“Sherlock, could you please be so kind to try it again?” Mycroft sounded as if he was about to lose the thin remains of his composure any second now, and he was fumbling nervously with the flashlight.
The detective was not much further away from freaking out. Not that he had had any composure in the first place. “How many more times do I have to repeat it, brother? The. engine. is. dead.”
“How could you rent a car that dies in the middle of nowhere?” The politician almost sounded as if he was about to cry.
“I am very sorry, but I have not actually planned to strand here with you. I can imagine a better way to spend my time!” Sherlock glared at him. He could be at in a warm, homely house now, drinking something nice and warm, feeling relaxed and at ease. Actually he would have rather been in the centre of a swarm of angry wasps than sitting in a non-functioning car in a snowstorm with his annoying, pissed off and totally desperate brother. Lost about a hundred kilometres away from their parents' house. And from any other human as it seemed… It was hard to tell. Around them was only darkness and snow.
Sherlock had managed to drive the car into a small path before it had died completely, avoiding to have anyone crash into them. Not that any other car had come by since they had ended here… It was nine o'clock on Christmas Eve, and nobody who didn’t have to be was on the road. Except for the brothers Holmes…
Mycroft huffed. “Please, could you…? Just one more time?” He was almost begging…
“Your wish is my command.” Sherlock tried again to start the engine. The car made a terrible noise that ended with the sound of a dying horse. “Well, happy?”
Mycroft glared at him now. „No, not really!”
No, he really didn’t look happy. It was bloody cold in the car as the heating was dead as well, and Mycroft's big nose was a rather dark shade of red. His black hair was looking wild after he had ruffled it in agony, and Sherlock was sure that beneath his expensive coat under which he was shivering, his grey three-piece-suit was completely crumpled from sitting here for ages.
For the twenty-sixth time (Sherlock had counted), Mycroft pulled out his smartphone and typed on it hectically.
“Still no signal, huh?” Sherlock said in a tone that didn’t know if it was mockery or compassion.
Apparently his brother had only heard mockery because this brought him another deadly glare. “No!” The older man rammed the phone back into his coat pocket. “They will be so worried…” he added quieter, and he sounded really defeated now.
Sherlock felt a stab of guilt. Not that he had brought them here – it had been Mycroft's idea to share a car but then Anthea had gotten a cold and hadn't been able to come to work, and Mycroft had thought she had already organised their ride. She hadn't, and so Sherlock had taken care of it in the last minute. He should have gotten suspicious about the low prize and the easy availability on this day. But so had Mycroft. Neither of them was used to dealing with such things – Mycroft had his driver who brought him everywhere since he never had any private appointments, and Sherlock used cabs or the tube. But Mycroft had not wanted to use government resources for this private excursion so he had suggested Sherlock to do it this way. He couldn’t blame him for that now!
But Sherlock knew he could show a little more brotherly affection. It was Christmas in the end. But of course he was not used to that, either. He cleared his throat. “I'm sure eventually someone will come by and give us a ride,” he said soothingly. “And our parents are not daft – they will figure out that we're stuck somewhere and can't call them. I'm sure the weather is not any less awful there.”
Mycroft didn’t seem to appreciate his efforts. “Given your occupation, they will rather assume we were kidnapped by a serial killer on a vengeance,” he said sharply. “And we will be frozen to ice before anyone comes by.”
Sherlock was close to exploding. “All you do is complain, complain and complain! What shall we do, Mister I'm-the-smart-one?! What?!”
Mycroft winced, and Sherlock felt guilty once more. But Mycroft had such a way of pushing him over the edge…
For a moment neither of them said a word. Then Mycroft took a deep breath. “There must be some houses over there.” He pointed out of the side window. “I recall them from my last visit. We must get out and walk there. But it will be a few kilometres I’m afraid.”
Sherlock huffed out a laugh. “Are you serious? Did you see the weather?” It was hard to miss. The front window was covered in snow and Sherlock could hear the wind howl. Neither of them was wearing shoes that were useful for walking through high snow and they didn't have hats, either. But hey – they still had Mycroft's umbrella! They were saved!
Mycroft turned to him, his face lit by the pale shimmer of the flashlight. His light-blue eyes were sad, and there was definitely a hint of fear in them. “Sherlock, we must try it. We don't even have a blanket. Nothing to drink or to eat. The cold will kill us if we don't get anywhere safe.” His tone had been calm but Sherlock had not overheard the panic underneath.
