John asked his flatmate.
"Just ignore him, John. He's being his usual awkward self. He'll be back to work in a couple of days, he won't be able to stay away." Sherlock replied, not looking up from his experiment.
It was one month later when Sherlock barged into Mycroft's home with John behind him.
"What are you playing at?" Sherlock demanded, "Do you not seeing what you're doing? The government is falling apart!"
Mycroft was sat in his armchair, wearing a dressing gown and plucking at the strings of the Stradivarius. He raised and eyebrow at his brother's words, "What I'm doing? I'm not doing anything. I've got a life now, as you suggested." he said.
"The problem is that you're just sat here!" Sherlock snapped, "My workload has risen uncontrollably in the time that you've been lounging around!"
"You asked me to stop helping you and to get a life." Mycroft replied, "Therefore, you can handle your workload problem yourself."
"Haven't you seen the news? The government is imploding!" John exclaimed from beside Sherlock.
"Sorry, John. I don't have time for the news anymore. I'm oh-so-busy with my new life. I compose all morning and workout all afternoon. You should try it, it's remarkably relaxing to do nothing at all." Mycroft replied with a smirk.
"Fine. I apologize. I need your help, I admit it. Now will you sort this mess out?" Sherlock asked with a sigh.
"Apology accepted, brother dear." Mycroft replied with a slight smile, pulling his mobile out from the pocket of the dressing gown. He phoned Anthea and sorted a whole month of problems within just a few minutes.
"Thank you." Sherlock said once Mycroft had put his phone away, glancing at John.
"It's no problem." Mycroft replied, getting to his feet and walking through the house to the music room. He placed the violin down on its stand before he turned to leave the room.
"I told John about your musical talents." Sherlock said, leaning against the door-frame, "You are a violin virtuoso, but you are also a virtuoso in both chaos and order."
"I'll take that as a compliment." Mycroft responded.
"It is a compliment. I took you for granted and I apologize." Sherlock said sincerely before he walked back to John in the hallway.
"Time to go?" John asked, smiling as the sound of a violin filled the house.
"Yes, let's go. Disaster averted for another day." Sherlock agreed, glancing back before he left the house, shutting the door behind him.