A/N: Real life's gotten a bit hectic, but I felt the need to rescue this fic before it faded into oblivion. I'll be wrapping things up now with another chapter or two, unless someone has an idea for something else they'd like to see in here. And, as always, don't forget to review.

P.S. I've written and updated some one-shots. Wouldn't it be lovely if you read and reviewed it? Answer: God, yes!

A cool breeze rustled through the leaves of the forest. The young boy trudged through the muddy forest floor, taking care to avoid the jutting rocks and gnarled tree roots. He tried to follow the voice calling to him. "Mycrooooft!" the voice sang. "Come play with me! Mycrooooft! Can you find me!" The voice was beautiful, silvery and tinkling, like a fairy's. He suddenly noticed the back of a pigtailed head in the distance, and hurried to follow. "Mycrooooft!" the voice sang again. "I'm coming to get you!" The voice echoed in the vast woods. "Coming to get you! Coming to get you!" The tree barks had faces growing out of them, and the faces had blood pouring from their eyes. The branches of the trees turned into arms that reached for him as numerous voices echoed around him, "Coming to get you, get you, get you..."

There was a steady pitter-patter of raindrops on the deck of the ship. Mycroft had his hands tied behind his back, as he watched two men approach him, swords in their hands. They were dressed all in black, and they wore pirate hats on their heads and eye-patches on their left eyes. The taller one spoke up. "Mycroft Holmes, you have betrayed us. We sentence you to walk the plank." Mycroft shivered. "I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry..." The tears that ran down his cheeks mixed with the raindrops. "There is no forgiveness for you, brother mine," the taller man told him. The men took off their eye-patches, and he recognized John Watson and Sherlock Holmes, standing side by side.

"My brother is a murderer," he choked out, his throat tightening. "He's gone off the deep end. We need to lock him up in Sherrinford. You know what happened to the other one... They need to be locked up. This is all my fault, Lady Smallwood. I couldn't protect them from themselves. I am the murderer."

"Hardly merciful, Mr. Holmes," Lady Holmes sniffed. "You have a heart of ice. Whatever made you think I would be interested in you?"

"Hello, old friend," James Moriarty greeted him heartily. Moriarty looked bruised and battered, as if Mycroft's minions had just given him a thorough work over. "I've heard you became my successor. My, my, at the rate you're going, you'll soon be outstripping me!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mycroft replied stiffly.

"Oh, that's a great one!" Moriarty was holding his sides with laughter. "All those little games you play, all those little risks you took... look around you, buddy!"

Mycroft looked around and found himself locked into Eurus's cell in Sherrinford. Around him were piles of bodies, staring at him with blank eyes. The governor and his wife, Victor, Sherlock, John, even Mummy and Dad. Blood was running from their eyes. He heard echoes all around him. "This is all you fault, your fault, you fault...

"What's going on, Mycroft?" the consultant detective confronted his older brother, whose office he had just invaded.

"With what?" his brother responded neutrally.

"Come on, you know what I'm talking about. What happened between you and Alicia?"

"I honestly don't see how that's any concern of yours, brother mine. Don't you have important things to do? I've heard a lizard's gone missing from the zoo. Oh, and the coffee in the refreshment room has mysteriously depleted. Shall I put you on it?"

"No. Don't try to evade me now. You know it won't work. You were supposed to see A Midsummer Night's Dream at the theatre yesterday with Alicia. You canceled. You canceled last week's date. And the one before. What are you playing at?"

"You never have learned your lesson about involving yourself in matters that do not concern you, have you? Now, I do have some important matters to attend to. Kindly see yourself out."

"That's not true. It is very much my concern, brother mine. I'm concerned about your mental state. You had a good thing going, and now you're sabotaging it for no discernible reason. Have you gotten addled in your mind?"

"Thank you very much for your tender concern. I assure you, I am of sound mind, and my romantic relationships are still no concern of yours."

Sherlock stared at his brother, his eyes hardening. "I can't believe this. If you feel that you and Alicia are not compatible, why don't you have a serious conversation with her and end this? Why are you leaving her hanging like this?"

Mycroft looked taken aback, and then began chuckling. "I can't believe that Sherlock Holmes is dispensing relationship advice. I hope you don't plan to make a living out of it."

"Nah, I don't provide this service for just anyone. Only for my big brother, when he is behaving like a coward and a fool."

"I beg your pardon?" Mycroft replied in a very polite, very tight voice, one which most people had the sense to take as a warning to back off. Which, naturally, Sherlock took as an invitation to continue.

