A/N: Lots of brotherly love this chapter because I love Sherlock and Mycroft. ALSO WARNING for drug use. Not who you think either, so don't worry.

They do go to the Statue of Liberty after lunch, and it doesn't take long for Sherlock to completely regret the decision.

"Mycroft…" Sherlock whines. "I don't want to do this anymore."

Mycroft laughs. "Sherlock, we've only been here ten minutes."

"How much longer?"

"At least fifteen more. Twenty, maybe."

Sherlock groans and slumps against a hand rail.

"This wouldn't be a problem if you got exercise."

Sherlock snorts and begins to walk again. "Could you imagine me doing sports?"

Mycroft laughs again. "I didn't mean sports. I just meant maybe walking, running, in the summer you can swim laps instead of just making out with John in the pool."

Sherlock turns red, and it's not because he's out of air from the climb.

Mycroft just grins and keeps walking.

Three minutes later, Sherlock starts his whining again.

"Mycroft," he cries, "Carry me!"

"No!"

The couple in front of them laugh.

"Pleeeeease!" Sherlock tries again.

"You are fine."

Sherlock pretends to cry. "I thought you loved me."

"You wanted to do this. I've lived here, what? Four months? And I've managed to avoid this."

Sherlock just groans in response.

He lasts seven minutes before he begs Mycroft to make it all stop again.

"I'm never inviting you back here again," Mycroft says. "You can stay in England forever."

"Fine by me!" Sherlock yells.

The couple in front of them laugh harder.

"You're the worst big brother ever."

"Yes, you've been saying that since you could talk. Now shut up and climb."

"I'm telling Dad."

"I'll tell him this was your idea."

"Mycrooooooooft!" Sherlock cries.

Mycroft ignores him.

Finally, finally, they make it to the top. Sherlock slumps against the wall to catch his breath and rub the numbness in his legs. Mycroft goes right over to the windows to look out.

"It's gorgeous," Mycroft says.

Sherlock takes one last deep breath and joins Mycroft.

"Wow," he mutters.

Mycroft looks over at him. "Worth it?" he asks.

Sherlock smiles at his brother. "I guess."

They silently stare out the windows for minutes longer, Sherlock taking note of every bit of the New York City skyline.

"It's like the time Mother took us to the top of The Gherkin," Sherlock says after a few minutes.

Mycroft glances at him. "You remember that?"

"Of course, I was seven not brain dead."

"You were brain dead when you were seven."

Sherlock shoves him. "I was not."

Mycroft laughs.

They're silently for longer, and right as they're about to leave, Sherlock says, "I love it up here."

"Me too," Mycroft says. "It makes me feel big. It makes me feel like I'm somewhere that matters."

"You don't feel that often?"

Mycroft shakes his head. "No."

"Quit your job."

"Sherlock, I can't."

"You can. Who cares about what Mother wants anymore? Have you even seen her? Heard from her?"

Mycroft sighs. "No."

"Then who cares? Quit and come home."

"I don't know, Sherlock."

"Dad would be thrilled, you know he would. As would Lestrade."

"And you?"

Sherlock fumbles over his words. "I don't—It doesn't—You—"

Mycroft laughs. "It's alright, you don't have to say that you miss me."

Sherlock doesn't say anything to that.

"How do you feel up here?" Mycroft asks.

"Happy," Sherlock says. "I love this city. Not as much as I love London, but I love any city."

"Why?"

"It's like a physical representation of my brain," Sherlock explains, "Of how my head feels on the inside."

"So, full of not just one idiot, but a million?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

Mycroft laughs. "Go on."

Sherlock shrugs. "I don't know. It's just…big and small at the same time. Crowded and empty altogether. There's no privacy and there's a ton of privacy. It's…it's cloudy. It's full of static. It feels like your body filling with cigarette smoke."

"I'm going to pretend you don't know what that feels like," Mycroft says.

Sherlock ignores him. "It makes me feel calm."

"How did you feel on top of the Empire State Building yesterday?"

"I felt like I was on top of the world. I felt at home."

