A/N: Long-ish chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Mycroft quietly knocks on his younger brother's bedroom door. Sherlock and John weren't up when he left, and considering how much they drank last night, he assumes they're still in bed sleeping off a hangover.

When there's no answer, Mycroft cracks the door open to make sure the boys are in bed.

And they're not.

Scowling, he pushes the door open and wanders further into the room. It' four in the afternoon, so they could be out, but there are no clues as to where they are.

Confused, he pulls out his phone to call Sherlock. He exits his brother's bedroom and dials.

There's no answer, which mildly worries him, but he quickly dials John.

"Hello?" John answers on the third ring.

"John, hello. Where are you?"

"I'm at home, why?"

"Is Sherlock with you?"

"Uh, no. I left him at your house about...like five hours ago."

Fear rushes through Mycroft. Sherlock's not in the house. He could be in danger.

"Mycroft? He's not there is he?" John sounds just as worried as he feels.

"No, and he's not answering. Did he say he was going anywhere?"

"No, but...he was upset. I...he told me he wanted privacy, so I left. I shouldn't have...god, I'm an idiot."

Mycroft scrubs a hand over his face. "It's not your fault," he finds himself saying. "Just...call around to your friends and ask if he's with anyone else. And ring me if you hear from him."

"Of course," John says, then he hangs up.

Mycroft paces downstairs in the entry as he calls Greg next.

"Hey, babe."

"Gregory? I can't find Sherlock."

"What do you mean you can't find him?"

Frantically, Mycroft adds, "I mean he's not home, he's not answering his phone, he's not with John."

"Ok, listen love. First you need to take a deep breath."

Mycroft does that, soothed by his boyfriend's voice.

"Next, I'll go out and look for him, okay? Just sit tight and wait for him to possibly come home."

"Ok, thank you."

Greg hangs up before saying anything else. Mycroft continues to pace and panic.

Mycroft knows Sherlock isn't with Clement, for Clement's been with him all day and he knows his dad is now taking care of his own errands, but Mycroft finds no sense in calling his father to worry him. Clement will be home any minute and they can discuss the issue together.

Sure enough, Clement pulls into the garage twenty minutes later. Mycroft is drinking his fourth mug of very strong tea and he must look worried because Clement immediately asks what's wrong.

"I can't find Sherlock."

Color drains from Clement's face immediately. "What?"

"I've called him, he's not with John, Lestrade is out looking for him now."

"You've looked everywhere in the house?"

"Yes, I—" Mycroft abruptly pauses and realizes he hasn't looked everywhere. He hasn't looked in Sherlock's most recent hiding place.

Mycroft leaves Clement in the kitchen and quickly runs up the stairs, where he heads straight for Sherlock's bedroom and throws the door open.

The closet door is locked, but it's the same lock as the one is Mycroft's bedroom, so he gets his own key. At first he can't get the door open, which scares him more than anything, knowing Sherlock is in there and not knowing if he's alright. But in minutes it's open and he's staring at his brother's unmoving form on the floor. Then at the bottle of Sherlock's prescription sleeping pills.

"Dad!" Mycroft yells, scrambling to his knees to check Sherlock's pulse.

The boy is still breathing, so Mycroft picks up the bottle of pills and pours them all into his hand to count them. There are only two less than when he last counted them, which was last week, so Mycroft falls back on his heels and takes a deep, relieved breath.

Clement frantically runs into the room. "What? What? Oh god, Sherlock—"

"He's okay," Mycroft says. "He's just taken one. Or two. Strong, but not lethal. Help me get him into bed?"

Mycroft can see the scared look in his dad's eye and feels terrible for causing such a scare.

"I'm sorry," Mycroft says as they exit Sherlock's bedroom after putting him safely in bed. "I should've checked here first. But I was scared, and—"

Clement wraps an arm around Mycroft's shoulders. "Please don't apologize for worrying."

Mycroft's head falls to Clement's shoulder. "I don't think we'll ever stop worrying about him."

"If he's lucky, we won't." With that, Clement kisses Mycroft's head and disappears downstairs.

Mycroft takes a few minutes to call John and Greg and apologize for worrying them so much, but both say what Clement said. John asks if he can go over, but Mycroft says he'll call when Sherlock wakes up.

For the rest of the evening, Mycroft sits in his bedroom and wonders what is troubling his brother this much.

Sherlock wakes up confused and groggy. He knows he fell asleep in his closet, but now he's in his bed. And it's dark outside. Luckily, his phone is on the empty pillow next to him, so he checks the time. It's after nine at night, and he's got missed calls from Mycroft and John.

Mycroft probably couldn't find him and worried, and that explains how he was moved from the closet to his bed.

He didn't wish to be found, especially by Mycroft, but it doesn't matter.

Sherlock gets out of bed and decides that now would be as good a time as ever to confront Mycroft, so he leaves his own bedroom and wanders down the hall.

He knocks but enters before Mycroft can answer, and Mycroft swivels around in his chair. Mycroft doesn't say anything.

Sherlock decides against pleasantries. He jumps right in. "How long have you been house hunting?"

"Ahh, so that is what bothered you. How did you know?"

"Does it matter?"

