A/N: Hello everyone! A slightly shorter chapter to finish this story off, thank you so much for your lovely reviews, they really are encouraging :) I hope you enjoy and I apologise for any issues with characterisation. Also, warning for one use of explicit language.

Please leave a review if you have the time :) xx

P.S. I am looking for any prompts you guys might have for Sherlock and Mycroft stories. Leave them in a review or PM me if you have any ideas!

Mycroft woke up the following morning face down in the pillow, a low groan escaping his lips. He felt very stiff and his injuries still ached, but at least any bleeding seemed to have stopped. He glanced over at his clock with one eye open and saw it was almost midday; he had never slept in so late in his life! Maybe he really was concussed…

The elder Holmes sat up and raised a hand to his head as he closed his eyes. Maybe he should just stay in bed…but there was work to be done and he had important matters to discuss with Sherlock. So, with great reluctance Mycroft finally dragged himself from his lovely warm bed and went to get washed and dressed – which took a painstakingly long time in his current condition. Luckily, Mummy and Father had already gone to work, so he would not have to put up with their questioning just yet.

By the time Mycroft got downstairs he decided he was getting a little peckish, but as he headed to the kitchen there was a distinct burnt smell wafting down the halls. Mycroft wrinkled his nose in displeasure as he entered to find Sherlock waving a tea towel around in hope of clearing the looming cloud of smoke.

"What on earth are you doing?" Mycroft asked as he sloped in.

"Trying to make breakfast, obviously" Sherlock said dully as he threw the towel in the sink.

"I take it didn't go well" Mycroft said, all thoughts of hunger going out his mind at the horrible stale odour. He placed a hand on his ribs and grimaced as he took a seat at the table which did not go unnoticed by Sherlock.

"Obviously" the younger Holmes said again and Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Only you could nearly burn the house down making toast, Sherlock"

"Fine, I'll never try to do you a favour ever again" Sherlock said sulkily as he sat opposite his brother at the table and took to pouring them tea instead.

"You did that for me?" Mycroft asked; a little surprised as his brother's admittance to selflessness and for Mycroft's benefitnone the less.

"Well ever since what happened last night I've had this horrible clenching feeling in my stomach" Sherlock complained. "It's not hunger, it's different…"

"Guilt" Mycroft suggested with an amused smirk.

"No, that can't be it" Sherlock said with a dismissive wave of his hand "But none the less, I thought you'd appreciate some food, for my benefit too, you're always ten times worse when you're hungry"

Mycroft rolled his eyes once more "Thank you, Sherlock" he said sarcastically.

"Anyway, I severely dislike this feeling and it won't go away" the younger Holmes said with a furrowed brow as he sunk back in his chair to think.

"I'm telling you, it's guilt" Mycroft said as he took a sip of tea and Sherlock looked at him pensively. "You feel bad I was injured and you took my money and you feel bad that you worried Mummy and are deceiving her. You feel bad for using drugs"

"I…" Sherlock started but the snapped his mouth shut, his nostrils flaring as he let out a deep breath. "I don't feel bad when I'm using the drugs" he muttered.

"Circumstantial pleasure" Mycroft stated. "You might think they give you the release you want, Sherlock, but really they have little effect on your emotions and only take a great toll on your body"

"But…" Sherlock went to argue once more, although he seemed more defeated than ever now. He knew that taking drugs was wrong but it made him feel almost…normal. "I just find it hard sometimes" he mumbled.

"As do I" Mycroft confessed much to his brother's surprise; Sherlock thought his brother functioned impeccably all the time. "Sherlock, there is nothing wrong with us, you understand that, right?" Sherlock did not give any gesture of acknowledgment. "It's just the way we are" Mycroft explained "and just because our brains work differently to everyone else's doesn't mean we're alien"

"Why are you being nice to me?" Sherlock asked suddenly, taking Mycroft aback for a moment.

"Well I…" Mycroft started, but paused.

Why was he saying all this? He was not usually one to offer comfort, and yet here he was sat looking at the little boy who use to follow him around the house none stop, requesting stories and silly pirate games, and wondering what happened to that sweet and innocent child. Sherlock had lost his way, and deep down Mycroft felt partly responsible for just leaving like he did, so it was his responsibility and duty as an older brother to steer his little brother back onto the right path.

