Sherlock heard the door open, but said nothing, preferring to strum absently at his violin and stare out the open window. He felt another body seat itself down on his bed but didn't turn. He knew who it was. He didn't know how or why he was here but right now he didn't care. The two brothers sat in silence, while the younger played a soulful, sad song. It seemed to last for ages. When finished the consulting detective rested his violin on his knees, still staring outside.

"Sherlock.."

"Don't"

"Sherlock please, allow me to explain"

"It won't mean anything." The pain will still be there.

"Sherlock..I didn't do this on purpose...this was not by my design. I swear to you. I swear on father's grave" Sherlock turned at the mention of their father. His quick eyes studying every inch of his older sibling. He placed his instrument on the bed and stood, moving to sit next to his brother. Mycroft opened his mouth to continue speaking but Sherlock simply pressed on finger against his lips and resumed his examination. After ten minutes he seemed satisfied with his deductions and moved back a few paces on the bed.

"I'm sorry"

"Why?"

"Because I hurt you, this, my "death", it cut you deeply. Please forgive me Sherlock"

"I can't. Not yet. I.. don't know how I'm supposed to feel. I, I want to hit you, punch you for doing this to me. But, neither of us are really in a healthy condition." Mycroft nodded, that much he agreed with. Sherlock's lips twitched slightly. "Look at us. One of us dies and we both fall to pieces. Some Holmes' we are" Mycroft chuckled outright at this. Sherlock's lips tilted until they formed a full smile. It felt nice to smile again.

"Did you miss me?"

"Not one bit. Much quieter and less intrusions. I barely noticed your absence."

"Well, I have returned so there will have to be changes"

"Starting with you leaving our flat"

"Oh my dear Sherlock, I have nowhere to go right now. You can't very well turn out your own brother"

Sherlock felt a chuckle slid up his throat and exit his mouth. He'd miss this. The arguing, the teasing. It felt so, normal. Mycroft joined in the laughter. "I lied. I did miss you. More than you can know." Mycroft hesitantly placed his hand on Sherlock's arm in a gesture of comfort. "Forgive me" The detective rested his own hand over Mycroft's, needing reassurance his brother was really here. He had a sudden urge to do something he would never had normally done. But things were different. Things had changed.

He turned around completely on the bed and enveloped Mycroft in a tight desperate hug. Mycroft seemed to need this just as much as himself and he wrapped his arms around the thin body of his little brother. They held each other for several minutes before Sherlock let go with a cough and embarrassed look. "If you ever mention this to John, I really will kill you"

"Oh I believe you, dear brother. We have much to talk about. But you have returned home for your journey, perhaps tea and some biscuits are in order first."

"Thats satisfactory Mycroft"

"I should hope so. Now help me up"

"Help yourself up."

"Cretan"

"Sod"

John smiled from the door and moved back to his chair.

A/N: Sorry its so short and crap and late and everything...