He swallowed. It would have been pretty ironic if they had survived the events of Sherrinford a few months ago just to freeze to death on Christmas Eve. He nodded. “I don't recall the houses. But if you say they are there, they are most certainly there. Guess we need to try…”
A short smile ghosted over Mycroft's face. “Alright then. Let's go.”
“In there. It's not very neat or posh,” the red-haired woman in the not very clean jog pants glanced at Mycroft pointedly, “but it'll do I guess.”
“It will for sure,” Mycroft said with a polite smile. “We can't thank you enough, ma'am. It was very nice of you to give us this,” he pointed at the plate with sandwiches that Sherlock was holding, along with a bottle of water, “and to let us stay overnight. I'm sure our phones will work again tomorrow morning so we can be on our way.”
Sherlock was slightly amused how dignified he still looked without his shoes and in a suit that looked as if he had swum in it. And Sherlock was surprised that he didn’t look disgusted by the messy house with the old furniture. He wouldn’t have expected his brother to be so visibly grateful. But then – the alternative would have been freezing to death. Even an arrogant man like him would obviously choose a rather uncomfortable night in a not-so-clean house over an even more uncomfortable death…
She raised her forefinger. “Just try to be silent; the kids are sleeping next door.”
“Oh, of course we'll be. My brother and I just wish to sleep.” Mycroft looked a bit confused but Sherlock bit his lip to not laugh as he had understood at once what she was about.
The woman, about thirty-five years old, looked from one Holmes brother to the other. “Brothers, my arse… It's no problem, live and let live, I always say.”
Sherlock had never seen the British Government blush like this. “Oh wow, I can assure you, we are not…”
She silenced him with a move of her hand. “I said it's fine. Just try to not moan too loudly. It's not as if the kids had never heard that if you know what I mean but…” She giggled, and Mycroft's head looked as if it would burst into pieces the next moment.
“You don't have to worry,” Sherlock turned to their host. “We'll be perfect gentlemen.”
Mycroft shot him a wild look and then addressed her again. “But seriously, we are not…”
She ignored him. “Fine. Goodnight then. And Merry Christmas!”
Sherlock smiled at her. “You, too, Mrs Burroughs. And thank you very much again.”
“Miss!” she corrected him. “I was never married. And you're welcome. Couldn’t let you die in the cold out there, could I? It's Christmas! If you need more to eat, you saw where the kitchen is.”
“Oh thank you, we'll be fine.” Sherlock gave her a genuine smile, and she returned it and then turned to leave them alone.
“But really,” Mycroft started again, “we are brothers!”
“Of course you are,” she said soothingly and grinned and winked, and Sherlock couldn't help it anymore – he started to giggle.
She burst out laughing too, and then she was gone, closing the door behind her.
“Well,” Sherlock said. “At least it's warm and the sandwiches look tasty.” He saw that Mycroft was still staring at the door. “Oh, come on, that was funny. Perhaps we should moan a bit, just to please her!”
Mycroft shook his head. “Your sense of humour is beyond me, Sherlock.” His tone was flat and not amused at all.
“Well, that is really a surprise! Not… Come on, eat something.” Sherlock handed Mycroft one of the sandwiches and sat down on the bed. “Cheese and bacon.” He bit into it and did moan. “Bloody good!”
“What? I'm simply appreciating the food.”
Mycroft sighed and started to eat as well while still standing in the middle of the room.
They had stumbled through the snowstorm, carrying a bag with their toothbrushes and body wash along with a few fresh clothes for both, for what had seemed to be ages before they had indeed reached a house. There were lights on, but nobody opened when they knocked and rang the doorbell. With the next house it had been the same. Mycroft had looked so desperate and had even stopped complaining that Sherlock had really felt sorry for him. He had taken his arm and dragged him forward. Ten minutes later, they had come to this rather shabby house, and they had been let in at once. Ms Burroughs, mother of four, had given them towels to dry off and had offered them her guest room. Her phone was dead as well thanks to the storm so they didn’t have a choice but to stay overnight.
“You can have the bed,” Mycroft said quietly after finishing up the sandwich quickly. “I'll sleep on the floor.”
Sherlock was more touched than he wanted to show him. “Nonsense. Neither of us will do that. The bed is big enough.”
“What?!” Mycroft looked terrified. “You can't seriously suggest sharing a bed!”
