Sherlock and Mycroft talk about what it means to be a Holmes. Short chapter.

Sherlock stares out the window, his left hand resting against the pane. His right hand clutches Jack's ponytail.

He can just make out his brother's reflection in the window where he stands behind him. The older Holmes speaks quietly. "Jack cut his hair because he wants you to know he is doing well. Your son is fine and coping as well as possible. He wanted you to have this, so that you stop worrying about him and focus solely on getting better."

Jack had never expressed the desire to have his hair cut before. For him to do this for him… His heart squeezes. He truly has the most wonderful son in the world.

But the good feeling is still clouded by anger. "You punched John and scared Jack." It may have been a week ago, but they haven't spoken until now.

Mycroft nods. "Yes. I lashed out. My emotions got the better of me. I blamed myself for you being here, I missed Gregory terribly, I didn't know how to talk to Jack and I ended up hunting down a petty criminal and riddling him with so many bullets I'm sure they had to use tweezers to put him in the body bag. My emotions got the better of me, and I hurt one of my nephew's favourite people. I have failed the few people I can truly consider to be family."

Sherlock turns to stare at him. His brother is sat on his bed, hunched over and looking as though he were trying to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders. In many ways he was. But in all his life, Mycroft had never shown himself, his feelings, ever. Pretending is beneath Mycroft, so Sherlock knows the pain he sees is real.

"We weren't raised to be overly emotional," he concurs, rubbing his bandaged wrists. "I don't know how to ask for help. I hurt myself and you lash out at others. It's what we were taught. We are Holmes'."

Mycroft takes a deep breath, clearly trying to win some inner battle. "We are Holmes'. But to use that as an excuse to hurt ourselves and others, because our parents clearly failed at parenting, is not the way to go forward."

Sherlock is stunned. Mycroft has never diverged from their parents' beliefs before, taking pride in control and emotional distance. "What's happening to you?"

Mycroft smiles slightly, a genuinely happy look which somehow doesn't look out of place on his normally stoic face. "Let's just say, someone has taught me that emotions aren't always a hindrance. That sometimes, it can be… good to express an emotion, to avoid unwanted fallouts." He looks up at him, open and honest. "But you already know that. You raised Jack to be smart, but not emotionally stunted. You are the best of us, brother mine."

His already fragile state means he's been prone to more tears lately. The waterworks start up again. "I failed him. All three of them… I… He never should have even been born…"

Mycroft reaches out and grips his knee; their eyes lock. "You cannot change what has happened. I wish I could change our parents. I wish I could take away all the horror you endured at the monsters' hands. But I wouldn't swap Jack for anything the world. Whilst I wish he had been born under happier circumstances, I wouldn't want a world without him, or you. Or John. Even Mrs. Hudson, despite the fact that she has taken a liking to beating me with her handbag every time she sees me, since I punched John in the face."

Sherlock snorts an amused laugh. He really wants to see that. "You're forgetting Lestrade."

Mycroft tips his head back and stares at the ceiling. He remains silent for a moment. And then, "Ah, yes. I never thought I would… that I could… He's the only one who has walked through my barriers as if they were open doors. I do not understand it. I did not like it at first. But then his ex-wife sent him a message about ruining his life and keeping everything he's ever owned… And I snapped. I'm not sure if I've done this love thing in order. Does banishing one's love interest's ex-wife count as a first date?"

Sherlock knows it's a rhetorical question. He's curious however, as to what his brother did to Mrs. Lestrade. "Ringed seals." He states confidently.

Mycroft shakes his head. "Leopard seals."

Sherlock huffs crossly. "Of course, the North pole would be too close for you."

They remain silent for a moment, only the sound of a patient crying in the hallway disturbing the peace. Mycroft breathes out slowly. "Our mother and father are great at their jobs and hobbies. But they should not be parents. Mummy said so herself."

"When was that?"

"The day before the double funeral."

Sherlock licks his lips. John hadn't put two and two together, but Mycroft knew Sherlock would eventually, even if he tried to stop him from reading the news. "I saw the news report on TV, the prison They were in caught fire. And then you speak to Mummy?" It's also a rhetorical question. He just wants confirmation.

Mycroft nods. "They were going to drag you through the dirt by any means necessary. And Magn- the man was frighteningly intelligent. When I discovered what happened to William and Charlotte, Anthea called our parents and they also found out. We made the fire look like a freak accident. Drove the real criminals to a secure, isolated location. They're dead, Sherlock."

Hearing it makes it seem less real. "Are you sure? You… you're certain? They… they weren't ever going to just vanish… you can't be sure…"

"I have photos. And yesterday I went to the morgue and beat their corpses with a whip. Miss Hooper keeps them fresh for me, in exchange for her rent being paid for the next six months. Father joins in sometimes. He helped me dig them up after we buried them alive."

Sherlock can't believe it; he knew, deep down he knew, but hearing it is… "Are you sure? Are you sure?"

"Yes brother mine. Again, I have photos."

"No, I need to see… I need to see them with my own eyes. Take me to the morgue…" his voice starts slurring again, as the tablets kick in. He's so tired.

"If it helps you recover then I will. But not today. When you are better prepared. When you are well enough to look down on them and to not be scared of them."

Sherlock yawns as Mycroft helps him over to his bed, his body stiff from a lack of movement. He shuffles over and falls onto it awkwardly. "I never want to see Mummy and Father again."

Mycroft's hands pause in pulling the sheet over him. "And you won't. But you should know that if you ever change your mind, they'll be there for you and in spite of their many flaws, they do love you."

Sherlock covers his ears; he doesn't want to hear it.

"Jack is well, Sherlock. He is well and waiting for you to get better and to come home. And together we will learn to open up to the people who love us so we don't hurt them. We will be better people together."

Sniffing, Sherlock fights to keep his eyes open. "I don't want to die anymore. But I don't know how to live… it's so hard."

Mycroft squeezes his hands. "That's the first step. It may seem impossible, but you will recover from this. You will live your life. That is how you beat the Monsters. They lose by you learning not just how to survive but to live a normal life. As normal as it can be when you're a Holmes, of course. Sleep tight, brother. I'll be back soon."

He's gone. Sherlock clutches his son's ponytail, his bravery, and drifts off to sleep.