*Being Kind*

~WhiteGloves~

-I think I swallowed my tongue after watching S4ep3-

*The last episode was filled with brotherly love*

someone shoot me! xD

*Hope you enjoy!*

Sherlock Holmes walked the dark corridor of a shadowy hall filled with silhouettes of armours and pairs of staring eyes from portraits that hung on the wall. It was night. Silence rang in his ear and coldness seeped into his skin but he didn't care—he was a man with a mission. The carpeted hallway didn't stop him hearing his own steps as every step he made felt like jabs on his ears and all the while his mind's eye could only see one word that danced on his sight as he gazed from here to there: boring.

Boring carpets, boring portraits, boring armoury—

The detective compressed his lips and followed his sense of direction as he knows the hallway like the back of his hand anyway. Who wouldn't remember this isolated, this grand thing of a house that only contains one master alone? The master of the house who hasn't shown himself in public—meaning he—Sherlock and his associates and those associates from the Diogenes Club—never mind the rest of the common world—for approximately three weeks?

Basically, this is what happens when you tell other people to take care of his own brother?

Sherlock sighed upon finding the door he was looking for ajar and without ado, pushed and burst it open.

"There you are. Do you know the real world is in chaos without you?" he said this sarcastically as he strode inside the dark room and slumped himself on the first empty chair he could find, the one which was exactly opposite the man he was talking to, and meaningfully pulled the string of the lamp next to his chair, brightening the room and showing him his older brother. "Times when you sulk, Mycroft... and everybody's in danger."

"Cut it out." The older Holmes sighed as covered his face with his right hand, avoiding any contact.

Sherlock took one look at the man. "You're worst for wear."

And he wasn't lying. It was true there were sign of Mycroft tidying himself up a little bit on the washroom by how his sleeves were pulled back with dampening on the edge, how his collar was still clean despite it being wrinkled, his pocket watch on his hand shining from the lamp light and his fingernails—very neat. What gave away his brother's 'worst' was the darkening of the under of his eyes that suggested lack of sleep and the weakened movement of his arms that lay lifelessly on his armchair, plus his overcoat looked too big. He hasn't been eating. Sherlock's frown deepened.

"You've thinned."

"Thank you." Mycroft dropped his head on his hand, "And I suppose you found another way to sneak in my house, breaking security codes and... what else I put in there."

"Old habits. Hard to kill."

"You have my key. Why do you think I gave you the bloody damn key?"

"Dunno, you tell me."

"For Christ sake." The older Holmes gave another heavy sigh and removed his hands away, revealing his eyes to be looking down the floor. Sherlock stared transfixed at him, wondering how long his older brother can keep up the charade. It made him grit his teeth.

"I think you know what date it is considering you've been keeping your pocket watch?" the younger Holmes began again with a rather heated look as he observes his brother. He wanted to catch his brother's eyes, to see him but the older Holmes was adamant not to glance his way and ended up closing his eyes.

"Third week of the third month... Saturday. Just past ten."

"And?" Sherlock prompted, "When was the last time you saw another human being?"

Mycroft, whose eyes were shut tightly, crinkled his forehead.

"Two weeks ago on the phone. I had to tell someone I'd be... away."

"Ah." Sherlock surveyed his brother with eyes glinting in the dark, "So you're aware of what you're doing? Incarcerating yourself in your own house?" Mycroft only breathed a sigh and the raise of concern on Sherlock's part increased especially at how weak it was. "Mycroft—"

"Sherlock." His eyes opened and the sharp eyes found the detective's own who was taken aback at how alive they were. "I know what you're doing. I don't need it. It's not me who needs all the attention right now... if you must care for another next of kin you know our sister needs all the help she can get."

"Eurus' is going to be fine." Sherlock assured him with eyes not leaving his brother's, not even daring to blink. "It's you I'm worried about." If there was anything that Sherlock thought he needed right now, it was to see the familiar flying up high to the sky of his big brother's distinct eyebrows like it did next.

Mycroft's eyebrows rose up—yes, there right there, Sherlock could read disbelief, followed closely by defiance and lastly—denial.

"Oh please." Mycroft pushed himself on the chair and sat properly but the way he carried his chest was enough for the detective to believe his brother was lacking the stamina of sudden movements. "Spare me the concern—I don't need to be on your watch list of babies to sit—"

"Then stop acting like one!" Sherlock couldn't help the sudden strength in his voice as he snapped upon seeing how Mycroft's hand had shaken uncontrollably again. Clearly still not over the events two months ago—with Eurus and the livestreams of death one after another. It was bound to shake anyone. "You know you're not fine— why are you doing this—why do you keep pushing everyone away!?"

