Warning: Light Holmescest/Sibling incest. I apologize if anyone read this before the warning was up. I should've thought to do it originally. Forgive me. :/
Even at his level of national security, Mycroft did not even begin to wonder how Sherlock got into his flat yet again. He wasn't even surprised to see his brother's coat and scarf hanging in the entryway, it was almost to be expected. He hung his own coat, pondering at when this was going to stop. Tonight was the seventh time in two weeks that Mycroft had come home to Sherlock quietly waiting for him in the parlor, sitting easy on the sofa in the darkness.
"Mycroft." The detective spoke evenly in his greeting, but the fact that he was even there betrayed him.
"Again, Sherlock?" Mycroft approached the sofa, but instead of join him, he stepped behind him, long slim fingers coming to rest on Sherlock's shoulders. He felt the muscles tense under his touch but as he kneaded, he felt his brother relax a bit.
His thumb hit a particularly tight knot and Sherlock moaned quietly and dropped his head back on the couch, his lips parted and his eyes begging Mycroft to give in just one more time.
"Why do you come to me for this, little brother?" Mycroft continued his assault on Sherlock's shoulder and he gently pushed him forward so that he could work lower on his back, earning another groan.
"Because any other way is so boring." Mycroft nodded his head, understanding that his brother easily got bored. He stopped his massaging and as he pulled away, he trailed his fingertips across Sherlock's shoulders, almost reluctant to go. He went to sit on the other end of the sofa, pulling a carton of cigarettes and a box of matches from the desk drawer first. He ignored the sharp, watchful, almost hungry eyes on him as he struck up a match, the flame momentarily lighting his features from below, and applied to the end of the cigarette. Mycroft dragged on it and held his breath slightly before blowing it up and away.
He smiled at Sherlock, and extended a hand to him. "Take off your shoes and jacket and come here."
Sherlock nearly fell over as he kicked his shoes off enthusiastically while simultaneously stripping out of his suit jacket. He took Mycroft's proffered hand and was willing pulled down into his lap. After a few awkward seconds of readjusting, Sherlock found himself with his long legs on either side of his brother's lap, and their foreheads resting together. They sat there in the dark a few moments, just breathing. It seemed quiet and controlled, but Mycroft knew that Sherlock was keyed up, outwardly patient but screaming on the inside for things to pick up.
With his fingers dipping into the hollow at the base of Sherlock's neck, Mycroft gently pushed him away so he could bring the cigarette to his lips again. The end flared up at his inhale and he could see again the hunger in Sherlock's gaze. When he took away the cigarette away, he pulled his brother in by the neck.
Their lips barely touched as Mycroft began his slow, controlled exhale of nicotine and Sherlock breathing in at exactly the same rate despite his desperate need for the drug. Sherlock held his breath for some time before slowly releasing it into the room. Now that the first exchange was finished, Mycroft pulled him in again, this time for a slow, languid, lazy sort of kiss. His hand traced down Sherlock's spine and rested on his firm arse, to which he gave a gentle squeeze.
They repeated the exchange of smoke between them until the cigarette burned out. Mycroft knew the whole pack would be gone by morning. When the first was done, they sat in silence. Sherlock's face was nestled into his older brother's neck, his breath tickling sensitive skin there.
"When will you tell him, dear brother?"
Sherlock sighed. "I'm not sure that I can."
"You mean to tell me that you'll go on living with him and not say a word? You'll be miserable about it, no doubt, and difficult as ever. Not even all the cigarettes in London will help you, Sherlock." His words seemed a bit harsh at first but his hand gently carding through Sherlock's black curls countered the truth with soft caresses to his scalp.
"I wouldn't know what to say to him."
"If you were as bold with him as you are with me, he might get the message. Stomping around like a child won't get you anywhere. He can't read your mind."
Sherlock sat up in his lap. "You are different. This is different. We've always been this way."
Mycroft internally groaned. He knew that he would have to let go of his perfect little brother someday, but now the time came for that, he didn't want to. He didn't want anyone else to have him, no matter how good they were.
"About that," he looked down to where his hands rested on Sherlock's slim hips. "You should probably stop coming to me if John is the one that you really want."
"Mycroft," Sherlock began but was cut off with a stern look.
"What will happen if you confess how you feel to John, you two fall in love and then he finds out about us? No less that you were seeing me while contemplating your feelings for him."
Sherlock looked away, not wanting that statement to be correct. "Another please?" Mycroft nodded understanding that he needed time to think and lit a second cigarette.
After leaning in to suck the smoke from Mycroft's mouth, a quiet, broken sob escaped Sherlock. It surprised them both but Mycroft gave him the decency of pretending that he didn't hear it and instead spoke to him in between drags.
"If he tells you 'no', or in the end it doesn't work out for you two, I'll always be here for you, Sherlock, you know that."