“Of course I do. We'll just have to be, you know, quiet…” Sherlock chuckled, and Mycroft blushed again.
“Well, I guess I'll go to the bathroom and get changed.”
“Into what?” Sherlock teased him.
“My pyjamas!” He pulled them out of the bag. Blue and red – very elegant, Sherlock thought.
“Oh, I see. Well, I didn’t bring any. I hope you can endure me being naked next to you.”
Mycroft looked as if his eyes would gobble out of their holes any moment. Then he sighed. “Very funny, brother.”
Sherlock grinned. “This time I wasn't joking. I always sleep naked.” It was pretty warm in the room as the nice lady had turned on the heating at once while they had been busy drying off.
“But… you can't do that! What if she comes in?”
“Please. Why would she? She thinks we'll be shagging like rabbits.”
“Oh, God…” Mycroft sounded as desperate as he had done in the car.
Sherlock grinned and shook his head. “Mycroft, don't make such a fuss. Be happy that we've found this place to stay over. It was a good idea of you to walk here. We'll be totally okay and I'm sure tomorrow morning we can call Mummy and then get there sometime during the day. It's all fine.”
Mycroft sighed deeply, and he shot Sherlock a look that he couldn’t identify. It looked like pain or fear. Which was ridiculous. But of course – he was frightened what this woman they would never see again could think about them.
“You know – for a man who thinks all people except for himself are goldfishes, you do worry your head a lot about what they think about you,” Sherlock just had to say.
Mycroft bit his lip. “Most amusing.” He went to the door and opened it. After listening into the corridor, he slipped out of the room without another word, carrying his pyjamas and the little bag with their personal items.
Sherlock grinned and took another sandwich. He had to admit it wasn’t that bad to be around his brother in the end, even though he was totally out of his depth here and behaving a little irrational and almost touchingly silly – after all it was indeed most amusing…
When Sherlock came back from the bathroom, Mycroft was already lying in the medium sized bed, the blanket up to his chin, and he was very close to the wall, leaving a lot of room for Sherlock.
“Afraid I could bite you?” Sherlock raised his eyebrows.
“Can you switch off the light, please?” Mycroft retorted, ignoring his teasing.
“You allow that I undress before as well? I couldn’t exactly do this outside of here…” There was no lamp next to the bed and Sherlock hoped he would find the way in the darkness without breaking a toe. But then he shook his head. They still had the flashlight.
He nonetheless undressed in the highly lit room, never backing away from teasing his brother. Mycroft swallowed hard when he opened the buttons of his plain, black shirt. Then he turned around, facing the wall.
“Now, now, brother – I'm not that ugly…”
Mycroft gave a sound that almost sounded like whining and didn’t answer.
Sherlock grinned and stripped off the rest of his clothes. He could have left his briefs on but where would have been the fun in that? He would have more room in the bed if Mycroft avoided touching him as if he was the devil.
He switched on the flashlight when was completely naked and then turned off the light. Slowly he found his way to the bed and slipped under the blanket. It was only one. He couldn’t resist snuggling against his brother's back and bottom. “Wow, you are nicely warm, Mycroft. No idea why they call you the Iceman.”
This time the tone that escaped his brother's throat was definitely a whine. “Sherlock, please! Can you just behave?” he hissed, his voice sounding broken.
Sherlock crinkled his forehead. Why the hell was he so oversensitive?
He had mercy and brought some distance between them. “Alright, if you don't care for being warmed up…. Your loss. Goodnight, brother.”
“Goodnight, Sherlock.” He sounded relieved.
They lay silent in the darkness for quite some time. Sherlock knew Mycroft wasn’t sleeping; probably he was too wound up. Sherlock himself wasn't tired at all. He was used to getting almost no sleep at all, and he had never been further away from falling asleep than now. It was only half past ten anyway.
“Do you think she has her ear on the door?” he finally broke the silence.
Mycroft sighed. “If she does, it will get very boring for her…”
“Yeah, we should maybe jump up and down on the bed a bit.”
Sherlock chuckled. It was so much fun to tease him. He wondered why he had always been so snarky to Mycroft. This was so much more enchanting. He would joke about this forever now. Surely John would laugh his arse off.
