It was a silver tray and broken glass that undid Sherlock Holmes. The elderly butler had brought the four, refreshments. Sandwiches and juice. Orange juice in delicate, clear glasses, crustless sandwiches arranged prettily on a large plate, each with it's own coloured toothpick. The butler moved forward to place them on the coffee table, tripping on an upturned section of a rug. Sherlock had flinched and curled inward. Loud sounds, Mycroft had observed, had always caused such a reaction. He helped the old man from the floor. The sandwiches were salvageable. Mycroft called for fresh glasses and a mop. He handed Sherlock a fresh glass of juice and watched him closely. Sherlock's hands shook, sipping it very little.

He turned to place it onto the small table that had been dragged to stand beside him, his shaking hands suddenly dropping the glass onto the carpet, shattering it into a hundred pieces. Sherlock stared at it for several seconds before curling into a ball, his hands over his ears. The strangest and smallest things can send one into back into the past, Sherlock had mused the last time this had happened. Even things that seemed unrelated could trigger a flashback. In Sherlock's case, the dropping of a tray, a loud sound, had started things off, causing him to become skittish and jumpy again, and then his own accident had triggered the flashback that had caused him to curl into the foetal position and beg forgiveness.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, It was an accident. I'm sorry!" No talking. Mustn't talk. It was an accident. Just an accident. Won't be punished. Right? Shit. Shit shit shit. Don't hurt me, please don't hurt me. I'll be good. I promise. He began to rock back and forth, muttering to himself. Any time he did something wrong back in China, he would be punished, even if it was accidental. In the end it had become a habit to apologise for everything, even though he was forbidden to speak. His brain had sent him back into the small cell. All because of a glass and a tray.

Mycroft recognised the symptoms immediately, having had to deal with these many times since Sherlock's return. He ordered everyone out of the room, reminding himself to apologise to them once this was over. He sat on the window seat and grabbed Sherlock's hands, which were curled into fists and pressed tightly against his ears. "Sherlock, Sherlock look at me" Sherlock shook his head, continuing to rock and shake. "Sherlock Holmes, listen to me! You are not in the cell, you are in my house, you are safe. Please, snap out of this." Sherlock seemed to curl tighter into himself and sob, and Mycroft could only hold his brother close and hoped he came back to his senses soon.

"Sssh, it's ok. You're safe"

"Im sorry"

"You have nothing to apologise for. Sssh, don't cry. Come on, you're a Holmes. Where's that stiff upper lip?" Sherlock let out a sob but lifted his head, wiping his nose. "D-don't be ridiculous. Don't have one of t-those." Mycroft gave him a small smile and another hug. "You alright now?" Sherlock paused and then nodded. "Good" Mycroft sighed in relief. "Feel up to eating?". His little brother shook his curly head, his arms wrapping tightly around his legs once more. "Take a deep breath, good, thats good."

"C-can I go outside?"

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. Sherlock never requested anything. He had barely moved from his window seat, granted that could be due to his injured legs. "Now?". His baby brother nodded. "I haven't been outside for ages. I miss it...please Mycroft?" How could he refuse that face and the quiet request? "Of course. Let me get you something warmer to put on" He hunted around the room for that blue hoodie. It was under the bed, for some odd reason. He pulled it out and handed it to his brother, who quickly slipped it over his head. Mycroft picked up Sherlock's new cane, his brother was still unsteady on his feet, and handed it to his little brother.

Sherlock took it gratefully and clambered off the window seat, wobbling slightly, his legs unsteady as always. His brother shot out his arm, grabbing Sherlock's shoulder to stabilise him and the two walked out of the room slowly, the younger Holmes leaning heavily on the elder.

"Its been several months since our last session. Did something happen?"

"No, not really. I..I finally wrote about it."

"About what John?" About travelling to the moon. What do you think?

"..About his death"

"And how did that make you feel?" Was that the best she could do? How does that make you feel?

"I thought it would make me feel better, to get it off my chest"

"But?"

"I don't feel any different. I thought maybe writing it all down would show me if I missed anything, if I could have done anything. But it didn't."

"But do you think, in the long run, it will help?" No, not really.

"I don't know. Maybe. I guess it's nice to get it off my chest and show the world what really happened."

"How are things with you and Mary?"

"Great, really great. She's wonderful. We're looking after her niece and nephew. Makes me long for children of my own."

"Do you think that will happen some day?"

"Maybe, not sure if I'm the father type, but it might be nice. Mary want's kids.. so maybe who knows. She is so supportive of everything. I don't deserve it"

"Do you really believe that? Do you still blame yourself?" Yes.

"Not as much as I used too."

