Fifty Shades of Holmes Brothers

by somanyhands

A series of 50 short fics about the changing relationship and dynamics between the Holmes brothers, from Sherlock's birth through to adulthood. No slash but there will be some brother love and tenderness as well as an amount of hatred and bitterness too. Contains mention of drug use. Not one fic per year, just 50 short glimpses, in chronological order. NOW COMPLETE

40. Being Sherlock

Mycroft groaned as he pushed open the main entrance to Sherlock's block. He loathed this neighbourhood. It was filled with normal people; mundane people with boring lives. It wasn't a neighbourhood worthy of his little brother. Sherlock deserved better. Somewhere nicer; cleaner; less... ordinary. Mycroft hated it, which of course, he knew, was why Sherlock had chosen it.

As his climbed the stairs to Sherlock's second floor flat, he became aware of the soft sound of a violin playing and instantly recognised the style as his brother's. It was a piece that Mummy had taught to Sherlock as a child. Mycroft smiled fondly and stood in the corridor for a while, listening to the rise and fall of the music and feeling the emotion with which it was played. This was Sherlock, his little brother, doing what he loved. It was a time during which he could let go. Let the emotions flow into the music.

For a short moment, Mycroft was envious of that. Sherlock had always been the more accomplished musician of the two, with Mycroft's piano skills falling far short of his brother's violin talents. Despite that, Mycroft stood silent for a moment and let himself be absorbed into Sherlock's world of music. He closed his eyes, as he knew Sherlock did when he played, and let himself be carried along with the beauty and passion of the piece.

After a few minutes more, the music came to an end, and Mycroft, remembering where he was and why he was there, stepped forwards to knock on the door. As he raised his hand, the door opened to him, and Sherlock stood with a wry smile on his face.

"Good morning, brother." the younger greeted, standing aside to allow the elder to enter. "Come to check up on me, have you?"

Sherlock's clipped tone was forced. Mycroft knew that Sherlock did not really detest his visits as much as he claimed. Mycroft cast his eyes around the flat for clues as to how his brother was doing. There was organised chaos all around. Mycroft recognised it as a good thing; something he remembered from their childhood; from before... before everything went wrong. He looked back at Sherlock with a short nod.

Sherlock was good. He was well. He was Sherlock again.