A/N: Coming around has come to an end. I would love to hear from you; which part/s did you enjoy the most? I can now concentrate on finishing the original story that inspired this one, but I really enjoyed writing this. Once again, thank you for your support!

Update: The original story is named "What Goes Around", if you want to follow it. And please, leave a review over here if you enjoyed this story. It will definitely encourage me to write more. I'm not begging, of course just... requesting? ;)

"Dr. Watson," Mycroft greeted the man affably.

"Mycroft," he responded pleasantly. There was a moment of awkward silence.

"So, have you got a case for us?" John tried to break the ice. He had come to Baker Street to help wrap up a case (it was only a six, but Sherlock was desperately bored). "Sherlock is alternating between climbing the walls and shooting at them."

"Not at the moment, I'm afraid. I've actually come around for you, Dr. Watson."

"As I keep on reminding you, I do have a phone," John said mildly.

Mycroft smiled, not unpleasantly. "I would prefer to do this in person. Dr. Watson, I wish to thank you for assisting our family through the difficult times we had. You have my gratitude."

John let his surprise show on his face. "Mycroft," he said slowly. "That's what family is for. We help each other out. And I think it's about time you dropped the formalities, and called me by my name. It's John, by the way," he added, smirking.

"I'm sure my parents are very glad that you consider them family. Truthfully, they would have preferred you as a son, instead of what they got the first time they tried," the Iceman said sardonically.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock yelled, looking up from the human liver he had been examining. "Would you leave John alone already!"

"Apologies... John. That was a rather poor attempt at humour, I suppose. Yet I know that my parents hold you in high esteem. If you aren't careful, they will manage to legally adopt you."

"You should have seen them, Mycroft, when you wouldn't talk to them. They were broken up over their mistakes. That's not to say I don't get your side, you just have to realize how much you mean to them. Honestly, I think they didn't realize it themselves, until you made them."

"And you assisted them with that. Thank you for that. I'll be leaving now..."

"We were just about to start a game," Sherlock called out to him. "John insists on playing anything but Cluedo. What would you suggest?"

Mycroft ended up staying a while, and playing too. They tried various games, and ended up making up different variations for each games that the Holmes brothers insisted were much more sensible.

Before Mycroft left, he mentioned that they should perhaps do it again sometime, and he would offer his mansion for the occasion. "John, I can give you a guided tour, if you want. You just had to ask, you know," he said, right before leaving.

"Sherlock," the doctor turned to his friend. "Do you remember what you first told me about your brother? Something about him being the most dangerous man I'll ever meet?"

"Of course I remember," Sherlock said plainly.

"I really hope you were exaggerating. By far."

Once again, the Holmes family found themselves in Sherrinford. This time, no one was missing.

The path to their reunion hadn't been smooth. The Holmes's Senior had tried to be more involved in their children's lives. Both Mycroft and Sherlock had found it difficult to adjust to, having been used to little contact with them over the years. All patries did their best, trying to reach out, while not pushing too hard.

An inevitable blowup happened when the family had gathered one Sunday afternoon, to discuss the one member who was unable to join them. Mrs. Holmes had cheerfully suggested that they make another visit, and Mycroft had grimaced in response.

The matriarch had looked hurt. "We're not forcing you, Mikey. I just thought you would like to see how your sister is doing. Is it too much to hope for, that for a couple of hours, I can see my family be together again?"

"How wonderful," Mycroft sassed. "Let's all take a little trip, play some music, make a picnic while we're at it. What's the point, really. It's not as if she will care who's there, besides for Sherlock."

The other three family members looked at him with varying degrees of confusion and hurt. Mildred Holmes opened her mouth to snap back, when her husband put a calming hand on her shoulder. "Mycroft," he said gently. "Look, we're trying here. I can see you're not happy about this, and you can make your own decision. I just want to know if there's anything more you want to tell us. Communication goes both ways, you know."

Mycroft worried his lips, while Sherlock stared at him, trying to deduce him. The younger one suddenly sat up straight. "Mycroft, what happened, over there, in her cell?" he asked softly.

Seeing the genuinely concerned faces surrounding him, the British Government let his guard down a bit. "Nothing happened," he stated flatly. "She just told me some things, and I was a bit...concerned." He paused. "Things she planned to do to Sherlock, to Dr. Watson. To both of you, when she finished with them," he looked straight at his parents.

He watched their expressions betray their inner anguish, and hated himself for it. For so ,any years, he had focused on protecting them, letting them live in blissful ignorance. Was denial so bad, if it prevented hearts from breaking?"

"The truth, rarely pure and never simple," Sherlock said, as if reading his thoughts.

"I'll let you know," he said at last, and Mrs. Holmes quickly changed the topic to her last meeting with little Rosie.

Sherlock called him that night, for the sole purpose to check up on him. Mycroft was beginning to think that his little brother was not a completely horrid brat anymore. "I do understand them, Sherlock," he said. "Denial is a coping mechanism, one in which each of us has engaged to some extent. In some respects, it is better than focusing on things that can't be changed either way, and then falling into darkness."

"They're trying to process everything, and perhaps some of it is too much. They're limited too, you know."

Mycroft huffed a laugh. "Aren't we all," he asked ironically. "Aren't we all."

His final decision to go was one he made for himself. In the end, he needed to confront his demons, and see that while Eurus was safely confined, he and everyone he cared about was still alive and well. Alicia had told him that he was learning to be selfish, and she was happy for him. He had laughed at that, but had understood how seriously she had meant it.

Sherlock played, and Eurus let her violin speak. Mummy reached out her left hand to him, and he clutched it tightly, love and forgiveness passing through them silently.

He requested several moments with Eurus by himself. He sent her one more gift, and watched as she touched it, then held it. Then he spoke.

"I cannot do what Sherlock does. I have no way to reach you, I never have. I've feared you, I've even hated you, but I never could really stop caring.

"The gift that I'm giving you now is one which I doubt you'll understand the significance of. I don't even know what you're brilliant mind capable of grasping now, whether it's broken beyond repair. Therefore, I'll tell you what this gift represents.

"You have tried to tear our family apart. You weren't satisfied with simple torture, you wanted us to cause pain to each other. This gift is proof that sentiment can destroy, but it can also build. My little brother would rather shoot himself than shoot me. And I would gladly take a bullet to save not only him, but his happiness. His friend.

"And you, look at you. You were in control, yet you left me alive in the end. You rescued Dr. Watson, and you respond to Sherlock. Could it be, that in some context, you too are suffering from a chemical defect?

"All I know us that my family is safe, and caring about each other has made us stronger. I hope you enjoy the tie."

Sherlock kept a little toy airplane, which reminded him of a little girl all alone in the sky. Eurus, for some reason originating in her unfathomable mind, kept Mycroft's tie under her pillow. Mycroft kept a little pirate hat, gifted to him by his little brother, because no one else would ever appreciate it as much as Mycroft would.