"Where have you been?"
Sherlock jumped when Mycroft appeared in front of him as the fifteen-year-old sneaked in the side kitchen door.
"Nowhere." the teenager sullenly responded, deliberately bumping his brother with his shoulder as he passed him.
Mycroft rolled his eyes and turned to follow his brother. It was 3am and Mummy had gone to bed hours ago. Father, fortunately for Sherlock, was away on business and so only Mycroft was aware of Sherlock's late night.
The elder Holmes pursued his brother across the ground floor and up the stairs, scowling when Sherlock made little effort to be quiet.
"You'll wake Mummy." Mycroft growled, low and loud, at the petulant teen.
Sherlock shot him a glare as he carefully peeled off his clothing and headed to the bathroom.
"What the hell?" Mycroft gasped as he saw his brother's body littered with fresh bruises. His face transformed from controlled anger and frustration to obvious concern. "What happened, Sherlock?" he placed a brotherly hand on the teen's shoulder and took a closer look at the forming marks on his back and sides.
Sherlock turned to face his brother, chewing his bottom lip as he shrugged off Mycroft's touch with a wince.
"It's nothing." he mumbled, crossing the room quickly to retrieve his robe and tying it around himself as he sat down on his bed. "I guess I was just too slow this time."
Mycroft sat alongside his brother with a long sigh.
"Anything I can do?" he asked, giving Sherlock a sideways glance so as not to make him feel like he was being judged.
The teen shook his head.
"No, thank you, Mycroft." he replied, his voice low and quiet. "Just being here is enough."