Mycroft wraps an arm around Sherlock's shoulders. "Maybe one day it can be."

"Really?"

"If you want to. You can move here. We can get an apartment on the top floor of any building in this city."

"How about you just move back to London and we'll talk."

Mycroft presses his nose into Sherlock's hair. "Deal."

They finally decide to leave after Sherlock snaps a few photos to send to John. They make the climb back down, then take the ferry back to the city.

Sherlock likes the ferry too; he silently leans against the rail and watches the boat slice through the water. He thinks about John, he thinks about Olive, he thinks about Taylor. He hopes John is having a good day with his family. He hopes Olive will start talking to him again soon. And he hopes Lestrade finds Danny soon so Taylor won't be in any more danger.

Mycroft's phone rings right as they step off the boat.

"Hey honey," he answers.

Sherlock listens closely because he knows it's Lestrade.

"You did?" Mycroft asks. "That's great.—Yes, I'll tell him.—Right.—I love you, too. Okay, bye."

He hangs up and turns to Sherlock. "They found Danny. He was at that house you found. They arrested him."

Sherlock nods. "Good."

"Lestrade wants to know if there's anybody else you saw there? Any…I don't know, dealers? Anything?"

Sherlock thinks back, remembering he saw someone smoking in the yard. "There was one guy. I don't know who he was, though. I hardly remember his face anyway."

Mycroft nods. "You'll need to go in when you get back, alright?"

Sherlock nods.

Mycroft hugs him. "I'm proud of you."

"Thank you."

After wandering the city some more and shopping a little bit (Sherlock didn't want to leave without new clothes, as if he needs any), they go to dinner. Sherlock informs Mycroft that he needs a huge cheeseburger, so Mycroft complies.

Sherlock doesn't want to go to bed any time soon, so Mycroft takes him to Time Square. They walk around for hours, going into every shop and shopping some more. Sherlock buys John a gigantic bag of Hershey's Kisses and Olive a gigantic bag of M&M's in hopes that she'll start to forgive him.

"How are you going to take all of this back?" Mycroft asks. "Your suitcase is tiny."

"You'll ship it to me."

Mycroft rolls his eyes and carries another bag of Sherlock's.

John calls around two in the morning London time, and Sherlock confusedly answers while he and Mycroft are walking down the street.

"Hello?"

"Hey love," John says. He sounds sad.

Sherlock frowns. "Jonh? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just…I just miss you."

"I know, I miss you too."

"I can't help but think about what it's going to be like when we're done with school here and we move on."

"We're not going to move on from each other," Sherlock tries.

"We don't know that, Sherlock. What if I…"

Sherlock frowns. "What if you what?"

"I was just thinking tonight, that's all. My dad, he…he went to the army, you know? And I just thought—"

"No."

"No?"

"No, you're not going to the army. I don't care what you have to say."

"You can't—"

"I can, and you aren't going to."

John just takes a deep breath.

"You're going to go become a doctor somewhere and I'll be right by your side. But you have to become a very well paid doctor, because I'm used to a certain lifestyle and, to be honest, I don't plan on contributing much to our finances."

John laughs. "Okay. I'll make a ton of money and you can be my hot trophy husband."

Sherlock laughs too. "Yes, that sounds like a plan."

"Alright love," John says. "I like that plan."

"Me too. Go back to bed, babe."

He can hear John's smile. "Wait," he says, "I thought we were going to Skype? What are you doing?"

"I'm wandering around Time Square and making Mycroft buy me things that I don't need."

John laughs. "He has to pay a rent, you know!"

"My dad still gives him an allowance," Sherlock argues.

John's laughter dies down slowly. "Hey, one more thing. Why did you call me so frantically earlier?"

"Oh, uhm…" Sherlock bites his lip, but he chooses to tell John anyway. "Taylor called me. Danny, he…well, she confronted him…alone, and he…he got mad, and—"

"I'm going to kick his arse. Where is he? He still at that house?"

"Lestrade picked him up hours ago, John. And Taylor's safe, I managed to get a hold of Olive and Taylor's at their house."