"I don't want you to think that you can't have a perfectly happy life being who you are" Mycroft finally said. "You've made some bad, stupid choices recently Sherlock, no surprise since I am the smart one" he added with a light smirk and Sherlock rolled his eyes. "But I know that I should have called you more and visited more often and I'm sorry I didn't. However, if you really felt so low as to turn to drugs you could have called me and I would have listened"

"Well I didn't think that way" Sherlock said quietly, regressing into his shell for once. "I thought I could handle it on my own, I don't want to be reliant on you, but then you got involved anyway, and you got hurt…" his voice caught suddenly and a look of shock and disgust spread across his face – he could not lose control in front of Mycroft.

"Sherlock, it's alright" Mycroft reassured him. "I'm okay, really, and you're going to be too, I promise. I'll get you help"

"I don't want help!" Sherlock slammed his tea cup back down on the table and stood up, now desperately trying to mask any earlier sign of weakness. "I knew you'd just want to cart me off to some bloody rehab centre, to some therapist who really couldn't give a shit if I…"

"Sherlock!" Mycroft raised his voice ever so slightly and that was enough to silence the younger Holmes; Mycroft hardly ever raised his voice. "You're getting a head of yourself; I would only do those things if you wanted me too. I wouldn't force you into anything" the older Holmes explained calmly.

"Really?" Sherlock said a little apprehensively.

"Really" Mycroft said firmly, and with that his younger brother sat back down again.

"I wish you would go to the hospital" Sherlock said as he observed the way Mycroft was unconsciously rubbing his sore ribs.

Mycroft opened his mouth to insist he was fine again, but then realised that was the exact same thing he had just scolded Sherlock for – not admitting when he needed help. So, Mycroft decided it might be time to set a better example than he had been recently.

"I think that would be a wise decision" he finally said, and Sherlock blinked with surprise for a few moments.

"Right I'll erm…I'll go with you" the younger Holmes finally offered.

Mycroft gave him a light smile "I would appreciate that very much"

Mycroft was bandaged up and given some medication for the pain at the hospital, but as he already knew there was no serious damage, just some time for rest and healing needed. When Violet arrived home that night to see the state of her son she could have cried with worry, and it took Mycroft a good hour to assure her he was going to be absolutely fine and the people who 'mugged' him were taken care of.

Over the following few days Mycroft spent most of his time in bed reading, more due to his mother's commandment that he rested than for his own pleasure, but he had to admit it was sort of nice. Sherlock would come up to see him at times and then leave in a huff after Mycroft beat him once again at a game of deductions.

They spoke very little about what had happened and about if Sherlock was going to give up the drugs or not, Mycroft knew it best not to push him, although there was no doubt in his mind he would heighten his brother's surveillance when he was back at the office.

The morning Mycroft was due to return back to London he sorted out some paperwork on the kitchen table before heading up to his room to get the rest of his things. When he arrived, he was surprised to find a beautiful looking umbrella resting on his pillow along with a note.

Mycroft went over and picked up the brolly, running his fingers over its smooth sleek handle and admiring the soft stitched fabric - it must have cost quite a bit. He picked up the note and instantly recognised his brother's fast sprawled writing.

Because yours got broken and I know how much it meant to you even if you won't admit it.

Thank you I suppose,

Sherlock

P.S. I got the money for it by doing some work for Mummy in the garden; ask her if you don't believe me.

Mycroft chuckled lightly at his brother's childish nature, but it really was a fine umbrella and he was touched Sherlock would actually do such a thing for him.

The elder Holmes then finished his packing and headed downstairs, suitcase in one hand and newly required umbrella hanging off the wrist of the other. Violet and Siger were already waiting at the front of the house to say goodbye to their son and a car was waiting outside. Mycroft could not help but be a little disappointed Sherlock did not appear to be around.

After a bone crushing hug and wet kisses from his mother, and hand shake and a smile from his father, Mycroft left his childhood home and started walking down the gravel path.

"Mycroft!" a voice called from the house, and he spun around to find Sherlock practically hanging out of his bedroom window. "I'll…can I call you if I…you know" it was awkward, but Mycroft understood.

"Of course, brother mine" Mycroft said with a soft smile "And you're welcome to come and stay with me for a while if things get too much here"

And then a rare thing – Sherlock smiled back at him, and it was the first time Mycroft remembered seeing his brother look genuinely happy in a long time.

"Oh, and thanks for the umbrella" Mycroft said, raising the handle.

"Oh, yeah, whatever" Sherlock said nonchalantly and shrugged his shoulders – it seemed their moment of brotherly sentiment was over. "See you around, Fatcroft"

"Bye you little nuisance" Mycroft replied with an amused smirk before turning around and getting into the car.

He never saw the sadness in Sherlock's eyes as the younger boy watched his big brother leave once more.