"Which of us did you follow, Dad or myself?"

"Again, does it matter? You were keeping something from me."

"I didn't want you to take it personally."

"How could I not? I come back and you want to leave."

"Of course that's not how it is, Sherlock!" Mycroft snaps. "Have you realized I am a grown man? I can't live with daddy forever!"

Sherlock scowls. "Why not?"

Mycroft rubs his eyes. "Look, Sherlock, please understand that this isn't about you whatsoever. If anything, you've only made me stay here longer. But Lestrade and I need our own space. I promise it has nothing to do with you."

Sherlock crosses his arms. "Well I'd better have my own room again."

"Do you think we'd purchase a home without a bedroom for you?"

"You did in New York."

"You visited once."

Sherlock looks down at his feet and pouts. "Still."

Mycroft chuckles, so Sherlock looks up. "To think I could keep it a secret from you."

"You gave yourself away. It was either that or dad was having an affair."

"Who says he isn't?"

Sherlock's gaze darts up at Mycroft, but Mycroft's got an amused look on his face.

"Not to worry, Father is so consumed by you that I don't think he'd give a woman a glance. But would it be so bad if he did?"

Sherlock doesn't even want to think about his father dating on top of everything else on his mind. "Let's not talk about that."

"Agreed," Mycroft mutters, turning around to his laptop and saving the work he'd done. When he's finished, he turns back to Sherlock and motions for Sherlock to sit on the bed across.

Sherlock sits, then Mycroft asks what else is on his mind.

"Too much," Sherlock mumbles, rubbing his sleep swollen eyes. "John wants to go into the army."

"He has since he was a boy," Mycroft reminds him.

"I know but…now it's real. He's of age, I can't stop him."

"Whether he goes or not isn't about you, Sherlock. You're not driving him to go and you won't be what makes him stay."

Sherlock glares at his brother. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you should hope you don't make John stay, because John will one day grow to resent you making him stay."

Sherlock realizes that that is true. "So…what do I do?"

"You support him."

Sherlock frowns. "I can't support this."

"Then break up with him."

"Out of the question."

"If he goes, he will still be with you, Sherlock. And you'll be with him every step of the way. You'll be in his every thought and every prayer and he'll be with you the same."

Sherlock rubs his chest where there's an ache in his heart. "I'm afraid of being without him."

"He will return, that is for sure. He will always return to you."

"How can you be so calm about this?" Sherlock asks. "What if Lestrade—"

"Lestrade is put in harm's way every time he puts on his uniform. He is more brave than I could ever hope to be, and that's how you should think of John. Brave, selfless, caring, strong, dependable…all good traits our men have."

Sherlock studies his brother. Mycroft is rarely so passionate and understanding about anything, it must be a testament of how happy he is.

"You should be proud of him," Mycroft adds.

Sherlock slowly nods. "I should be."

"Let him make the decision."

Sherlock bites his lip and nods again.

"Now, what else?" Mycroft asks.

Sherlock sighs. "Olive is breaking up with Lane because she and Paris kissed."

"Wow," Mycroft says. "Why is that bothering you?"

"Because I…" Sherlock shrugs. "It's stupid."

"Nonsense," Mycroft says.

"I just…I'm used to Lane. I'm used to Olive and Lane. And I'm used to Taylor and Paris. I just…don't want anything to change."

"Change can sometimes be good. Don't you want your friends to be happy?"

"Of course, but—"

"Then let them be. This, more than the other problems, have absolutely nothing to do with you. Olive and Paris did not kiss with you in mind."

"Yeah, but I introduced them—"

"Are you supposed to go back in time and not befriend that boy on the plane? Befriending him was probably the kindest thing you could have ever done, you should be happy with yourself for being so nice to a stranger and opening all the doors you have for him. This was their decision."

Sherlock realizes Mycroft is right. This has nothing to do with him, this isn't his fault. Lane might be hurt but he can't let that bother him; it's not his fault.

"Alright," Sherlock concedes. "You're right."

"Something I never get tired of hearing."

Sherlock laughs. "As if you hear it often."

Mycroft grins. "Oh, I forgot to tell you something else. I've got a job."

"Really? Where?"

"Just a simple desk job with some branch of the government. Honestly, I don't even know the details. Uncle Asher has helped."

"Of course. Do you think Uncle Asher could get it so that if John is sent to war, he's got protection?"

"I believe John is supposed to be the one protecting, but I'm sure Uncle could set him up in the nicest camps."

Sherlock shrugs. "Something I can hope for, I guess."

Mycroft stands and places a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Don't worry so much," he says.

"You're telling me not to worry so much? There are marks on my closet door where you nearly kicked the door in."

Mycroft laughs. "If you hadn't locked the door I wouldn't have had to kick it in. Now, is there anything else?"

Sherlock's about to tell Mycroft about John and marriage, but he decides against it. His brother would tell him they're too young and they've got their futures to think about.

"No, that's it."

Mycroft nods, then leans down and kisses Sherlock's hair. "Call John," he says as he leads Sherlock out of the room. "And I want to take you to the new house tomorrow."

Sherlock takes a deep breath. "Okay," he agrees, accepting the new change in his life.