Mycroft stared at the detective silently with mouth gaping open. Confusion was clear on the older Holmes' eyes.

"What everyone?"

Sherlock's jaw tightened as his eyes slowly took in his brother's appearance and realised the truth behind his words. That for the first time, Mycroft was bluntly admitting... he doesn't have anyone.

Blinking, Sherlock watched as his brother slowly put his palm on his face and wipe the profuse sweat circling his forehead.

"It's fine, I'll get over this." Mycroft whispered as he leaned back on his chair and looked around with eyes gazing away, "I always do. I have to and no, not with you, Sherlock..."

"Why?"

There was another brief pause as the older Holmes pressed his lips as he seemed to weigh his words then—

"I don't want you to see me like this." Mycroft said it with emphasis as if to really make a point. Their eyes met and for the first time, the detective saw the glint in his eyes suddenly losing its spirit. "I don't want you seeing me... confuse? Weak? It's not how you're supposed to see me—"

"Supposed to see you?" Sherlock cut in quite a snappishly again, "I saw my brother stand before a gun I pointed—I saw my brother lie through his teeth just to get himself killed to save my friend—and you really believed I'd 'think' you're weak? How much are you giving me credits for?"

Mycroft shook his head. "Don't sugarcoat my actions, Sherlock. It was all my fault..."

"It's not your fault you're not good with humans." The detective quietly said as he watched his brother bury his face on both his palms. "Though, frankly I have to admit our sister would have slapped you if she was in right in the head— but I can't blame you... you were only thinking of what's best for her... at that time."

"Yes. Until I brought in Jim Moriarty."

"Yep, up to that point. All yours, brother dear. Isn't it ironic how he wanted you to die by my hands?"

"Quite so... and right. You should have pulled the trigger."

Sherlock gritted his teeth and for a moment he felt like shouting many things and comebacks at that lost figure of the older brother he had looked up to with vehemence and imperceptible respect. Him all defeated. No.

"No." He echoed the words in his mind and vowed never to point a gun on Mycroft's way again—unless he was high and his big brother was being a pain in the backside—but never like that episode again—never. "I'd never... besides, why would I give you an easy way out of all of this? You can't just leave me hanging."

Mycroft chuckled softly, "It's called being kind brothermine..."

"Not to you." The detective's voice grew grim and this time he couldn't hide his fury. "Not like that. Never ask that of me again. Not me."

"If not you then who else?"

Their eyes met for a fraction of a second and silence filled the air next, till Sherlock's voice rang in the air.

"Please, just... stop." He had repeated it many times to Mycroft and won't stop till the genius of an older brother he got can drill it on his head. "I won't ever kill you and if you ask me again, I'll kill you."

He raised his sharp eyes just in time to see his older brother smile and it was all Sherlock needed to get encouraged as he sat straight and leaned forward to address his brother whose hand won't stop shaking, whose eyes won't stop looking down, whose weight kept losing because he seemed to have forgotten how to eat—and with only one function in his system working because that's what he was good at—to think.

And god knows Mycroft Holmes had plenty of time and space to think of everything that went wrong over and over again, inside his head. Inside that gifted, yet ridiculous head of theirs. Sherlock stood up and crossed the distance between him and his brother till he was standing near him. Mycroft refused to look up and that was when Sherlock thought he saw himself losing another sibling.

"Listen, my stupid brother, you told me these demons had been waiting for a long time... and now it's over... and we're still alive. I want you to think of that. I want you to stop blaming yourself over our sister, over choosing to protect me from her because that's what you did—now just stop thinking for awhile and listen—I know how it feels to be stuck in that kind of mind palace full of horrid things—but only you can pull yourself from that cage—Mycroft, do you hear me?"

Mycroft made no attempt to answer but merely closed his eyes again. That was when the detective lost his patience and grabbed his brother by the right shoulder and shoved him back on the chair angrily—

"Mycroft!"

"All right... I got it... I'm alive..." he tried to shake the younger Holmes' hold but even his grip was pathetic that left Sherlock to let him go and breathe down on him like a fuming bull.

"Stop thinking of stupid things..." the detective whispered, his eyes not leaving his brother's. "I already lost a sister because of brains like that... I'm not losing you too."

"Sentiments..."

"Yes, sentiments. It's good to see you're learning it somehow."

"Only just..." the older Holmes pulled himself together as Sherlock stepped backwards to give him air, "It's funny how these... things erupt when you least expect it."

