A/N: Hey my lovelies! Just a quick one shot I had an idea for and I had to write down before I forgot it. As you can tell by now, I am a fan of Holmes Brothers' angst, and this story is certainly no different. I love them really, honestly I do XD I hope you like it!

P.s. If you have any prompts for stories I would love to hear them!

Reviews would be 'fantastic!' As the 9th doctor would say ;)

Warning: character death

Sherlock studied the body with almost unseeing eyes. It hadn't quite registered with his brain and that was an intimidating notion in itself. A murder victim, taken before his time, blood spilling from the bullet wound in his abdomen. He looked so pale, so fragile; Sherlock was actually shivering. It wasn't like he hadn't seen anything like this before, but this was different somehow.

"How very grim" The posh tone of his brother startled Sherlock and he turned around with an annoyed scowl on his face.

"What are you doing here?" The detective demanded to know.

Mycroft rolled his eyes "I think it's safe to say I have a particular interest in this case" he said in the usual 'it's so obvious' manner he took with Sherlock. "Besides, you need my help"

"Oh, you'd love that wouldn't you" Sherlock said; he was more angry with his brother than usual. "I'm surprised you actually moved your lazy arse from that office..."

"I do not like legwork for obvious -" he nodded towards the body " -reasons. However, I could not let you handle this particular case alone"

"It's your fault I even have this case!" Sherlock snapped.

"I wasn't to know it would end like this" Mycroft replied; he was much calmer than his brother although for once he understood Sherlock's frustration.

"Well you should have! For god sake you know everything. I'm the smart one, remember?"

"You know that impression of me is severely lacklustre" Mycroft said as he folded his arms.

Sherlock almost had the urge to laugh, but he feared it would become quite hysterical and he could not afford to have a breakdown in front of his brother of all people. No, Mycroft had had to put up with enough of that through the drugs phase.

"I'll try better next time" Sherlock muttered with a slight smirk to himself.

"So, what can you tell so far?" Mycroft asked. "I'll inform you if you're correct" he added with a smile which was supposed to be innocent but entirely fake.

"Well...could have done to lose a pound or two" Sherlock said as he looked back at the body with almost a sense of dread.

"There is no need to be rude about the dead, brother dear" Mycroft scolded, but Sherlock almost flinched at the word 'dead'. "Be serious now"

"Fine" Sherlock sulked. "Been dead about an hour, size of the wound would suggest a bullet from a sniper rifle, and judging by the angle the vantage point would have been somewhere-" he stood up and swivelled to the right where a balcony was positioned in the abandoned warehouse "-around there".

"Very good" Mycroft commented.

"I don't need your approval" Sherlock scowled once more "I'm not a child anymore"

"I know, but you'll always be my little brother" Mycroft stated, and again something within Sherlock seemed to clench.

"Why no security?" Sherlock asked, trying to distract himself from the uncomfortable feeling.

"Part of the deal, to arrive alone" Mycroft affirmed "which would suggest that the deal was something other specific people may not approve of"

"Yes, yes" Sherlock said flippantly as if to say he'd already figured that out. "But what was the deal"

"Well speaking from experience..." Mycroft started and Sherlock shot him an uneasy look "One would do this sort of thing in a dank location with the possibility of being harmed or...worse, if someone one loved was in danger"

Sherlock had to take a few moments to process this; he supposed deep down he'd known that all along, since he'd been told abut the death. He looked at the body with wide eyes which were quite saddened, before turning back to Mycroft.

"Loved?" The younger sibling asked uncertainly.

"Yes, love is a from of emotional experience which entails..."

"I know what it means!" Sherlock interrupted, not enjoying the continuance of his brother's condescension. "I just..I just didn't think..." He wasn't sure what he wanted to say.

"No, you generally don't" Mycroft quipped, and simply smiled when Sherlock gave him a piercing glare. "Surely you can't be surprised? There is enough evidence"

"I...I suppose" Sherlock stammered, feeling a bit overwhelmed all of a sudden.

Suddenly, Mycroft stepped forward and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. Sherlock looked at it with surprise and could not remember the last time he and Mycroft had actually made physical contact.

"Never think that I did not love you, little brother" Mycroft stated with great vehement.

Sherlock scoffed and looked back at the body. "Don't be soft, it's unbecoming of you" he said, if only to hide the feeling of sickness and grief he felt in his stomach.

"Sherlock?" John approached his friend and placed a hand on his shoulder; it was only then Sherlock realised that Mycroft's hand had gone. "Who...who were you just talking to?" John asked cautiously and Sherlock noted the worried and sympathetic look on his friend's face.

"Mycroft..." Sherlock said quietly and it sounded like his voice was about crack.

John sighed "Maybe this was a bad idea..."

"No!" Sherlock protested loudly "He's...he's just..." His breathing has become erratic and he was looking around the room frantically but the Mycroft he had just been talking to was nowhere in sight.

"Sherlock... I know it's hard for you accept right now, but...Mycroft is gone" John said, and he hated the heartbroken and panicked look his friend gave him in return.

"No, no don't say that!" Sherlock said and he jerked back around to look at the body. "My..." He all but whimpered, and it broke John's heart.

The body of Mycroft Holmes - the British government himself, but more importantly Sherlock Holmes' big brother - lay unmoving on the concrete floor, eyes wide open and soulless, surrounded by a pool of his own blood.

Mycroft Holmes had been assassinated earlier that night trying to make a deal which would ensure Sherlock's safety upon Moriarty's return. Sherlock felt the tears begin to spill down his cheeks at the thought of his powerful and confident brother dying scared and alone, attempting to do something for Sherlock's sake. It was only by chance he has been discovered.

Sherlock had moved on autopilot since being informed and was already in a state of denial. That would by why he had sought out Mycroft's help. Except, it hadn't been Mycroft, but rather the figment of his brother who Sherlock kept in his mind-palace to aid him when he felt stuck or lost. His Mycroft, the real Mycroft, was dead right before Sherlock's eyes, and the younger Holmes wasn't sure he could cope anymore.

Sherlock dropped to his knees by Mycroft's side and then practically flung himself over his brother's body as he started to sob; this couldn't be real, Mycroft had promised to always be there.

John wanted to hold his friend tight and tell him everything would be okay, but he knew those words would mean nothing right now as he also knew how devastated he would be if anything happened to Harry. Like Sherlock and Mycroft, John's relationship with his sibling had always been strained, but he still loved his sister dearly and knew she felt the same.

Sherlock eventually calmed down a little and pulled back to close his brother's eyelids; now Mycroft appeared more at peace, as if he were simply sleeping.

"I resent you for dying like this, for me, for not being more cautious and for leaving me" Sherlock said as he ran a hand through his elder sibling's hair "but I love you because you're my brother. So don't think I didn't ever care about you either" he added in almost a whisper.

It would take Sherlock a while to come to terms with this, and a lot of steady guidance on John's part, but Sherlock knew that in that moment that one thing was for sure. Whoever had done this, when Sherlock caught them, would not live to see another day.