The doctor and Rosie had gone to spend Christmas with John's new flame, Barbara. It seemed to be serious. Sherlock didn’t mind. He still solved cases with him from time to time, but with raising Rosie on his own and working in the hospital, John was very busy. Their friendship of the old days would never come back. Too much had happened, and the violence Sherlock had experienced from John's hands had caused a crack in Sherlock's trust for him that would probably never fully close again. They got along well now and they did work together perfectly if John was around, but Sherlock was more on his own than ever before in the past years – well, apart from the time when he had been dead.
Suddenly he was feeling sad. He knew this very well. The melancholy always came on silent feet and hit him on the head from behind. There he was, in a strange house in the middle of the Christmas night, side by side with his brother, and he was feeling alone.
Mycroft had never understood him. Sherlock had been a massive disappointment for him. Instead of becoming a professor or scientist, he had taken drugs all his youth and then he had started solving cases with a man that Mycroft didn’t like.
And still he had tried to sacrifice himself for him in Sherrinford… Well, probably he had done it more for Sherlock than for John but still… And why had he done it for Sherlock?
They had never spoken about it, and Sherlock had tried to forget this forsaken day. For a while he had visited Eurus in the prison, playing on the violin with her, but when she had continued to be silent and unapproachable, his visits had become less and less, and now he hadn't been there for weeks. As much as Mycroft had failed in containing her, Sherlock had failed in making a connection with her. She had reached out to him in this horrible way but now she didn’t want to open up to him.
“Where's the doctor?”
The question startled Sherlock so much that he cringed. He cleared his throat. “He's with his girlfriend. A dentist with a little son.”
“He has a girlfriend?”
Why was Mycroft so surprised about this? “Yes, of course. He always had some, you do know that. He was married! You do remember the pictures of the fully-functioning-baby?”
Mycroft shifted his weight next to him. “Well, yes. But still I thought… never mind…”
Sherlock huffed out a laugh. “You thought we would get together now? He is straight. And even if he wasn't, I wouldn’t be interested in him.”
He could see Mycroft nod. “Well, sure. Probably you are more interested in the fairer sex.”
“What? Whom are you talking about? Molly? Irene? Oops…”
Mycroft sighed. “I know she isn't dead. I always knew that.”
“Oh. Did you… talk to her again?”
Mycroft was silent for quite a while. “Yes. I told her to stay away. For legal reasons…”
There had been a strange undertone in the last sentence. As if he'd been lying… Sherlock chose to let him get away with it for now. “Yes. Legal reasons. She was a blackmailer in the end.”
“Exactly. Are you still in contact with her?”
“Well, if you call her texting me and I never replying being in contact, then I am.”
“And since we are on that – I have no romantic interest whatsoever in Molly Hooper. She's a friend, that's all.” He wondered why he felt he had to explain this.
“You did sound rather convincing when you…” He broke off.
Why did this all come up now? But then – when else should it have come up? They had hardly ever seen each other since Sherrinford. But they had never talked like this before since Sherlock had become an adult. Never.
“She forced me, Mycroft. You heard it – you were right behind me. I had to say it and I did. That's it. I'm free like a bird. Nobody ever touched my pretty body. And nobody ever will.” Well, of course he had endured the odd touch and kiss by Janine. He had never kissed her back, instead pressing his lips together. He had always wondered that she had still bought it…
But apart from this, driven by his wish to get to Magnussen, there had been nothing and no-one.
Because Sherlock was simply not interested in anybody. He was not asexual though – he did have desires, but he took care of them on his own. Because who should he be interested in? He was gay – there had never been a doubt about that. He did watch porn to get off, and it was always gay porn. His type, if he wanted to call it that, seemed to be older men with some body hair, preferably tall, dark-haired men. And though he didn’t like the expression – he appeared to rather be a size queen… But nobody in real life appealed to him. Perhaps he was not so far from being like his brother – they were goldfishes, far beneath him intellectually…
“Don't you miss it?” Mycroft asked him very quietly. “The physical side…?”
Sherlock was amazed. They had never had such an intimate conversation before. But he kind of liked it. They were brothers in the end. He had not succeeded in getting Eurus back into the family but this man next to him, along with their parents of course, was his family.
And he had treated him like shit. For so long… and he was well aware how badly he had treated him with sending Wiggins' people into his house, almost scaring him to death. Mycroft was annoying sometimes, and he was overprotective and a pain in the arse, but he had always cared for Sherlock, no matter how disappointed he was about him. He hadn't deserved to be tortured like this…
He had been silent for too long. Mycroft cleared his throat. “I'm sorry – this was too personal. We should better sleep now.”