"And what about the blog, are you still writing on it as well?"

"Everyone now and then. I started sending emails back and forth with one of the fans of my blog."

"And how is that going?"

"Well, he has responded in a while, but I like him. I mean he understands how I feel, he also lost someone. He travels a lot, in fact he just sent me a gift from China. He seems like a really nice, caring man. Even though we've never met I feel like he's become a good friend."

"Thats great John. I adivse you to keep writing if you can. Do you still visit your friends grave?"

"Sometimes. When I can. I work part time at the practice and help out Lestrade, medical wise though. Sometimes after a hard days work I might go visit his grave. I hate it though." Stupid piece of rock.

"Tell me"

"It's just.. I hate it. It's stupid, it's just a piece of black marble with his name on it but it tears me up inside just to look at it. Well it used too. I guess every time I visit I get more and more used to it. Sometimes it just doesn't seem real. I know why he did it now. But it doesn't help. Im the soldier, I should have been there to protect him. Instead the last time we were face to face I insulted him. Then he ended up killing himself to save three people." Hero's do exist Sherlock. And you were one of them.

"You wish you could have changed places"

"God yes, I mean.. not the way that sounded. I don't have a death wish. ..But if I could protect him that way I would have, without a second."

"That much loyalty? Even after all this time?"

"Yeah."

Always.

The two sat side by side on a bench, overlooking the pond in Mycroft's back yard. Sherlock sat hugging his leg, Mycroft sat beside him, unsure of what to say. Sherlock began to feed the ducks. "You know that was supposed to be your lunch" Sherlock continued to throw the bread crumbs. "Not hungry" Mycroft sighed. "You never are but now its never been more important for you to eat. You were half starved when I found you. You are still too thin for my liking." His brother stiffened. He disliked any mention of that place.

"We have to talk about it sometime"

"No"

"Sherlock..."

"I can't"

"Sherlock, please. We can take this slowly, but you shouldn't keep it all to yourself. I want to help you. Please let me help you. Do you have any idea how I felt when I finally found you? You weren't there Sherlock, your body was but your mind wasn't. I though I'd failed you. I had failed you Sherlock. And then I brought back your broken body and hope you would come back to me. But nothing I did or said would, in the end it was John that brought you back. Sometimes I wish we weren't so far apart, perhaps I could have helped you sooner" Mycroft sighed, running his hand through his neat hair. Sherlock felt a tear sting his eye. He knew Mycroft worried, but it was clear his brother blamed himself for everything and the guilt was eating him up inside. That wasn't right, Mycroft was always so strong.

"Mycroft.."

"Where did I go wrong Sherlock? I never meant for this to happen. I..I thought I lost you once but I got you back only to lose you again. Am I that bad a brother?" Mycoft seemed to not be addressing Sherlock at all, but himself. Mycroft wasn't like this, he was strong, stoic, calm. Not this. He seemed stressed, very stressed. Sherlock didn't know what to do. You have always been a git, but you're not that bad Myc..

"But..I'm back now." I think.

"Yes but it's not the same.." It might never be again, don't you see Sherlock?

"Sorry?"

"...Don't say that. It's not your fault!" Mycroft's hair tumbled forward, no longer in it's neat style. Sherlock flinched. Mycroft widened his eyes. "I'm sorry.. I shouldn't have yelled. I'm not good at this Sherlock. Im not sure what I'm supposed to do. I always know what to do.." Sherlock placed a nervous hand on Mycroft's shoulder, which seemed to calm him a little. "Do you forgive me? I understand if you don't or if you hate me.." I will never forgive myself.

"You're an idiot"

"I..what?"

"Stop blaming yourself, please. One of us needs to be strong and it can't be me right now." Mycroft almost smiled. For a moment he really had sounded like his old self. Sherlock was right. He needed to pull himself back together. For his brother. The elder Holmes nodded, brushing back his hair. Sherlock studied him for a moment and then let go of his arm.

"Do you think I'm broken, Mycroft? Or can I put the pieces back together?"

"Of course you can. I'll fix things, I promise"

"..Maybe I need a doctor" The tiniest of smiles seemed to tug at his lips. Mycroft wished he could give him what he wanted. He wished he could help him like John could. But too much had happened between them. Things seemed to be slowly healing but it had to take something horrible for it to happen.

"One day Sherlock."

"Soon?" Please don't sound so hopeful..

"I hope so" God I hope so.

They sat in silence for a little while, watching the birds, watching the sky grow darker. Sherlock turned his head up to view them, his face lighting up for a few short minutes. "Aren't they beautiful, Mycroft?"

"Yes they are dear brother. Yes they are"