“Soldiers?” Sherlock asks, looking up to John.
The doctor nods. “Soldiers.”
Sherlock allows him to pull him up. Reluctantly he takes the gun John is holding out for him while they are walking to the doorway. They have gone through so much already. Molly will hate him now and this is not his biggest problem by far. The final problem is still awaiting them, and he knows it will tear their lives apart.
He winces when he hears Moriarty's voice through the speaker again. “Tick-tock, tickets please!” Even dead the man is still particularly off-putting. And how has Eurus got these recordings?
After entering another plain room, he briefly looks around. “Hey, sis, don’t mean to complain but this one’s empty. What happened? Did you run out of ideas?”
The room isn’t quite empty though. There are screens on all walls, and now they come to life to show his sister sitting in the now dead governor's office.
“It’s not empty, Sherlock. You’ve still got the gun, haven’t you? I told you you’d need it.”
Sherlock has known it for a while now. He has seen it coming. But there has been happening too much to process the thought and to despair about it. The time is there now. “You'll make me choose between my friend and my brother.” One bullet. Three men.
Eurus tilts her head, crinkling her nose. “I had two possible plans but since you've figured this one out, we'll stick to the other one. It's very easy. You use the bullet to kill Mycroft – or you fuck him instead.”
“Eurus, enough!” Mycroft hisses after a second of shocked silence that felt like an eternity.
“Not yet, I think. But nearly. Remember, there’s a plane in the sky, and it’s not going to land.”
Sherlock bites his lip. People will die. The ones in the plane, if they are still alive apart from the girl, and the ones the plane will crash on. He has to play along. But his brain feels numb. He only knows one thing for sure: he is not going shoot his brother.
“I thought about making you shoot one and fuck the other. But Johnny would enjoy it too much… And what would be the big deal? Everybody already thinks you two use to fuck with each other until you're too sore to walk, and perhaps you do. It's boring. Big brother will be so much more fun.”
“I'm not gay!” John protests but Sherlock barely notices it.
Eurus clearly thinks there is no real decision to make. She thinks he will fire at Mycroft and either go on playing her game with John at his side or leave with him, depending on what her further plans with them are.
“Of course, Mycroft would enjoy it, too.” Her voice is dripping with malice now.
Sherlock looks at his brother and sees red spots appearing on his face, which is stony apart from a twitching left eyelid. His lips are pressed together, and Sherlock can see his fist opening and closing.
“Oh yes,” Eurus continues in a bright voice. “He's been lusting after you since you were a little boy.”
“This is not true…” Mycroft croaks.
“No. Just kidding. You were a teenager already.”
Mycroft closes his eyes and Sherlock knows she is right. How could he have missed this? Not that this matters right now.
“Isn't it hateful, Sherlock? How he imagined having you impaled on his large cock or getting it sucked by your young mouth? Can you see how he advertises it? His trousers have gone tighter and tighter over the years.”
Sherlock forces himself to look anywhere but Mycroft's crotch. But yes. The part about the suits is correct but until now Sherlock was sure it was just more fashionable to wear tight suits and since Mycroft has lost so much weight over the past ten years, it's only natural that he would do it, too.
Now he seems to be willing to crawl into the wall behind him. His face is a grimace of the pathetic attempt to look untouched and the truth mirroring in every twitching of now both his eyelids. His façade of ice is crumbling for all to see and it has to trouble him immensely, even anything else aside. If Mycroft is proud of something, then it is his nonchalance and self-confidence. Both are gone now.
“Don't do this, Sherlock,” John says, sounding surprisingly cool now. “Refuse to go on playing this stupid game. Who says there even is a plane up there?”
Sherlock considers it. Of course John has a point. She lied about the bombs in Molly's house after all. Who knows if this plane isn't just another phantom?
“I will make it more interesting,” Eurus says in a strident tone, and Sherlock instantly knows that there is, in fact, no plane. For once John has been the smart one… Sherlock and Mycroft have been too busy solving her puzzles to question the basic facts. Stupid. But he knows what will come now before she continues to speak. “I will kill them both if you don't do either of it.”
Yes. This is no bluff. She would do that and not have a single sleepless night over it.
“All right. What if I do it? Can we go? Is that the final problem?”
Eurus smiles sweetly. “Yes. I promise it. You and John can go after it.”
