So yeah... all sunshine and happy times from here on out ... for a few chapter until I feel the need to mix things up a bit again ;)
Enjoy and review! :)
As he waved goodbye to the car, now a mere black spot in the distance, Mycroft realised he would be really grateful for his brother's company over the next few weeks.
John and Sherlock didn't have long now until they began at University, and he himself hadn't got past mourning Greg, to the point where although he went to work each day, he was a shell once more, an exterior which showed strength, and courage. But there was nothing inside. Nothing that could feel, or break.
He was empty.
He'd taken to rehearsing the words 'caring is not an advantage' each morning, until the day that he heard it.
He followed the strange noise up the stairs, until he came upon the closed door which currently led to John and Sherlock's room.
He listened, hoping for all their sakes he hadn't heard something he'd regret, but soon enough he heard John, his tone a comforting one, similar to a doctors. 'shh' he said 'Myc will be fine, in the end, I promise'.
He winced at these words, and the idea that the couple were talking about him.
He heard the noise he had earlier, and realised that it was Sherlock. Crying.
'Don't promise that, John. Don't ever. You don't know him like I do. Greg was the first and only person Myc ever loved, and he will never fully get over it'
He heard the bed squeak and presumed that they were leaning in, comforting, just being, together.
Something that Mycroft could never do with his true love again.
He had heard enough, and he slowly padded down the stairs to his own room, falling into the duvet and feeling tired enough to sleep for the first time in days.
'Sherlock is wrong' he muttered, rolling himself into the middle of the bed.
'He himself is the first person I ever loved' Mycroft concluded, making a mental note to pull himself together tomorrow, for Sherlock's sake if not his own.
Mycroft woke up as routine at 4.30am, and today was no different. He pulled on his grey suit, and chose a tie that would bring out the colour of his eyes. It's worth the time to look beautiful as Greg used to joke, when he was waiting for him hours longer than they agreed.
He strolled downstairs, remembering to pick up his umbrella, just in case.
To his surprise, John and Sherlock were already down, half asleep, at the breakfast table. There was a vast array of food in front of them, courteously made by Mrs Hudson, no doubt, but they stopped eating and talking the moment he walked in.
In the last couple of weeks it had become habit for Mycroft to pour himself a coffee, avoid eye contact, and move into the library, where he knew no one would disturb him. To the surprise of two men that were already avoiding looking up, he sat down, and served himself a large helping of bacon.
Sherlock glanced at John, and pulled a slight smile. It took a couple of minutes for either of them to pluck up the courage to talk to him.
'Don't eat too much, Mycroft. Don't want to be gaining too much around the middle. Let's not have déjà vu on the year before last's escapades'.
Mycroft rolled his eyes, knowing this was as close as it got to having a normal conversation with his brother.
'Don't remind me.' He looked towards John 'Control him, would you? He seems to get awfully bad tempered on the nights where you don't give him any' John blushed at this, lowering his head. He knew it was just Mycroft and Sherlock's daily arguments, but as an outsider, it was awkward being included at the best of times.
'Don't bring my personal life into this conversation, Mycroft. I won't say anything in response, wouldn't want you to comfort eat and have to get all your suits made bigger. You're almost spilling over now' Sherlock grumbled, obviously too tired to create a legitimate response.
John excused himself, and looked at Sherlock warningly as if to say don't ask, talk to him. Sherlock raised his eyebrows at this, but before he could say anything, John had slammed the door shut behind him.
Sherlock groaned, and swivelled around in his seat to face Mycroft. Neither of them were in the mood for a heart-to-heart. So they both waited, looking expectantly at each other.
'So…' they both said in unison, looking down to avoid addressing the tension in the room which had now steadily increased since John had walked out.
'I'mnotgoingtoUni' Sherlock blurted, holding his head in his hands.
Mycroft slowly placed his cup onto the table, and leaned back on the tall leather chair.
'Don't be an idiot, you're going' he said, calmly.
Sherlock looked his brother in the eye, and felt himself shrinking against the power he was met with. 'I don't want to leave you yet. Not so soon after Gr-'Mycroft stopped him before he could finish. 'Don't start, Sherlock. I'm fine, see? Just fine, and perfectly fine without you, that I will swear to' he added, attempting humour. Sherlock grimaced at this, and shook his head 'you heard me and John last night, didn't you? You shouldn't have had to hear that, I'm sorry' a tear left his right eye, running the length of his cheek before splashing onto his empty plate.
Mycroft smiled weakly. 'I'm slightly touched you care for me, brother dear. But I'm okay, and I'm not helping anyone moping round here anymore. I was thinking of going on holiday for a short while'. He said, the sentence almost a question, but not quite.
Sherlock's ears pricked up. Myc was trying to be strong for his sake, rather than his own. And it was worse because of that. 'That's a good idea. Where are you going to go?' he asked.
'Oh nowhere interesting, I was thinking about the Maldives. I was thinking you and John could join me during half term'.
Sherlock grinned, imagining his pale, skinny brother in colourful swimming trunks. 'That'd be nice' Sherlock said, his mind half away with thoughts, now.
Mycroft stood up, pushing the chair away from the long, oak table.
'I must go, lots to be done' he said, as he made his way towards the heavy door.
Sherlock hummed a response to this, his mind now full of ideas on where he would take John to when they went on holiday. When he heard the door squeak open he came crashing back down.
'Thanks' he whispered, knowing it would be accepted, not questioned.
'always' Mycroft replied, knowing he was being thanked in general, but more for his not questioning acceptance of John, despite the horrific circumstances.
He had no regrets about letting John into his home, and a solitary, gleaming tear fell as he remembered the words Greg had told him one night;
'Myc… Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we're very, very lucky, with John by his side, he might even be a good one'