"Oi, Mikey!" Sherlock called. Mycroft stifled a groan. His efforts to help his brother had boomeranged, and he had only himself to blame. "I do prefer Mycroft," he said pleasantly, before grumbling, "Even the time you called me 'bro' was preferable. Besides, it is childish, don't you agree?"

Mycroft and Sherlock had developed a system to help Sherlock sort his memories. The process included having the younger brother enter his mind palace and extract memories from his younger years. He shared them with Mycroft, and compared his own memories with his brother's recollections where applicable. Eventually, they discovered certain markers to his modified memories—they were less detailed, blurrier, and sometimes got cut off at pivotal points. Sometimes, Mycroft's reminiscing would serve as a trigger that would bring the whole memory back. Other times, Sherlock would retreat into his mind palace again and try to find more clues by repeating key words, such as 'Eurus', 'Redbeard', and 'Victor'.

Most of the memories were happily innocent. The usual antics he and Victor got up to, digging in sand and tracking mud. Memories of Eurus challenging him to find a treasure by giving him clues as weird and as complicated and she was, like chicken bones and old shoes, accompanied by notes of numbers and letters.

Some memories were different. Then he would come out of his mind palace, gasping, to find Mycroft squeezing his shoulders and gently calling his name. He would always ask if Sherlock was sure if he wanted to continue, and he would always respond that he wanted the truth, whether it was pure and simple or not. He knew now that his sister had made him steal things for her, lie to their parents for her, and basically follow her whims and fancies. The worst part was when she made him hurt himself, like when she convinced him to climb a tree and jump off. He had luckily only broken a leg, and she of course, had made it all seem like an accident.

He would stop by Mycroft's mansion two or three times a week, but sometimes they would choose to engage in different activities, such as chess (Mycroft still won two out of three times, that ba***). Other times Sherlock would present a recent case and try to get Mycroft's take on it. While Mycroft would initially be reluctant, he would cooperate after some urging. It took both brothers a bit of time to get used to their new relationship, which was more open and definitely more affectionate than they were used to. The older one persevered for the sake of his younger brother, still feeling responsible for the part he played in recent events. The younger brother made an effort for the older ones sake, knowing his involvement would help the man heal.

Sherlock was slowly returning to his regular lifestyle, or as ordinary as life can be for the world's only consulting detective. When he barged in that day, it was with the sudden realization that he would have to smooth over several more rough patches in order to comfortably continue his new/old lifestyle. And he would need to get his brother involved.

"Alright, Mycroft, brother mine, whatever you wish to call yourself today, I hope you had a nice time with Alicia yesterday at the Bon Soir. I am pretty disappointed that you only ordered her some cheap cabernet sauvignon, you could have done much better that that. Oh, and you put on some weight, I'd say approximately three and a half pounds, Alicia won't appreciate that."

Mycroft's face was a sight to behold, thought Sherlock, as he continued, "It's obvious of course from the lovely scent of Claire de la Lune on your evening jacket, and the drip of wax on your sleeve, lavender scented, a staple of the Bon Soir. Your evening jacket is still hanging on the chair, which means you wore it yesterday, and haven't yet had a chance to send it to the cleaners. The wine bottle in the fridge is not one of your usual choices, you must have brought it home because you do so hate to waste resources…"

"When you have finished dissecting my personal life, feel free to get to the point," Mycroft interrupted crossly.

"Oh, I just need you to hop over with me to Baker Street to look at some evidence I got, it might be the work of an international crime syndicate, than again, it might not. I thought your familiarity with Scandinavian would be a big help, there seems to be some sort of code based on that language."

"Why don't you just bring it here then?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to temper with the evidence, and besides, I'm waiting to see what excuse you'll come up with this time. Emergency at work? Nah, you used that at least three times already. Headache? Terror alert? Or will you just confess the truth this time?"

"Well, okay, I would not want to interrupt your happy little domain with my malfeasant presence. Happy now?" Mycroft sneered condescendingly.

"So just because you don't want to face John—"

"I didn't say anything about Dr. Watson. I could have just come at the times he is home if that would be my issue."

Sherlock stared at him contemplatively for a moment, before asking quietly "What, exactly, did she say to you?"

"Who?"

"Lady Brecknell. Come on, Mycroft, I'm not that stupid. There's only one other person living there full time, and I want to know why you're avoiding her."

"The truth," Mycroft whispered. "She saw right through me. She has made it clear that she does not want me on her property, and I do not want to infringe on her wishes. I also think that Dr. Watson would appreciate if I kept my distance."

"Well, that's just too bad, because I already ordered a cab, and you are coming with me now to sort this out. Unless you want to call one of your goons in a spooky black car?"

"We prefer the term 'civil servants'" the British Government replied pompously. "Though really, of what use is it to you to have me over?"

"I want my brother to feel comfortable in my own home. I don't want the people I care about to be locked in unending strife. I want to make several morons get over themselves and stop their petty conflicts so the rest of us can go back to wearing our nicotine patches in peace. Is that too much to ask?"

"Yes, well, and then we'll have rainbows in the sky and peace and love for all."

"Just come with me this once, brother mine, and then I'll leave you alone. I'll take any cases you want for a month, I will ignore your blossoming romance with Lady Smallwood for two, I won't tattle to Mummy about your smoking for three. Just, come now, please?"

After a minute of stubborn silence, Mycroft stood up and stretched his arms. Fetching his umbrella in his right hand, he placed his left hand on his brother's arm and declared, "For the sake of Queen and Country, I will do my part to bring peace to the world. Lead the way, brother mine."

Sherlock grinned.