"Please talk to me, John."

The buzz jolted him out of his reverie.

John looked at the text and sighed. He didn't want to deal with Harry. He didn't want to deal with that… cycle of expectations again. Thinking that she was fine. That she set an example. The big sis that she never was.

But because of all of the circumstances, with Sherlock being gone and everything seeming to fall apart, John's resilience was being tested and he felt weak. Before he could get a chance to think of a text that he could send, though, a tapping came from the door.

"Mrs. Hudson let me in. Surprised she didn't faint when she saw me."

John looked back and saw the man with the umbrella.

"Mycroft."

"John," Mycroft said conversationally. As airy as he intended it to feel, its naturalness felt forced.

"Why are you here?"

Mycroft looked around the room, avoiding John's gaze. He could tell that Mycroft was trying to get words out. Words that, as soon as John heard them, sounded foreign coming from their source.

"I suppose… it's sentiment."

A long pause.

"Yes, I know it seems… unreal to hear that from me," Mycroft eventually continued. He was unloading a very personal kernel of his being to John. This was something he expected of Sherlock but… Mycroft?

I guess that this is a desperate time, John mused.

"You must understand, John," Mycroft said, "I didn't always give off this cold exterior. Rather, it is only a reaction to the fact that, as a child, I was quite emotionally charged. I hated it. If anything, Sherlock helped me harden my heart. Toughen my skin. For situations like these though, memories of those feelings come back…"

Mycroft took another pause and sighed. "He was my brother. Well, he was more than that. He was the proof of my failure as an older brother. And now the proof is only final."

Mycroft was reading Sophocles.

He hated Sophocles.

The whole Oedipus trilogy seemed all so trite to him. I mean really, gauging out your eyes? The symbolism was dripping in banality.

But, he had no choice. Reading Sophocles helped calm Mycroft down whenever he felt a bit out of touch. Whenever the other kids at school would make fun of him because he, as a seven-year-old, could recite passages of Shakespeare.

They should be worshipping the ground I walk on, Mycroft would think every time a boy or girl would yell gibberish at his face.

I'll make them someday.

He would go off to the side during lunch break, while the other kids would be playing in the field and read Sophocles. Having an internal fictitious argument with the Ancient Greek author was less stressful than normal people and got his mind off of the bullies.

But this wasn't a situation where there were bullies present. This wasn't even a bad situation. In fact, Mycroft was excited. But that sort of feeling made him nervous, and he didn't want to concentrate on that anymore.

His baby brother was being brought home.

Mycroft had visited Mummy at the hospital when he first was born. He saw her lying and all sweaty, but stroked his head and managed to give him a warm kiss on his forehead.

He wasn't allowed to see his brother, though. His brother was in a tube of some sort… the doctors said that he was sick. Father said that the doctors said that he was out a bit earlier than they expected. Mycroft didn't need Father to tell him that this meant that the baby was sick. He could read it in his eyes.

Mycroft's heart clenched. The little brother that he always wanted might be taken from him.

I don't even want to think about what that would do to Mummy or Father.

Mycroft didn't see Mummy for what seemed like forever. Father would travel back and forth from their flat in Islington to St. Bart's Hospital every day. The nanny, Mrs. Peddle, was responsible for Mycroft's travels to and from school.

Mycroft severely disliked Mrs. Peddle. She smelled of stale sweets and had an annoying trill to her voice.

"Mycroft, DEEEAAAAAR, time for SCHOOOOOOOL!" was the wake-up call.

Finally, the young Holmes heard back from Father when he was at the hospital one Saturday morning.

"Mycroft, dear, your baby brother is going to be okay. The doctors helped him become healthy," said the wearied but relieved voice on the other end of the call.

"Oh, that is wonderful news, Father!"

"Yes, my dear boy. We're going to bring him home today."

Mycroft's grip on the phone tightened. "To-today?"

"Yes! So we shall see you very soon! You've been so good with dealing with all of this. I am going to take you out to the shops later today. Alright, love, I'll see you in a bit."

The phone clicked off.

Today… today? I have never held a baby before. And now they expect me to hold a baby today? And it's my brother! What if he hates me? What if we don't become best friends? Will we still love each other when we grow up? Will I have to cradle his head a certain way when I hold him the first time?

Mycroft was flushed. He needed Sophocles.

By the time that Tiresias was bestowing upon Oedipus his doomed fate, Mycroft heard the click of the door open.

"Mycroft!"

"Mummy!"

Mycroft got up from his little reading spot in the middle of the hallway and ran to the door. He was in his mother's arms in an instant, happiness warming his heart.

Mummy set him down.

"Come on, Mycroft, let's sit on the sofa."

He followed Mummy to the living room, and there they waited for a few minutes.

"You're going to love your baby brother. Very, very much."

Mycroft got a strange chill down his spine.

"Ah! There you are!"

Father walked in with a bundle in his arms.

"Mycroft, I know you must be nervous. But trust me, this is a baby that you will want to hold."

"I just get so nervous that I'm going to break something!"

"I know, dear boy. But hold out your arms and you'll see something incredibly special.

Mycroft did so and but closed his eyes. A slightly heavy, warm weight filled the space between his arms.

He opened his eyes.

And for the first time, he was looking eye to eye with his baby brother, Sherlock Holmes.

The baby was overall calm, giving a few kicks in the air now and again. He had steady dark eyes and some curls of dark brown hair. The baby was small, but his strong kicking showed that he was much healthier than he was before. And all the while, the baby didn't take his eyes off of Mycroft, and Mycroft was entranced in his. You're my brother.

"My brother," Mycroft smiled.

I have to protect you.