“How presumptuous of you,” Sherlock says coldly and drops the gun. It lands on the concrete floor with an unnerving sound.
“No…! You really want to fuck big brother?”
She is now all wide-eyed surprise. But she doesn’t seem to be disappointed by his choice but rather intrigued. Sherlock knows very well why. She thinks she will have both now…
A glance at his two companions tells him that neither of them would have expected this. Mycroft looks shaken, embarrassed and terrified and just a tiny bit relieved and all the more disbelieving, and John's face is pure astonishment, mixed with curiosity and respect, which would have been funny had the situation not been so horrible.
“I'm not going to kill him.” Sherlock walks closer to one of the screens. “Let us go, Eurus. Do the right thing for once today and let us all go. End this charade.” He doesn’t have any hope she would do it but he has to try. This would destroy Mycroft. Destroy whatever small progress their relationship has made over the past few days and damage his brother in ways he can't even imagine. He doesn’t want this. But he is sure they won’t get any mercy from Eurus.
She taps her forefinger against her chin, mimicking thinking over it before plastering an expression of fake-regret on her face. “No. Sorry not sorry. Fuck him or kill him or watch them both die. It's your choice. Who knows… you might even be enjoying yourselves.” She leans forward. “And if you don't… You still have the gun to deliver him from his pain, and hey, if you place yourselves sufficiently, you might be able to kill him and yourself with this one bullet!”
It's hard not to scream at her, to hammer his fist into the next screen. For a moment his blood is boiling with fury. But he forces himself to calm down. There is nothing he can do. He has found his master, or better mistress, of manipulation, foresight and coldness. She has lost a round in her game when John of all people delivered the conclusion that there is no plane in the air that can serve her purpose. There are no other innocent people's lives at stake anymore, nobody else to take hostage. It's just their lives she rules now. And that's enough. He won't back off and sentence his best friend, father of a motherless baby, to death. Nor Mycroft, the ever-present older brother. His (theatrically put) nemesis in a way for a long time, always in control over him, which he has tried to escape from by doing everything his brother despises – getting high, dropping out of uni, refusing to work like everybody else did, wasting his intelligence and gifts at crime-solving. He hasn’t done this all just to piss off Mycroft but he knows it has been one of the reasons almost every time he has got high or run into danger. He has never felt free of his brother's concerns. Why did it irk him so much? And why has he never even asked himself this before? How important is Mycroft really for him? Very, so much is sure.
In any way he doesn’t have time for contemplating their relationship now. Eurus is getting impatient. “You have thirty seconds to get started now or the first one dies.”
Sherlock quickly takes off his jacket. “Undress, brother. We don't have a choice.”
“We do,” Mycroft whispers. There is no doubt what he means.
“No. This is not an option. I know how hard it is and how much you wish to be anywhere but here but she is holding all the cards.” He unzips his trousers.
“Who knew Sherlock would be the voice of reason here? Come on, Mycroft. You've dreamt of having sex with him for two decades or more. This is your chance!”
“Shut up, Eurus!”
Both Sherlock and Mycroft wince at John's yelling. But Eurus just laughs. “Oh, the embarrassed little doctor. What are you complaining about? Not getting it from Sherlock? Are you jealous that he will fuck his brother now?”
Sherlock can see how angry John is. On his behalf? Or because there is a tiny bit of truth in her words? In any way this doesn’t help now. “It's okay, John. It's not your game. We'll pull through.”
Eurus claps her hands together. “You can help them, you know, Johnny-Baby? They might have some problems. I mean, Sherlock has never touched anyone; I misjudged your play obviously; now it's quite clear you're still a virgin. And Mycroft is a cold fish who probably hasn't fucked anyone in this millennium and I highly doubt he's ever had a cock up his arse. Not quite your area, big brother, hm? You prefer it the other way around.”
“Can we do that?” Sherlock asks her, but Mycroft vehemently shakes his head.
“No, Sherlock. I can't… It wouldn’t work…” His voice is barely a whisper, meant for Sherlock's ears only but it's pointless of course.
“Oh, are you impotent?” Eurus asks with false sympathy.
“No! I…” Mycroft breaks off and Sherlock knows what he is on about, just as Eurus knows.