“No, it's fine, sorry - I just thought that I was never very nice to you…”
“Oh. Well. Well, no. But our relationship has always been difficult.”
“Why did you want to die in Sherrinford?!” It had burst out of Sherlock.
“Um… because… Well, I told you there. It was my fault. I brought Eurus and Moriarty together, I endangered you, I didn’t take care well enough of her containment. I failed so much. If any of us had been set to die on this day, it was me.” He paused. “It was horrible to see you pointing the gun at your head, Sherlock. If she hadn't interfered and you had really done it, I couldn’t have lived with my guilt.”
Sherlock froze. He reached for Mycroft's hand under the blanket without thinking and closed his eyes when Mycroft winced. He nonetheless pressed his hand for a moment and then let it go. “Neither of us deserved to die there. I'm glad I could turn her bloody game against her and bring us out of there. But thank you. For what you were willing to do. It was her responsibility, not yours. Nothing of it was your fault.”
Mycroft swallowed hard next to him. “This… means a lot to me, Sherlock. Thank you for saying this.”
It was as if the wall that had been between them for dozens of years was falling apart before Sherlock's eyes. And it was as if he saw his brother with totally different eyes all at once. Even though he technically couldn’t see him at all. Mycroft was the essence of decency, at least if it came to Sherlock. Sherlock didn’t doubt that he could be completely ruthless with others. He was a man full of power, who was threatening and intimidating. But to Sherlock, he had always been indulgent. Caring. Loving… And Sherlock had thanked him for his never-ending care and concern by insulting him and hurting him all this time. All at once he felt deeply ashamed. Mycroft was the one man who had always been at his side even though he did have strange ways to show it. And Sherlock realised that what he had thought earlier had been stupid – in fact Mycroft had always understood him. Or at least he had tried…
“Thank you, Mycroft,” he said hoarsely. “For always being there for me.”
“Oh, Sherlock…” His voice sound pained.
Sherlock felt silly about himself. “Sorry, I know – no sentiments, and caring is not an advantage and all that…”
“Oh, Sherlock!” The pain in his voice was even stronger. “I only said that this because I care way too much about you!” His mouth shut with an audible sound.
Sherlock didn’t get his embarrassment. Of course it had to be uncomfortable for him to admit his sentiments but then – brothers did care for each other. It was strange for them of course as they were not normal people but it was nothing that unusual that he would have to…
It all fell into place – Mycroft always avoiding body contact. Mycroft in panic next to him in the car. Mycroft suggesting sleeping on the floor. Mycroft terrified by the naughty hints of their host and by the image of a naked Sherlock next to him in the bed.
Sherlock's head was spinning. The truth slowly sank in. Not the truth about his brother but about himself. His refusal to let anyone get physically close to him even though he was sure about his sexuality and knew he desired male bodies. The feeling that nobody was interesting enough to make Sherlock desire him. The men who draw his attention in porn – tall, dark-haired, well-hung men with hairy bodies. The prototype of Mycroft… His size was visible enough in the tight trousers he'd used to wear since a couple of years…
So what? When had the stupid rules and laws of society ever interested him? Right – never. Of course it was completely different with Mycroft – he practically was the government and decency and he had so much to lose. And this was why he was so terrified by his own desires… But still he had told Irene to stay away from him. Still he had been worried that Sherlock could get together with John – right in the beginning when he had more or less kidnapped him, and still now. And he was jealous of Molly… It was so clear, and Sherlock wondered how he could have been so blind for so long…
Sherlock knew it was now or never. They would never be so close to each other again. And he was naked…
“I do,” he said.
“Sorry what?” Mycroft sounded a tad sleepy.
Sherlock was sure he would be fully awake very soon.
“I answered your question.”
Mycroft seemed to need a few seconds to recall what he had asked Sherlock. “Oh. Oh, yes.” He shifted and Sherlock could feel his gaze on his face. “So do you think… you will ever get to know someone better?” he asked cautiously.
“I'm very sure actually,” Sherlock said and turned around to him. He reached out and embraced Mycroft's waist, pulling himself against his brother's body. The feeling of the silky pyjamas on his naked body was stunning. Sherlock could feel his cock grow against Mycroft's groin.
“Don't… just don't… Don't tell me you don't want it. We both know it's not true.” Sherlock was whispering against the soft skin of his neck.