"I'm not blind, and neither am I a fool. I can see that you like her, and for some unfathomable reason she feels the same about you. You are afraid to continue, because you see it's getting serious. You also don't want to break it off, because you don't want to hurt her feelings. You are hoping she'll break it off herself eventually. Tell me why. Why are you running like a coward now, when you finally have a mutually satisfying relationship with someone?"

Mycroft looked down at his desk for a long moment, and then began to speak quietly. "Sherlock, I really do appreciate your concern. However, I am sure you know yourself why I must end this. Truthfully, I never should have gotten involved. Lady Smallwood was very persistent, and I didn't think anything would come of it. For courtesy's sake, I indulged her, never dreaming things would get this far. You know me, Sherlock. You know what I am. I cannot pursue a romantic relationship. It would be unfair to the other party."

"Yes, I know what you are. You're the bloody British Government. So what? Why does it matter, especially in this case?"

"Don't be obtuse. You know what I mean. Does 'Iceman' ring any bells? Women expect their romantic partners to be emotionally involved, and continuously show proof of sentiment. They expect roses and breakfast in bed, and all sorts of nonsense. Then they want to have heart-to-hearts all the time, and expect great shows of sympathy as they pour their woes into your ears. I am a practical man, Sherlock, and I'm not built for all that."

Sherlock smirked at his brother. "Lies, and more lies. I've seen the type of rubbish movies you watch, and I've watched you on your dates. You are an old-fashioned romantic at heart, and Alicia loves it. I've seen you kiss her knuckles, for goodness sake, and that had her giggling like a schoolgirl! Pull the one with the bells. Better, tell me the truth before I take matters into my own hands."

Mycroft paled considerably at that. He spread out his hands in front of him as if in defeat. "Alright, alright. I'm afraid. I've messed up every single important relationship in my life until now. I've disappointed our parents, I messed up with my sister. And all of that doesn't compare to how much I've messed up with you. The most terrible thing is that I believe I tried my best, in every case. Tell me, little brother, if that is what I am capable of when trying my best, why put myself into another relationship to mess up? Mummy was definitely right about one thing. I'm very limited in this area."

Sherlock clenched his fists, and then unclenched it again. He was biting his lips, and his eyes were shooting sparks. "You ridiculous, dull-witted, lunatic, dunderheaded, insane, imbecilic nincompoop-"

"I sincerely hope you haven't used up your entire vocabulary by now," Mycroft interjected sarcastically.

"You've very recently told me not to close myself off from people. You've admitted that it was a mistake to do so. So why are you still doing it? You know, I also think Mummy was right." Sherlock saw a flash of hurt in his brother's eyes, but plowed on. " You're limited. So what? So am I. So is every single person on this planet. But what you're doing now, is limiting yourself. You still obsess about all that you couldn't do, instead of realizing how much you actually did. Wake up and smell the coffee! You were the bedrock of the family for so many years. Our parents still trust you, and still rely on you. I don't know if anyone could have prevented what Eurus did, and you did take care of her as best as you could. And about me, are you kidding me? I would have been either six feet under or a Moriarty-style psychopath if I didn't have you! You made mistakes, so learn from them, and do better next time! That's no excuse to run away!"

Mycroft sighed deeply, and slowly shook his head. "It's too late for me, Sherlock. I can't change now."

Sherlock dropped his voice to a venomous hiss. "Listen to yourself. You are not even fifty, and you've already given up on yourself. I suspect you've given up rather a long time ago. All lives end, all hearts are broken, caring is not an advantage... Sounds familiar? You believed you will never be happy. You convinced yourself you don't deserve to be happy. Your whole life, you blamed yourself for not preventing all the suffering around you. Eurus, Redbeard, my drug use...You told yourself it all doesn't matter, so it wouldn't hurt so much. For forty-eight years, you have been a dead man walking." Sherlock paused his monologue, and leaned closer to his brother. "Perhaps you should... START LIVING ALREADY!"

Sherlock turned on his heels and left the office, slamming the door on his way out. Mycroft watched him leave, and then sank his head into his hands, and stayed that way for a long, long while.

"Lady Smallwood," Sherlock greeted politely, inclining his head.

"Mr. Holmes," the woman behind the desk returned the courtesy. "My secretary informed me you would like to speak with me regarding an urgent matter. How can I be of help?"

"The matter I wish to discuss is more personal in nature."

"Pardon?" Lady Smallwood straightened her back and gave him a puzzled look.

"Lady Smallwood," Sherlock intoned gravely. "What are your intentions regarding my brother?"