His brother wouldn't be able to get it up and fuck him, too scared to hurt Sherlock, and too terrified. “It's okay. I'll do it.” He steps out of his trousers and his pants, leaving shoes and socks in place. He knows how ridiculous he is looking but he doesn’t care. But… “Is this being recorded? Will it be on every TV screen in the country like Mr Did-You-Miss-Me?”
“Oh!” Eurus puts her hand upon her heart. “What you're thinking of me! No, Sherlock. This is a totally private party. Just our jealous little soldier here, you two lovebirds and little sis watching. What I was about to tell you, Doc, is that you can lend them a hand, or a mouth, if you want, just to help them get into the right mood. I know you're not gay; you mentioned it often enough but not just a tiny bit? Have you never leered after Sherlock's really great arse? I suppose you've seen it uncovered quite a few times when you still lived with him.”
John's jaws clench, and Sherlock realises it is true. Mrs Hudson has always thought they would end up together after all, and she knows people. Well, normal people at least. Sherlock knows that will never happen. He doesn’t fancy John. He doesn’t fancy anyone. And still he will have to have sex now.
He turns to the screen. “What about some lubrication?”
She laughs heartily. “Dream on. We won't spoil big brother. And I honestly didn’t even consider you would make this choice. Just spit on his arse, and let him or John spit on your dick. Oh, this is going to be so much fun!”
“I hate you,” Mycroft hisses. “If you were here now instead of hiding in this damn office, I'd strangle you with my bare hands.”
“You mean in the damn office of the former governor that you refused to shoot to save his wife?”
“You wouldn’t have let her go anyway,” Sherlock mumbles.
Eurus stares at him with a stern expression before she giggles. “Of course not. No loose ends, huh?”
“We'll be loose ends too,” John provokes her, and Mycroft looks at him as if he is close to strangling him now.
Despite John behaving like an idiot, Sherlock is not unhappy about that. He prefers his brother being his sarcastic and cool self over the broken man he has seen a minute before. But whom does he want to fool – what is about to happen will break him for good. He will do all he can to avoid that but really – his cards are very bad.
Eurus doesn’t say, 'Oh, good that you mention that; I will have to kill you all anyway.' She smiles. “I will disappear for good after this beautiful little game. I was just kidding. I would have killed her because I loooove to kill people.”
“John, don't say anything stupid again now…”
Eurus laughs and the doctor rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sorry.”
The woman smashes her hand onto the desk. “Get going now, Sherlock. I won't tell you again.”
Sherlock takes a deep breath and approaches his brother, who has stopped undressing after taking off his jacket. He closes his eyes for a moment and continues his efforts until he too only wears his socks and shoes. He looks pathetic and helpless and, despite his height, strangely small, and Sherlock's heart clenches in sympathy.
“We'll get through this, Mycroft,” he quietly says. “It's okay how you feel about me. It's not okay what I'll have to do to you but it isn't our fault.”
“It's my fault. Every bad thing that happened to you is my fault. I let her meet Moriarty…”
“Oh, yes, that was nice!” Eurus says dreamily. “Five minutes to organise all he did.”
Sherlock swallows. He can see how it has to have happened. Eurus with her gigantic brain must have provided the kingdom with clues only she could give them because why would they just lock her away without profiting from her cleverness, and in return she requested to be rewarded. He doesn’t care about the details now, and really, it's ancient history. “It's okay, Mycroft. You had your reasons. Now she's taking revenge for being locked away. But she won't break us. I won't allow it.”
“Oh! How heart-warming! Kiss him now, Sherlock! A real, deep French kiss, please.” It doesn’t sound like a plea. It's an order.
Mycroft looks as if he's close to passing out. This can't happen. Sherlock closes the distance between them and cups his brother's cheeks. They are warm and Sherlock realises he enjoys the contact. “It's fine,” he mumbles and bends forward to brush a kiss onto his brother's lips. They too are warm, and soft, and he hears Mycroft sighing, so quietly that nobody except Sherlock can have heard it.
“Mm, nice! More! I want to see tongues dancing!” Eurus encourages them.
Sherlock has never kissed anyone like this. He has thought it would repulse him. But when they both open their mouths and Mycroft's tongue meets his, he thinks it's weird and wet and odd but he doesn't find it awful. Probingly he moves his tongue, lets it swirl around Mycroft's, and Mycroft gasps but cautiously returns the action, and Sherlock catches himself closing his eyes and memorising the experience.