“But… we can't… we are…” But his stammered protest sounded weak and he broke off.
“Brothers, yes, I am aware of that. It's alright, Mycroft. We'll be careful. Nobody will find out.”
“But… how has this happened?”
“I don't know – I just realised it, but subconsciously it must have been there for quite some time. And I guess for you it's been even longer?”
“Oh, yes… You were only sixteen when I found out…”
“Oh. Well, then I think you've really waited long enough. Kiss me, please?”
“You're sure?” Mycroft's voice was so quiet that it wasn't even a whisper.
Sherlock cupped the back of his head and stroked over it with his thumb. “I have never been so sure about anything else.” And despite the fact that he had only now discovered his deeply hidden feelings for his brother, this was true.
And then Mycroft moved forward and their lips met for the first time. And Sherlock knew that he not only would never forget his first, real kiss, the feelings that welled up in him when it went on would be the centre of his mind palace from now on – the place he would turn to whenever life would be rough again.
It wasn't wild and passionate but pure sweetness and care and tenderness. At first they kissed with closed lips, but then it was Sherlock whose tongue demanded entrance, and his brother obeyed at once. At the first meeting of their tongues, Sherlock moaned involuntarily – very quiet and certainly not audible outside of this room, but Mycroft made: “Shhhhh.”
But Sherlock could hear the smile in his voice, and he grinned against his soft, wet lips. “I deeply apologise to you, the not-so-prude Miss Burroughs and her four illegitimate children.”
“You are forgiven,” Mycroft mumbled and nibbled at his bottom lip. “You feel so great, Sherlock. I have fantasised about this for twenty years, and it is better than any of my imaginations…”
Sherlock loosened the grip around his head and stroked his back instead. His cock was rock hard, and he could feel Mycroft's poke against his thigh as well. “It's not fair though. I'm in the nude and you are clothed. This has to be changed.”
“But we can't do too much now. Let's wait until we are in my house.”
“But that will be only in a few days! I cannot wait so long!”
Mycroft chuckled. “Okay, we'll do a bit. And a bit more when we are at our destination.”
“Wow, Mycroft! You want to make out with me in one of our childhood rooms?”
“Oh God, yes.”
Sherlock giggled and then he slipped Mycroft's pyjama pants over his arse, and Mycroft helped him to get it down completely. Then he got also rid of the top.
The younger brother snuggled against the warm, hairy chest offered to him so nicely now, and he hissed when their cocks grinded against each other. He stroked over Mycroft smooth, warm, back and grabbed one of his surprisingly firm buttocks, which made Mycroft huff out a high noise that made him smile. He dipped his middle finger into his crack, eager to just discover, albeit not explore Mycroft's most hidden spot, and this was granted with an unbelievably sexy, low groan and a rather hard grip into his side which felt bloody good. He refrained from inserting his finger as he knew he shouldn’t do that without some lubrication – he was inexperienced but he did know a few things about sex. Instead he wrapped his long fingers around both of their cocks, which wasn’t that easy, given Mycroft's girth. Not to mention his length…
“Brother, you are hung like a donkey.”
Mycroft giggled. “And equally hairy I'm afraid.”
“Oh, I don't mind at all.” Sherlock rubbed over their united dicks, and this time Mycroft moaned rather loudly.
“Hush, brother! You wouldn't want to put on a show for our friendly host and her innocent children…” Sherlock teased him.
“Sorry. But this feels so good.”
“Do tell…” Sherlock's hand went to work again and he got even harder when he felt the sticky wetness on the top of Mycroft's member. “God, I can't wait to do more. Tell me – what did you fantasise about exactly?”
“God, everything, Sherlock. But what got me off the most was you kneeling on me, facing away, my dick buried deep in you and my hand stroking your spine and your wonderful arse.”
“Oh, you are good at saying such things,” Sherlock purred. Who would have thought?! “Tell me more!”
His hand was more secure now and his rhythm got faster. As did his breath. And Mycroft's…
“I want to be in you, Sherlock, as soon as we are comfortable in my bed, with lots of lube and time, and I'll prepare you so well. I will ride you until you scream, because you can do that in my house, as loud as you want, and I also want to suck your cock and lick your hole and I want you to do all of this for me as well…”
Sherlock was feeling dizzy from arousal now and he could feel his balls pull up against his body. The image of exchanging such pleasures and the picture of Mycroft's huge cock in his arse or Sherlock fucking him was almost too much to process.
