Mycroft was typically a rather articulate being, but as he stood on the plane facing his little brother who was being sent on a death mission, he found himself at a loss for words.

"Sherlock, I...-" He put his hand on his brother's shoulder, hoping to convey what he couldn't quite get to come out of his mouth. He'd always struggled when it came to communicating his feelings.

"I know." Sherlock shrugged off his big brother's touch and caught his hand as his arm fell to his side. He smiled. It was a sad smile as he knew his fate was sealed.

Mycroft smiled the same melancholy smile in return and gently squeezed Sherlock's hand, joining their free ones as well. "I just need to know that you-"

"I know," Sherlock cut him off. "You don't have to say it."

"But I want to say it."

"Saying what we both already know is redundant. I'm just trying to keep you from looking like a bigger idiot than usual."

Mycroft scoffed and smirked. Leave it to his younger brother to insult him at the slightest hint of affection. "I know, but despite popular belief, you and I are still human. Science has proven there's satisfaction in both saying and hearing it."

"You're only saying it because I'll be dead in six months." It was a knife in Mycroft's already barely beating heart and Sherlock knew it. Sometimes he really hated that his first reaction to any sign of emotion was to lash out with the cold hard truth. He could see the pain on his brother's face and the sting had caused his breathing to momentarily cease. He couldn't take it. As much as the Holmes boys despised sentimentality, they knew it was impossible for them to part ways without a formal farewell of some sort. Sherlock sighed, and in an attempt to keep his brother from saying the three words which would surely bring forth his tears, he leaned in and kissed his cheek.

"I know, brother dear. I love you, too," he whispered and realised his plan backfired as his eyes began to steadily drip. Thankfully, Mycroft had pulled him into a hug and couldn't see his face. It was odd to feel his brother's arms around him now that they were grown, but it still provided the same pacifying comfort as it did when they were young. After the initial shock wore off, he returned his brother's firm embrace and rested his head on his shoulder.

Mycroft buried his face in the curly locks he knew so well and pressed his lips to his little brother's head as he did as often as allowed when they were growing up. Sherlock always feigned disgust at the gesture, but the act could only go so far when his posture relaxed and his tension faded away each time. He hated that his brother had that level of power over him, but for once he didn't fight it. The wave of relief, however, also managed to release the tears he was desperately trying to stop. He sniffled and pulled back to reveal the cause.

Mycroft's heartbreak was nearly palpable. Sherlock's eyes always looked so much bluer when he cried. It brought a mystically somber beauty to him. He reached up and wiped away his little brother's tears as he shed one of his own, and so it had been for as long as either of them could remember. Sherlock would cry, Mycroft would let out a single tear as he cleared his brother's face.

Their rare display of raw emotion was interrupted when Mycroft's phone chirped. He took advantage of the distraction, hoping to ease the agony of the impending departure if only for a moment. He glanced at the screen before sliding the device back into his pocket.

"John and Mary Watson will be here shortly. You should take a moment to recompose yourself before coming outside." His voice was cold as always and he turned to leave the plane. Sherlock grabbed his arm, stopping him dead in his tracks.

Mycroft was stunned. "Sherlock, what are you doing?"

Then, without a word, Sherlock spun him around and pulled him close, pressing their lips together. He was taken entirely by surprise, but it didn't take long for the elder Holmes to relax and welcome his brother back into his arms. They stood there and kissed for what seemed like eternity as time slowed and the world faded away, making them the only inhabitants of all the earth. They were brought back only when Mycroft's mobile let out another chirp and they reluctantly pulled themselves away.

"Two minutes," Mycroft stated matter of factly as he straightened his appearance and exited the aircraft. Sherlock ruffled his curls and followed as though nothing had happened.

Mycroft watched in awe of his little brother as he said his farewells to the Watsons. Then Sherlock boarded the plane and it started away. Then a phone call. Then four haunting words. Then Mycroft was mysteriously happy to see the face of Jim Moriarty. Sherlock could come home; he was safe.