“Well, that's promising!” Eurus' voice interrupts them, and they break apart. “Oh, and look! Big brother, and I use this expression in more than one way, is getting a bit excited. Not impotent indeed!”
Mycroft turns away from him but Sherlock unwillingly glances at his crotch, and yes, Mycroft's generously proportioned penis has reacted to the kiss.
“Seems he doesn’t need your help, Johnny,” Eurus says with false regret in her voice. “But Sherlock… You will have to get hard, too. Let big brother touch you, hm? Or John, if you prefer that.”
"I can do it," John mumbles. "Anything to help you."
Sherlock glances at him but shakes his head before turning to his brother.
Mycroft looks desperate, but Sherlock nods. “Please. Wrap your hand around it.” Somehow he knows it will work better if someone else touches him. And not John. He has never really thought about what his type is; his type of man to be precise, he has always known he finds the male form more appealing. He has never been sexually drawn to a woman, not even Irene. He hasn't been drawn to a man either but he knows his orientation is homosexual. And if he had to think of a 'type', it would be a man who is taller than him, with long legs, and body hair. Dark hair, too. And he likes blue eyes. It's an almost perfect description of Mycroft and that's something he doesn’t want to think about now… He just knows he has to make a connection with his brother now so this will get as little horrific as possible.
His brother pants now but he reaches out and wraps his long fingers around Sherlock's flaccid cock without looking into his eyes. His face is pale and ashen. He pulls at his penis. It feels good. It's just a physical reaction; still it's a wonder it works at all, given the circumstances. And Sherlock fleetingly thinks it wouldn’t have worked if John had done it.
It's the first time his penis gets touched in a – however twisted – sexual way. And he gets hard almost instantly. Drops of pre-come appear in his slit, and Mycroft uses them to ease his way until Eurus tuts.
“Damn, you're really responsive! Better stop it now, Mycroft. We wouldn’t want Sherlock to come by your manual efforts after all. It's time to saddle up for him.”
The brothers share a look and Sherlock sees the desperation in Mycroft's eyes. He is on his way to retreating into himself and it might be the best solution for now, as long as he still functions the way it is required.
“Get on all fours, brother,” Sherlock suggests, and Mycroft gives him a brief nod before he hovers down.
Sherlock goes onto his knees, too, and wets his fingers. Mycroft flinches when he rubs his anal opening. The skin feels hot and wrinkled and Sherlock's feel his cock twitch. Twitch in anticipation.
Neither Eurus nor John have missed the reaction. The doctor gulps and looks uneasy. Eurus of course is delighted.
“Oh, I can see you can't wait to bury your cock in him. And well-endowed you are, too. He will spend you so much pleasure, Mycie! You have two minutes to prepare him with your hand, Sherlock, and then I want to see you pushing inside. Oh, and if I start panting here, just ignore me.”
“Ignore her anyway,” John mumbles, and Eurus laughs.
“How cheeky he is, the little man! Perhaps I should join you so you can fuck me next to them?”
“Just get your crazy arse in here and I guarantee you that you'll be fucked.”
Sherlock listens to their banter with only half an ear. He is busy making sure he won't hurt his brother more than it is inevitable. He inserts a thoroughly wetted finger as carefully as he can. The resistance is strong and Mycroft winces. “Try to relax,” he mumbles. “I know it's hard but you must try.”
“It's all right,” Mycroft whispers. “Give me another one.”
He is not ready for another finger and they both know it, but Sherlock's cock is, albeit not quite as impressive as Mycroft's is, still over average in length and girth, he supposes. And even if Mycroft is not a virgin in that regard, Sherlock is also sure he hasn't done this for a very long time. He has to be prepared as properly as it is possible under the circumstances.
The second finger goes in even less smoothly, and Mycroft trembles. Sherlock knows he is in pain. “Please… Try to relax your muscles around me.”
“I'm trying…” He takes a deep breath and arches his back.
A moment later Sherlock can feel he has just a tad more space to manoeuvre and he moves his fingers back and forth, slowly, cautiously. The air in the room is almost chilly but he can see droplets of sweat on his brother's back. He can smell it, can smell the sweat and the musk from his opening. It doesn't appal him.
“That's enough now. Get your cock into him. I want to see you come, Sherlock. And you will get extra points for making him come, too.”
“Just shut up, bitch.” John's voice sounds pressed and angry.
