John Watson sat in the waiting room looking at the arrivals board. It was busy. And congested. There had been a train crash somewhere or other which had caused delays. Next to him a nervous sixteen year old was fidgeting in his seat and looking up expectantly at the door way. John placed a comforting hand on his young friend's shoulder.
"Do I look okay?" The boy brushed his hair off of his forehead. It immediately fell back down.
"Yeah. You look fine. It will all be okay."
"But what if it isn't? What do I do then? What if he's forgotten?"
"He won't have forgotten." Sherlock appeared suddenly behind them, making John nearly leap out of his skin. He'd been doing that a lot recently. Sherlock handed the boy a can of Coke and patted him on the top of his head.
"I wished you'd stop doing that Sherlock. It's still kind of weird."
"I can't help it. You're adorable."
"Shut up." The boy sipped his drink. Sherlock slid into the seat next to him. Sometimes John thought the attention he gave their young friend was slightly inappropriate. But then it was an odd situation. "I'm just going to the bathroom. I feel sick."
"Do you want me to come with you?" John thought the kid did look a bit green.
"No. Thanks." He smiled half heartedly and made his way to the bathroom.
John looked at Sherlock.
"I hope this works out. He's going to be gutted if it doesn't."
"I know. I've never wanted to be correct in my deductions more than I do at this moment." Sherlock looked down at the toes of his shoes. There was a whistle from the platform outside.
"It's time." The boy came hurrying from the bathroom, his hands still wet from washing them, and the three made their way on to the platform.
The train always reminded John of the Hogwart's Express. All steam and shiny red paint. The platform was fogged and the people disembarking were shrouded in the smoke. He could hear the usual cries of excitement and joy as loved ones were reunited, families made whole again.
It was Sherlock, of course, that saw him first. One of the last to climb down onto the platform. Looking around confused for a moment. Uncertain he was in the right place. A bony elbow nudged John in the side and the Doctor followed the silver gaze. Whatever John had been expecting, it really wasn't that. The boy who was standing on the platform was another sixteen year old. Tall and skinny, his coppery red hair shining in the light, the bright blue eyes taking in the surroundings. The tall boy was carrying an umbrella in one hand and a soft toy Giraffe in the other.
"Mycroft!" Nicholas was off like a shot down the platform, throwing himself at the taller boy.
"Nick?" The Umbrella clattered to the floor and the Giraffe was squashed between them.
"You chose me?" The green eyes were filling with tears.
"Of course I chose you." The blue eyes were doing the same.
John and Sherlock held back a little watching as Mycroft kissed Nicholas trying to make up for all the years apart. As Nicholas held on to Mycroft so tightly, almost scared to let him go again. The two young bodies pressed together.
"Teenagers!" Sherlock tutted.
"Yeah. You do realise you are now older than your big brother?"
"Oh yes." Sherlock smiled. Rather evilly for someone who was wandering around paradise, John thought. "I always said Nick was an excellent influence on Mycroft."
John looked at Mycroft's face. There was no trace of the serious and troubled man John had known in life. Only a young boy who looked as though he had got everything he'd ever wished for in one go. John had to agree: Nick was an excellent influence on Mycroft.