In the middle of a large, expensive office, the man rumored to be The British Government worked furiously at his desk. Tensions were mounting between no fewer than five countries, all because one obtuse ambassador had unintentionally insulted someone's hat. Really, government officials could be so petty. One careless comment, and Mycroft was forced to do hours of damage control. He was so engrossed in his work, he nearly didn't hear the familiar footsteps approaching. The door swung open. His assistant always knocked, the rest of his staff never dared disturb him. That only left one person. Slowly setting his work aside, Mycroft lifted his eyes to the figure paused in his doorway. For the first time in nearly a year, the Holmes brothers locked gazes.

For a moment, Mycroft could only stare. He had known Sherlock was alive from the start, obviously. Yet after all those months of pretending his brother was dead, seeing him alive and well seemed nothing short of a miracle. Clearing his throat, Mycroft forced away such sentimental thoughts. Sherlock would only mock them. He searched for a way to break the silence that had descended like an icy curtain between the brothers.

"I see you didn't heed my warning. I told you to block your face." Mycroft spoke quietly, taking note of the purpling bruise on his brother's pale cheek with a smirk. Sherlock stepped slowly into the room, still staring at Mycroft as if seeing him for the first time. When he spoke, it was not his usual loud arrogance, but something much gentler, as if he himself didn't quite believe his ordeal was over.

"Yes, well I...erm...overestimated how long it would take him to proceed from shock to anger."

Mycroft chuckled, replying "Well he must still like you, if your nose remained intact." At his brother's questioning look, he elaborated. "The first and last time I saw your dear doctor after your funeral, he burst into the Diogenes Club, loudly informed me that I was a 'heartless bastard' and had killed my own brother, and then proceeded to break my nose." Sherlock's eyes widened for a moment, and then his deep laughter filled the office.

"I knew there was something I liked about that man" Sherlock chuckled. Setting aside his pride, Mycroft allowed himself to laugh with his brother for the first time in years.

As their laughter faded, Mycroft studied his younger sibling. Sherlock was, if possible, even thinner than when he left. His hair had grown, and his usually clean shaven face was covered in stubble. His face was haggard; obviously he had slept little. He seemed to have aged years in the months he was away, yet he also radiated with triumph. His posture no longer communicated arrogance and defiance, but instead revealed a maturity and deep pride that were previously foreign to him.

This time it was Sherlock who broke the silence. "You've lost weight. Diet's working well then." Mycroft resisted the urge to roll his eyes in response to his brother's smirk.

"Well it is considerably more difficult keeping you out of trouble when you're a dashing about the globe." he responded. Sherlock opened his mouth, most likely to deny needing Mycroft's help, but then closed it with a snap. That was a first. Sherlock never turned down an opportunity to direct a snide remark at his brother. Maybe there was hope for them yet.

Sherlock averted his eyes, suddenly looking small and unsure, like the little boy he once was. "Yes, erm...I...thank you. You were...what you did for me...it was good. I couldn't have done this alone."

Mycroft's jaw almost dropped. He had never thought he would again see the day where his brother thanked him instead of taunting him, looked at him with gratitude instead of resentment.

Gathering himself, he smiled gently at Sherlock. "I promised you long ago that I would always be there to look after you, even when you didn't want me to. Perhaps you deleted it, but I did not. You are my brother, Sherlock, and while I may have failed you in the past, I have only ever wanted the best for you. Please believe that."

It was a risk, baring himself to Sherlock this way. For years any attempt to reconcile the chasm between them had been met with hostility. Yet Mycroft could not stop the hope that blossomed in his chest when Sherlock lifted his head, his eyes warm and open.

"I never deleted anything you said to me, Mycroft. I couldn't. I could delete Mummy and Nanny and sometimes I can even delete John...but not you. Never you."

Mycroft had no words to reply with. He slowly rose and rounded his desk, stopping when he was face to face with Sherlock. He opened his arms slightly in the subtlest of invitations, giving Sherlock the chance to reject him. Instead, the younger man took a step forward, allowing his brother to put his arms around him for the first time in over two decades.

It was not a moment in a movie. It was an awkward embrace, both participants wary and unsure. It did not fix everything that had happened between the brothers, but there would be time for that. Mycroft knew that Sherlock would never again look upon him with adoration, like he had as a child. They could never go back to the way they used to be. Yet in that moment, with his little brother safe in his arms once again, it was enough. It was more than enough. It was everything.

A/N: Well, there you have it. It's over. Kinda weird to imagine. But now I can finally move on to some of my other story ideas! Thanks for reading! I really enjoyed writing this and I hope you enjoyed reading it just as much!

Please review! It's your last chance to ;)