"You've always had it... you just absent it." The detective didn't move an inch as he observed his brother. "And this is the episode where you suddenly grow a heart?"

"Shut up." Mycroft looked away, the weariness taking on his expression again. "You would too when every second of that horrid day you think that because of your mistake your younger brother could die any moment...like all those other people that just flashed before one's eyes."

"Because you're not a murderer, Mycroft I know." Sherlock pressed his lips. "Now, stop it."

But Mycroft wouldn't, "You could imagine what when she locked me in another cell she told me she wanted me to feel what it was like and then you and John were taken..." he went on with his voice falling into this drone that made Sherlock's eyes widen, especially when he saw his older brother's hand tremble again.

"Mycroft—?"

"Every second I wanted to shout to them to take me... but I knew nobody was listening. And I knew what it was like—what I put her through—"

Sherlock saw the knee-jerk reaction on his brother's shaking hands and realised he found what was making Mycroft react the way—the trauma— of being left behind, hopeless and hapless while he wait eternally for another news of death. The toll on Mycroft was more than Sherlock had expected. He hadn't even taken the time to ask how long he was there... if he was all right because Mycroft refused to be alone with him.

Let alone, with anyone.

What anyone? The words rang on the detective's ear.

And this was supposed to be the Head of the British Government? Cold and calculating, Mr. Mycroft Holmes? Then it occurred to him, like how it had occurred to him many times that sent his feet paving the way towards his older brother's home... that somehow Mycroft was not as strong as he think he is.

Oh how his view of death might have change drastically. Like it was Eurus teaching him a lesson.

Mycroft's hand continued shaking. Sherlock sighed and closed his hand firmly on its top and pressed it firmly.

"It's alright..." he said quietly as his brother sighed inwardly, "You're not alone."

"Apparently." Mycroft looked up at his brother and gave him a small smile that came out of nowhere. "But again, I don't want you 'worrying' over me because once you start, you never stop and god knows how much I don't need you on my trail on every beat of the way." He pulled his hand swiftly while the detective stood straight, looking for any sign of feigning on his brother's features.

Ah yes, there were lots.

"Mycroft," he watched as his older brother sit up straight again with a flex on his hands. "You always remember I'm here right?" he just had to say it.

"What?" Mycroft looked up blankly as if missing the words.

Sherlock gritted his teeth for the last time. It was not easy dealing with Mycroft Holmes.

"Me. Here. You remember right? You're not an island, Mycroft, for god sake you nearly became one if they let you stay in that Alcatraz-like hell... but what I'm saying is—you know I'm here? You know you're never alone?"

The older Holmes looked thoughtful for awhile and by this time he was already looking like himself again.

"Of course, I know... I always know."

"Then stop hiding here and come with me... or anyone with people."

"Thank you for trying, Sherlock, but I wish to stay here."

"Fine, Baker Street?"

"With a baby? No."

"Our parents'—"

Mycroft shook his head and looked up to him again. "I told you, you needn't concern yourself over me. I am perfectly able to take care of myself. Now, off you go..." he smiled as if remembering something sweet, then said, "Goodbye, brothermine."

That shook Sherlock's memory as he remembered that hallowed place with the three of them, him, John and Mycroft and the gun... and there he was about to shoot Mycroft and all the features of his brother and even his voice rang true and real. He was truly saying goodbye... and the voice that now sounded the same.

How could he leave?

So Sherlock sat on the opposite chair and watched Mycroft who had returned to his more pensive mood with his right index finger at the side of his forehead, mostly looking thoughtful.

"I'm not going to commit—" Mycroft began when he opened his eyes to take a look at the detective who was sitting opposite him again. "anything on your mind." He raised his eyebrows testily.

"Your fault, you raised the alarm." Sherlock said as he took his phone out and dialled some numbers.

Mycroft frowned. "What are you doing?"

"Technically, on balance and observation right now you need a doctor and a food supplier. I happen to know both so just be quiet—"

"What?"

"Hello, John?"

"What?"

On the next beat—

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson?"

Mycroft was gaping at the younger brother with mouth hanging open, and a little bit of color had already returned on his pale cheeks as Sherlock finished his call with a smirk at his brother. If Mycroft can't go to the party... then by jove bring the party to him. Mycroft Holmes didn't look so impressed.

"Sherlock!"

"What? This is me being kind!"

*THE END*

I really really... enjoyed the show. I did.

With Mycroft running around with Sherlock like that!

It was bound to happen! Daaamn!

Oh, and thanks for reading ;)