“Make me,” she retorts in an unaffected tone.
Sherlock does what she has suggested – he spits on Mycroft's quivering hole as soon as he has pulled out his fingers. Mycroft gasps and tenses even more.
“Relax,” he mumbles soothingly, as if he was speaking to a scared pet that is afraid of the vet. He lines up clumsily, scraping up his knees but not paying any attention to it. This is madness. Nobody guarantees them that Eurus will really let them go. Perhaps he does this for nothing. Perhaps they will still die, at least Mycroft and John, and Mycroft will leave the earth with the last memory being his brother violating him. They are both getting raped, actually. But for him it's a lot less humiliating. And the thought appears in his mind that he would have felt more harmed if she had forced him to do it with John. He doesn't know why but he is sure it would have been a lot worse for him.
His entire body shudders when his knob breaches Mycroft's muscles. Mycroft hisses in pain and Sherlock puts his hands onto his hips. “Okay?” He knows how stupid this question is. It's not okay. Nothing about this is okay. He is sure Mycroft would have never made a move on him. He would have taken his feelings for him to the grave. Now they have been dragged into the light to be stomped on by Eurus and exploited by Sherlock, against his will but still…
“Yes,” Mycroft croaks. “Do it. Do what the lunatic wants.”
And Sherlock starts moving. The friction feels good; there is no way of denying it. His cock has never been engulfed by the tight, hot walls of a man's anal canal. The lack of lubrication makes his movements difficult, and the knowledge that he is hurting his brother, no matter how often he lets saliva drop onto his penis when he pulls half-way out, is terrible, but still he stays hard. Mycroft is shivering and makes almost inaudible noises of discomfort. Sherlock knows he has to get it over with as quickly as possible.
“John. Get behind me and touch my balls.”
The doctor makes a strangled noise and says nothing, just clears his throat.
Sherlock has never had sex with anyone but he has had sex with himself whenever he hasn’t been able to ignore the needs of his body any longer. He knows his balls are very sensitive. He could fondle them himself but he wants his hands to remain on Mycroft's hips, making as much contact with him as possible. And it is not the same if someone else touches him, even if it's someone he only sees as a platonic friend, whatever other people might see in their relationship. And John will be behind his back after all so he can sort of disassociate the touch from the one who provides it. And just perhaps he thinks John should not get out of this completely unscarred. It is a nasty thought but he can't help it. Perhaps he has not fully forgiven John for a few things and this situation brings it to light. He has no interest in analysing his motives now. He just knows this has to be over as soon as possible. And John has offered to help them, hasn't he?
When John doesn’t move, Sherlock raises his voice. “Do it. Please. It won't be long.”
“Oh, this is so gripping!”
He knows John is about to shout at their torturer again. “Don't. Pretend she's not here.”
“Yes. Like you did when I was a little girl…”
The genuine bitterness in her tone surprises him but he forgets it at once when John's rather cool hand touches his sack. It feels like an explosion of lust in his groins – his balls clumsily fumbled with, his cock sliding in and out of his brother's tight heat. He spontaneously reaches around him finds Mycroft's plump member, bobbing up and down against his stomach in the rhythm of Sherlock's trusts. He grabs it and strokes it, and Mycroft makes a sound between moaning and sobbing.
“So Mycroft hasn’t told you about Redbeard?” Eurus asks innocently, and Sherlock can feel his brother cringing and trying to get away from him.
“No! Don't. Let's get through his, ignore her.” He masturbates him further and now Mycroft is crying.
“Dammit… You bloody bitch!”
Sherlock winces at John's rage but Eurus just laughs. “Oh, you're not repulsed by Mycroft leering for his own baby brother?”
The idea has crossed Sherlock's mind, too. John behaves as if he doesn’t mind it. But perhaps he has just learned to not show his emotions when it really counts.
“It would only repulse me if he had the hots for you, you depraved arsehole.”
“Oh, how eloquent. Anyway… Redbeard. Our lovely dog. Or wasn’t he?”
Sherlock just blanks her out now. He couldn’t have cared less about her innuendos now. He knows all she wants to do is disturb his brother even more.
“Oh, have I mentioned that it doesn't count if either of you doesn't come?” she chirps, contradicting what she has said before about bonus points.
