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Our Dear Brother

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"Mr. Holmes, your brother is here."

Mycroft groaned inwardly; bracing himself for Sherlock's entrance.

"It's the other brother."

"Hello, Mycroft. Myko…"

Surprised, but also excited, Mycroft turned to see The Other Brother.

The man in the doorway shifted his shoulders uncomfortably; his fingers twitched.

"I thought London would be cleaner," he stated anxiously. "The travel brochures… they lied. "

Relief filled Mycroft as he calmly shook his brother's hand. "Hello, Adrian, it's been a while."

"Only three years, five months and two days, but you know that…." Adrian replied; eagerly taking the wipe Anthea handed him.

"Thank you, Lola," he whispered with respect. "You always did carry the best brand. Anthea smiled gently at the other brother. He always called her Lola.

"How is San Francisco?" Mycroft asked intently; his eyes gazing sadly over his brother. Not missing a single detail.

Adrian sighed and looked around the office hesitantly. "It's loud, full of children, pestilence and dirt…"

"Just the usual I see," Mycroft said as his brother admired the perfectly straight photos on the walls.

"I suppose Sherlock is still putting intestines in the microwave, and storing garbage under his bed, isn't he?"

Anthea giggled softly; remembering the old days.

"Yes," Mycroft replied reluctantly. "I must say things are still the same with our little brother.