It hadn't seemed like cheating. It wasn't a betrayal. Because Mycroft could honestly say that he didn't love any of them. He didn't want any of them. He was only trying to do his duty as the eldest son. Only trying to satisfy some base urge that existed somewhere in the very deepest part of his head. So why did he feel so guilty about all of them?

Sophie. She had been the second daughter of a minor Peer. Pretty. Elegant. Pale skin and Ebony hair. People had commented on how beautiful their children would be. She had liked Mycroft. Still sent him Christmas and Birthday cards. But they had both known the relationship was not going to work after one rather traumatic night. Mycroft had tried his best. There was no reason why a perfectly healthy young man should not be able to have sexual relations with a beautiful, perfectly healthy young woman. After twenty minutes of his pathetic attempts at sex, Sophie had calmly stopped him and told him that he was gay. She had been very nice about it. Had even offered to marry Mycroft so that his mother would leave him alone. He had the first and only blazing argument with his mother over it. Mrs Holmes stopped her matchmaking.

There had been the occasional encounter at Cambridge. Mutually beneficial and always with someone with just as much to lose as him. No passion. No emotion. Just release. Somehow he could justify that in his head. It wasn't betraying Nick. Because he didn't feel anything for these people. He didn't choose them. Any warm male body would do. He kept telling himself that. Repeating it over and over in his head when he found himself in bed with yet another short, stocky, strawberry blond that it was okay to close his eyes and pretend it was Nick and no one would ever know. But he knew.

Mycroft was sitting in his office. And something different was going on. Something that until two minutes before he had been completely unaware of. He was kicking himself really. It was an error worthy of Sherlock. Jonathan had worked for them for about three years. His father had a seat in the Lords and Jonathan had come from Oxford with a double first in Law. He was polite, discreet, hardworking and intelligent. Exactly what they wanted. And he was very good at his job. Whatever Mycroft asked for, when he asked for it.

Their fingertips had brushed for a fraction of a second as Jonathan handed Mycroft a folder. A fraction of a second that was more than enough time for Mycroft's brain to gather all the facts. Time to take in his dilated pupils. The slight blush suffusing his face. The downward glance as he suddenly became very interested in the top of the desk.

"Thank you Jonathan, that will be everything for now." The briefest moment of hurt as he was dismissed.

"Yes Sir." Mycroft watched him leave.

Mycroft closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with his thumbs. He poured himself a glass of scotch, downed it and then poured another one, resisting the urge to hurl the bottle at the wall. Ten minutes passed before he had calmed down, rid himself of the destructive urges. But he couldn't rid himself of Jonathan's eyes. Bright Emerald Green. How had he never noticed that before?

"Anthea?" he buzzed the intercom.

"Yes Mr. Holmes?"

"Can you ask Jonathan to bring me the Boscombe Valley File please?"

"Yes Sir."

It wasn't betrayal. It wasn't cheating. He didn't love him. He didn't want him. He just wanted to close his eyes and pretend.