*I do not own the characters Sherlock and Mycroft or anything recognisable to the public*

A/N: THIS WAS ORIGINALLY A SERIES OF ONE SHOTS THAT I PLAN TO CONNECT TOGETHER. THE WHOLE THING IS PLANNED AND DRAFTED SO UPDATES SHOULD BE REGULAR. ENJOY!

At five years old, when Sherlock was told he was gaining a new sibling, there was only one person he could turn to for advice. The one who'd wiped away his tears, cleaned up his grazed knees. His only source of actually useful information. Mycroft.

A rainy Tuesday evening bought about the perfect opportunity to seek these words of wisdom. As usual, they had been left alone to fend for themselves. Well, they weren't completely alone - there were 8 members of staff downstairs, including a nanny (who Sherlock was adamant he didn't need). She had long since given up trying to entertain the young boy; any attempts at conversation would result in another awkward discovery about her love life.

"Mycroft?" called Sherlock, his voice only just audible over the sound of Brandenburg Concerto No.5. He wasn't one to announce his entrance, but the eldest Holmes brother had taken steps to avoid being disrupted as he studied. One of these was to move the door handle to shoulder height, so that germ infested small hands could not reach it, leaving Sherlock no choice but to ask permission to be let in. The music stopped.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Can...Can I come in?"

Mycroft did not yell back - the sound of footsteps approaching the doorway gave Sherlock the reply he was looking for. His brother appeared at the doorway, looking down at the scruffy haired child, who was clutching his teddy bear around the neck.

"Thank you Sherlock, I appreciate the fact that you did not attempt to ram the door down like last time."

Exasperated, the child replied, "Mycroft, that time was an emergency. You know that."

"I would barely call getting your eye patch stuck on your head an emergency..." Mycroft sighed, searching for some will to speak with an enthusiastic tone and trying desperately hard not to be condescending. He gestured to allow his visitor to enter. Needing no welcome, Sherlock tottered over to the perfectly made king-sized bed, scrambling on to the corner and manoeuvring himself so that he could face his brother again. Mycroft waited patiently for him to position himself whilst closing the door before initiating the conversation. As much as Mycroft knew he had to have time for his brother (his parents were often not around, at work in the case of his mother, at the local bar in the case of his father or too absorbed in their arguments to concern themselves in trivial matters) he needed some time to himself.

"What can I do for you?"

Sherlock set down his teddy bear next to him - the awkward silence filling the room did not seem to rush him - his reply would arrive in its own time. He shuffled back on the bed, allowing only his toes to peek over the edge and cleared his throat.

"You know how you're really good at your job?" Confused, the elder brother perched on the corner of the bed, twisting his body almost uncomfortably to face his troubled sibling.

"Job? What job?"

Sherlock tried again. He frowned, not used to having to explain himself to his brother. He was one of the few that could keep up.

"All those things you do, like making my pirate hat, getting biscuits from the pantry for me when the cook isn't looking, teaching me how to remember things like you do, not telling on me when I break stuff doing experiments..." Sherlock paused for thought. Before Mycroft could form a response, he continued: "You do it all the time and sometimes I don't even notice."

Mycroft smiled to himself "I'm glad to hear that you acknowledge those things, but really, it's just what big brothers do."

"That's the thing, I need to ask you how you do it. I'm worried that I won't be a good big brother."

Sherlock looked up, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. His eyes were wide and expectant.

"How about you let me do all of the worrying, little brother . After all, I've had 7 years of experience." The truth was that Mycroft was genuinely worried. When he first heard about the new addition (well, no one had actually told him - he had deduced it before they could) he seemed to be more concerned than his mother was. It seemed irresponsible to bring another human being in to the world when the ones that were already here were made out to be a burden.

Of course, he couldn't let Sherlock know of this thought ; his small brain would overload with various scenarios, ranging from just about manageable to downright terrifying. He couldn't deal with anymore 'nightmares'.

"I'm not like you Mycroft, I never know the right thing to say." confessed Sherlock.

Leaning over to put his arm around his brother, Mycroft smiled. "In my experience, dear brother, you've never been one to be stuck for words."

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews, follows and favourites will always be appriciated :)

P.S The next chapters are longer and will be updated VERY soon