Sherlock bites his bottom lip so hard that he tastes blood, his hands clenches hard around his brother's heavy prick, and then Mycroft shudders and cries out and hot fluid gets pumped over Sherlock's hand. Mycroft's orgasm makes his muscles contract around Sherlock's penis almost painfully, and he comes, too, buried deep in his brother's arse. John takes his hand away from his testicles and briefly pats his thigh before retreating to the side.
“Oh! You naughty boys!” Eurus screams enthusiastically. “Pull it out, Sherlock. Let me see the proof of your depravation.”
Sherlock is already doing it, disentangling from his brother, and when he pulls his softening penis out, it is followed by a gush of white fluid.
He doesn’t have to wait long for Eurus' comment. “Oh dear. That was an eruption. I bet Mycroft could taste it!”
“Come, get up.” Sherlock is on his feet in an instant, and he and John help Mycroft to stand up. Sherlock urges him to turn around, and he almost starts crying, too, when he sees his brother's face. It is swollen and wet, his eyes desperate, and snot is running out of his nose.
John produces a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes Mycroft's face as if he was Rosie. Sherlock winces at the gesture; his brother's face shows shame but also gratitude. “It's all right,” the doctor mumbles.
“I'm sorry,” Mycroft brings out, more tears running out of his eyes.
“You are sorry?” He has more or less raped his brother and Mycroft is sorry? “I'm sorry.” He feels like some idiot in a bad show to say this but it has to be said.
Mycroft shakes his head vehemently. “Not your fault. Nothing of this is your fault.”
“And neither is it yours,” John says sternly. "There is nobody else to blame than…” He turns to glare at the screen and then he gasps. “She's gone.”
And then the door opens, gliding to the side inaudibly.
Sherlock can hardly believe it. It must be a trick. But there is no noise. Nobody comes in to hold them at gunpoint.
He turns back to his brother and catches him looking at the gun Sherlock has dropped. Sherlock instantly takes him by the shoulders. “Don't even think about that. You hear me? You are not doing that. Not now and not later. We've been through hell and I know it must have torn you apart, in more than one way, but we haven't gone down that path to give up now. Come. We need to get you to a hospital and have people over to take over the prison before every other criminal here breaks free.”
That wakes Mycroft from his stupor. He nods. “I will call some people.”
“And you will get examined.”
Mycroft shakes his head, which doesn’t surprise Sherlock at all.
“I… I can do that,” John offers. “I can see if he needs to be… treated. And I have everything at home if you only need some disinfection and balm, Mycroft.”
“They must have this here, too,” Sherlock says. “Is that okay? John having a look at you and if he sees no… severe damage, he can treat you here and again when you're at home or in Baker Street.”
Mycroft blinks rapidly. Then he nods. “Yes. I don't want anyone to know… Oh God…” He sobs again, and Sherlock curls his arms around him, not even thinking of asking for permission. All he wants is to spend some comfort, and he is glad when Mycroft slumps against him. They are both sticky and messy and gross but he doesn't mind.
Sherlock holds him for a minute. He doesn’t want to let go of him but he knows they have to take care of this prison. And he wants to know that his brother is physically okay.
He pulls back eventually. “Can John now…?”
Mycroft licks his lips and nods then. “Yes.”
John is behind him in an instant, and Sherlock holds his brother at the shoulders, seeing him grimace when the doctor looks at his intimate spot after spreading his cheeks, and hears him hiss when he touches him.
“It's okay I think. You are sore, which was to be expected, but there is no blood. The muscles are intact. Does it hurt a lot?”
Mycroft shakes his head. “No. Just stings a bit.” His voice is almost completely toneless.
Sherlock takes over again. “All right. John, have a quick look if you find a first aid kit. But be careful! We don't know who is waiting for us. Mycroft, get your phone and start calling the people who have to know.” He hands the gun with the one bullet to his friend and gathers their clothing. He will not get dressed before Mycroft can do it, too. His brother straightens his back. He will function. For now.
They have survived. Somehow they have survived. Eurus is gone and he doubts they will find her. But he knows Mycroft will do anything to get her back where she belongs – behind bars. And Sherlock will assist him in any way. And he's not going to let him go through anything he has to face now alone.
There will be pain. Guilt. Nightmares. For him and for Mycroft. But they are the Holmes brothers. They are not going to break. He won't allow it. They have been soldiers today and they will stand the inevitable struggles. They just have to.