"Good," John growls. "What the fuck is wrong with stupid boys?"

"Everything," Sherlock says. "But Lestrade arrested him, so it's fine. Well, it's not fine, but—"

"But she's not in any more danger, I understand."

"Lestrade did ask if we saw anyone else at that house we followed Danny to. I told him I saw someone, but I can't remember what he looks like or anything."

"Huh," John says. "You didn't tell me you saw someone else."

"It wasn't really relevant then."

"I understand," John tells him.

"Taylor said Danny has a friend named Kai who calls right before Danny disappears. Maybe that was him, maybe they can find Kai."

"Yeah," John says. "Hopefully. I'd hate to think he'd be out for Taylor."

"Olive's dad can take care of her."

"Good." John yawns loudly.

"Go back to bed."

"Okay. You too, you have a long flight tomorrow."

"It'd pay off more to sleep less. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay, baby. I love you."

"I love you, too."

John hangs up first, so Sherlock slips his phone back into his pocket and directs his attention back to his brother.

"You two are so…disgusting," Mycroft says.

"Oh, shove it. I heard you on the phone with Lestrade this morning for, like, an hour talking about how much you love each other."

"Well," Mycroft explains. "I love him."

"And I love John. So what's the problem?"

"Sometimes…" Mycroft sighs. "Sometimes, I guess I just forget that you're not a little boy anymore. I forget that you're old enough to love and be loved, to…to have sex and make decisions like that. You're old enough to decide if you want to go to uni or not, no matter how angry Dad and I will be if you don't go. You don't need me, and…it's tough sometimes. You're not my baby anymore."

Sherlock's heart sinks. Of course he doesn't need Mycroft anymore, he's an adult who can make his own decisions. But it's apparent how much Mycroft needs him. Mycroft needs him to be needy. Mycroft needs to be needed.

"I do need you," Sherlock says. "If I didn't have you telling me what to do, I probably…I don't know, I probably would've killed someone by now."

Mycroft laughs. "You have John to keep you right, Sherlock. I know that."

"Yeah, but…only because you're not there anymore."

Mycroft looks over at him. "I really miss you when you're not here and I'm not there."

"I know. You should just move back."

"Maybe."

"And..." Sherlock says, "I do need you for one other reason."

"And what reason is that?"

"To buy me things."

Mycroft laughs. "I know as well as you do that you could afford all of this junk on your own. How convenient that you forgot to get American money before you came here. And I hope you heard the air quotes around 'forgot', because my hands are full and I can't physically do them right now."

Sherlock smiles. "I did forget."

"Right…Anyway, are you ready to go home? Get some sleep?"

"Sure," Sherlock says. "It's been a very eventful day, I am pretty tired."

"Good, me too. So don't you dare wake me up at four in the morning because you can't get the television on."

Sherlock laughs. "Alright, deal."

Mycroft goes right to bed when they get home, but Sherlock stays up for a while longer. He flips through channels and tries to be as quiet as possible.

When he's about to go to bed, the doorknob to the front door begins to jiggle. It sounds like someone's trying to get in, and Sherlock gets scared quickly.

He's about to go wake Mycroft, because clearly the intruder can't get in, but then the door swings open. Sherlock prepares to fight, but in a second Brook walks through the door.

Sherlock sighs relief. "Oh, it's you."

"Sherlock!" Brook cries. "My lovely little cousin, Sherlock!"

Brook is drunk. Or high. Sherlock can tell as soon as he lays eyes on Brook, stumbling around like his legs are made of jelly.

Sherlock's sitting on the sofa, so Brook goes around to stand behind him.

"How's my favorite baby cousin?" Brook asks, leaning down to hug Sherlock from the back and smack a kiss to his cheek.

Sherlock yanks his head away, the smell of alcohol on Brook's breath making him sick.

Brook goes around the sofa to sit next to Sherlock. "Where's Myc?"

"In bed," Sherlock answers.

"And why are you not, young man?"

"I just…I can't sleep."

