Mycroft hadn't spoken since he heard the news, hiding in the Diogenes Club. He sat in the back of his fancy old car and watched the rain fall as he road towards his destination, umbrella clutched in on hand and a bouquet of deep red hibiscuses across his lap. The clever Mycroft Holmes, brought down by James Moriarty from his high horse. His brother, so naïve and clever and funny without trying. Never popular, never adored, because people couldn't hide from him. Myrcoft couldn't hide from him. Sherlock was always so frustrating, never having any direction, easily distracted, drove their mother crazy with worry.

His own words rang in his ears.

-"All hearts break, all lives end, caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."

-Sherlock awas five years old on the top of the jungle gym and Mycroft was standing at the bottom in pure terror. "Look My-my! I can fly!"


Mycroft covered his face with his hands.

-"Mycroft what do you think I should get Sherly for his birthday?"

Mycroft looked out the window at the house grounds and seen Sherlock running around on the rocks in the garden bed.

"A violin. He likes the sound of it."

The car stopped after what felt like an eternity. It had been a long time since he had left the quiet tranquility of his club. The old men brooding in silence had suited him. Getting out of the automobile and opening his umbrella, he set off into the rain.

-"You can't just go running around in the woods, Sherly! It's not safe, you could get hurt or worse- killed!"

"That's ridiculous Mycroft. There was an interesting flower growing out of season in the glen and I just wanted a look. I was perfectly safe!"

"You're almost fifteen! When are you going to start acting like an adult?"

Sherlock kept walking, ignoring his brother.

The rain began to let up as Mycroft made his way across the fiend of stone monuments.

-Mother's casket was lowering into the ground Mycroft put an arm around his younger brother's shoulders. Remembering a promise he made to the woman. "You'll be living with me. It's what she wanted." Red hibiscuses, her favorite, lined the grave as the men began to shovel.

Mycroft stopped at the family plot. It was well tended too. People of the Holmes surname surrounded him, stones planted that honored those who'd passed. Some who passed too soon, one who passed far too soon.

-Sherlock sat huddled in a corner. Mycroft clenched his fists as his brother let out a choked laugh. "I suppose he's right. I am quite heartless."

Mycroft did his best not to growl. "That's not true."

"As if you would know. When are you ever around?"

Vince Spaulding would never be in the same time zone as his brother again. No one broke Sherly's heart. Mycroft put in the call.

-"You are not quitting university, Sherlock! That is final."

"All the criminal investigation classes are rubbish and the sciences are so general that anything about the beginning classes is unnecessary. What I want to do doesn't require a degree."

"Oh, I forgot, you want to run around solving crimes like Hercule Poirot!"

"You won't stop me, Mycroft."

"Sherly! Mother would-"

"We can't know what mother would want! She's dead! And stop calling me Sherly! Stop pretending you know me so well." With that his brother slammed the door.

-He stole away John. He was surprised how long it took to get the text from Sherlock.

Leave John out of this. –SH

He's in this now. I would like to get to know who my brother is consorting with.- MH

Mycroft didn't add that the last time he had let Sherlock pick his friends was Vince, and that had not turned out well at all. His phone beeped.

Don't pretend like you know anything about me, Mycroft. You don't. You know absolutely nothing.-SH

Mycroft read the name on the tombstone over and over again- as if he could will it to not be true. John must have been by; a new set of roses were lying against the smooth black grave. Suddenly he was too heavy and the air was too hot, even in the cold damp of the storm. Mycroft forgot about being clean cut and spotless, and kneeled in the grass so he was eyelevel with those golden letters.

-Moriarty smiled from across the table. Mycroft watched him curiously. "You just want to know about Sherlock? Then you'll tell us everything."

"Of course."

"If you've talked to him at all you'd know he thinks very little of what I know about him."

All the details of Sherlock Holmes life as observed by his brother, spilled out to a sociopathic consulting criminal who loved to watch the world burn. Especially Sherlock Holmes' world.

"You were right, Sherly. I didn't know you. I knew plenty about you- enough to destroy you, but I've finally figured out that all the stuff I thought I knew wasn't important."

-Sherlock's eyes lit up as he opened the case, taking out the delicate instrument. He runs his fingers along it as if it were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Those blues eyes turned to his mother, humbled as if she had just given him the key to the universe. "Thank you, Mother."

Mycroft smiled.

"You were my brother. You are so much a part of who I am. The only family I had. The only person I could truly rely on and trust in this world. You are flesh and blood and the only brother I could ever want. So, I do know you. I know exactly who you are…" He ran out of words, so he just kneeled there, on the ground where they buried his Sherly. He laid the flowers next to John's and sighed running his hand through his hair. He was not a man of tears but the pressure behind his eyes was almost too inviting and he had to keep pushing it back.

If he listened closely, he almost could hear a familiar pleased chuckle over the rain.