“My brain will have a short circuit if you go on like this…”
“And I will come over your hand in about twenty seconds,” Mycroft purred back, and Sherlock kissed him again – way more fiercely now.
And Mycroft did climax after mere moments – as well as Sherlock. They muffled each other's cries by kissing deeply, panting and trembling.
“This was…” Sherlock began when he was able to talk again, his hand sticky from semen. But then he shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t have words for it.”
Mycroft smiled against his cheek. “Me neither. And it was just the beginning, Sherlock… There's so much more to come.”
Quite literally, Sherlock thought. And he was shivering in anticipation…
“Oh, finally you are here!” Mummy beamed at them and embraced her two sons together. “You must have had such a hard time on your way!”
Hard indeed, Sherlock thought, suppressing a grin. “Don't worry, Mummy,” he said instead. “We're fine. Aren't we, Mycroft?”
His brother gave him a smile, and winked almost invisibly. “We totally are, Mummy. Merry Christmas.”
“Oh, my boys!”
Sherlock patted her back when she embraced them again, and he and Mycroft shared a look and a grin. “Listen, can we just go into our rooms quickly to change clothes and get settled?” They would stay for two days now. And two nights… And after returning to London, Sherlock would stay at Mycroft's house over New Year’s Eve. John wouldn't be at home again anyway.
“Yes, of course! Make yourself comfortable! And then tea and cake are waiting for you in the sitting room!”
“Thank you, Mummy. That sounds great. We won't be long,” Mycroft assured her.
“You know he can't wait to get his teeth into the cake,” Sherlock threw in, and winked at his brother equally short.
“Oh, you boys! Always bickering!” Mummy shook her head admonishingly, but her joy about their arrival was hard to miss.
Father came out of the bathroom. “Oh, Myc, Sherlock! Great to have you here!”
They greeted their father as well, and then the brothers took their bags and walked upstairs. As soon as they were out of sight, Sherlock slung his free arm around his brother's waist. “Sorry for the cake-joke.”
Mycroft just grinned. “You need to keep doing that. We don't want anyone to get suspicious.”
“Yeah, that's what I've thought. Come in for a second.” Sherlock pulled Mycroft into his old room.
“Sherlock, now might not be the right time for…”
Sherlock silenced him with a kiss that got deep quickly after Mycroft had given in. His arms slung around his neck tightly, Sherlock then leaned his forehead against Mycroft's. “I'm so happy, Mycroft.”
“So am I, little brother. I can't wait for all the things to happen. Not only the sex. We will also talk a lot…”
“Oh, must we?” Sherlock pouted playfully, and they shared another grin.
“Yes, we do. But I also die for making you scream from pleasure.”
Sherlock laughed. “Alright, I'll try to muffle the sounds of my arousal until we are alone at the weekend.”
In the morning, when the snowstorm had subsided and their phones had been working again, Mycroft had organised the continuation of their trip, and then they had gone into the kitchen. Miss Burroughs and her offspring had sat around the table already, and she had gotten up to get coffee and breakfast for them as well.
“Brothers, huh?” she had teased them, and Mycroft's face had gotten dark red.
She had giggled and whispered: “The kids didn't hear anything. It was totally okay.”
Sherlock had smiled. “Perfect gentlemen, as we said.” And only then he had realised that they hadn't even introduced themselves the evening before in this chaotic situation, and she hadn't asked for their names.
“I'm terribly sorry for being so impolite last night,” he had said. “My name is William Holmes, and this is Mark Scott.”
“I knew it!” she had cried out. “No brothers!”
“Guilty as charged,” Sherlock had said, and Mycroft had given him a smile - half grateful, half embarrassed. They'd had breakfast, and before they had left, Mycroft had given Miss Burroughs a meaningful sum of money for her hospitality, and she had even embraced them when they had said goodbye.
Now Mycroft pulled him closer. “That doesn’t mean we can't be nice to each other once we are back in here tonight. Let's just save the real passion until we are undisturbed.”
“That's totally fine,” Sherlock assured him.
Their eyes locked, the only sounds the quiet rumble of their parents downstairs and their own breathing.
“I love you, Sherlock.” Mycroft said it for the first time.
Sherlock could feel tears coming to his eyes. And this time he meant it from the bottom of his heart when he said: “I love you, Mycroft. Merry Christmas.”