Brook grins. "I can't sleep either, cousin. But look?" Brook takes something out of his pocket and shakes it in front of Sherlock's face. "I've got the remedy."

Sherlock's eyes focus on the packet Brook is holding. "Is that…is that cocaine?"

Brook takes a mirror out of his backpack and sets it on the coffee table. "Yeah," he nonchalantly says. "Why, you want some?"

Sherlock furrows his eyebrows. Seeing Brook like this is off-putting, unsettling. It's scary, especially since Sherlock is still thinking about what Danny did to Taylor over cocaine.

"No," Sherlock says, "Of course not."

"Never done any drugs before?" Brook asks.

Sherlock shakes his head.

Brook bends down to snort the first line.

Sherlock feels sick.

Brook sits up and smiles. "You sure?"

Sherlock nods.

He watches Brook take another line.

"Does Declan know you do this stuff?" Sherlock asks.

Brook chuckles. "'Course not."

Sherlock notices that Brook's accent keeps switching between that of a Brit and a New Yorker. He knows it's because Brook's been here so long, he came here right when he turned eighteen and now he's twenty-five, and Brook doesn't visit home enough to keep that bit of English charm.

He just frowns as he watches Brook. Brook isn't the same as before he left. He isn't the boy who played pirates with Sherlock and Declan until he moved when the younger boys were ten. He isn't the same sweet boy who would try so hard to be Grandpa's favorite, and he was. He isn't the same 'smartest-of-the-Holmes-kids', which was true, but only because Mycroft is one year younger and only not as smart because he was a level below Brook in school.

"Why?" Sherlock asks, "Because you're afraid Declan would be disappointed?"

Brook looks up at Sherlock. Sobriety peaks the corners of his eyes, even though he's drunk and snorting cocaine. Sherlock can tell he hit a nerve.

Brook doesn't get mad, though. "I know," is all he says.

"Then why do you do it?" Sherlock asks. "Why put yourself through this if you know how much it hurts other people?"

"Because I'm selfish," Brook says.

"Then stop."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because once you start, it's the most difficult thing to do to stop." Brook bends to take the last strip.

"That's not true," Sherlock says, remembering all the research he'd done for Taylor. "You just need to get help, go to rehab."

"Sherlock!" Brook yells. "It's fine, okay?! I've got it under control!"

Sherlock scoots back on the sofa, scared now because Brook raised his voice.

Brook reaches for him. Sherlock flinches.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I didn't—"

Mycroft's bedroom door slams open. "What's going on out here?"

Brook looks up at Mycroft. "Nothing, I'm sorry."

Mycroft grabs Sherlock's shirt sleeve and pulls him off the sofa, obviously seeing Brook's drugs on the table. "Come on, Sherlock," he sternly says.

Sherlock gets up and follows.

"I'm sorry!" Brook calls one more time.

Mycroft pushes Sherlock into his bedroom. Sherlock hears Mycroft say back, "Clean up your goddamn act, Brook. This isn't bloody funny anymore."

Sherlock goes to Mycroft's large bed and sits down on the edge. Mycroft calmly shuts the door.

"Why is he like that?" Sherlock asks, a bit shaken up.

"I don't know," Mycroft says. "Brook had a harder childhood than we did, even more than Declan did. Maybe that's why."

"He needs help."

"I know that. I want to give it to him, but he doesn't let me."

"Why doesn't Uncle Asher do anything?"

Mycroft shrugs. "He doesn't know as much as I do. Brook hides it well when Uncle is here."

"Dad needs to know. Dad would do something."

"I know."

Sherlock just nods.

"Come on," Mycroft says, pushing Sherlock. "Sleep here. You don't need to go back out there."

Sherlock lays back on Mycroft's bed and Mycroft rests next to him.

"We haven't slept together in years," Sherlock says once Mycroft turns the light off.

"Yes, because it's really weird so stay over there."

Sherlock chuckles. "Yeah, okay. I will."

Mycroft ruffles his hair. "Goodnight, Brother."

Sherlock closes his eyes, feeling much more safe and secure with Mycroft.

"Goodnight, Myc," he says back.