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Back in 221B, Sherlock had dragged out all the games he could find.

‘Did she take it well, your return?’ Mycroft asked, smirking.

‘As well as to be expected,’ he replied calmly. He was trying his best to not be jealous, but it was incredibly hard.

‘She’s ever so lovely, isn’t she?’ Mycroft pressed. He was enjoying annoying his little brother. Sherlock merely smiled at him and took his move on Operation.

‘She mentioned, she said something about you…’ Sherlock trailed off, not being able to say the words. Mycroft tilted his head, urging Sherlock to continue. Mycroft’s smile remained, but his eyes were tight.

Sherlock huffed out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding, ‘about you stopping her.’ Mycroft new exactly what he was talking about and his smile faltered a bit.

‘It was pure luck of course,’ he coughed, uncomfortable with the subject.
Sherlock’s elbow rested on his knees and his hands were in their thinking position, eyes shut tightly.

‘She did that to her wrists and I think she became delirious. She wanted to see your grave one last time. I just so happened to be going home from a meeting. It was pure luck,’ he sighed. One hand came up and Mycroft rubbed his temple, as though he was trying to erase the memories.

‘And after?’ Sherlock asked, eyes still shut tightly and Mycroft sighed heavily.

‘I guess at first it was guilt that made me continue to visit her, the fact that I knew you were alive, I’d urge her to do something other than sit in your chair all day, but…then it seems I started to grow fond of her, finally understanding what you see in her.’

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open at the last and glared at Mycroft.

‘I believe it’s my turn,’ the elder brother smirked.

The buzzer beeped when he tried to remove the heart from the body.

‘Can’t handle a broken heart? How very telling,’ Sherlock mocked.

‘Don’t be smart,’ Mycroft said, focusing back on the game.

Sherlock leaned backwards on his chair, crossing his leg over the other. ‘That takes me back, don’t be smart Sherlock, I’m the smart one ,’ he said, going in to an imitation of Mycroft.

His brother gives him a level stare, ‘I am the smart one,’ but his words are interrupted by a small little chuckle in the doorway. Both brothers look up to see you standing with shopping bags and a smile.

‘Don’t mind me, I like to hear the two of you arguing. Would the both of you like tea?’ you asked.

The two of them looked at each other before reaching the same conclusion.

‘I used to think I was an idiot,’ Sherlock continued thoughtfully, although still watching you in the kitchen.

Mycroft smirked his Holmes smirk and too crossed his leg over the other, ‘both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on, until we met other children.’

You smiled in the kitchen at hearing their voices. You might be mad at Sherlock for leaving and Mycroft for lying, but you were happy to not be alone. You started making tea and could feel Sherlock’s eyes on you.

‘Oh yes, that was a mistake.’

‘Ghastly. What were they thinking of?’ Mycroft asked with a roll of his eyes.

‘Probably something about trying to make friends.’

‘Oh yes, friends. Of course you go in for that sort of thing now,’ Mycroft said almost bitterly, his thoughts going to you in the kitchen. Even if caring was a disadvantage, he would go so far to consider you a friend, but he wouldn’t possibly admit that to Sherlock.

‘And you don’t? Ever?’ Sherlock was confused for once.

‘If you seem slow to me Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I’m living in a world of goldfish,’ Mycroft answered.

Right on cue you walked in with two cups of tea, ‘does that make me a goldfish then Mycroft?’ You handed him his tea and then Sherlock his.

‘You’re something else entirely,’ he said, taking a sip. He was simply doing it to annoy his younger brother now, he did enjoy tormenting him.

You smiled at him, like you knew what he was doing.

‘Good answer, but I’m mad at you too, you know? You lied to me for two years Mycroft Holmes.’ You returned to the kitchen to get your own tea.

‘You forgave my brother easily enough, why is it so different for me?’ he asked.

‘Your brother is not forgiven, but if he was, it’s because I love him,’ you answered, returning.

Sherlock smiled at you, happier that you had ever seen and then turned to show Mycroft an almost boasting look.

Sherlock stood, leaving his tea on the arm of the chair and grabbed your face gently between his hands. He leaned down and hesitantly pressed his lips against yours. Your free hand moved up his chest and to the back of his neck, letting you deepen the kiss. This was the first kiss since he’d returned home, how much he had wanted to kiss you, but uncertainty of how you’d react had stopped him.

Now, one hand wrapped around your waist pulling you close and you stood on your tip toes to maintain a good angle. You had missed the feel of his lips, of being in a close proximity with Sherlock.

Mycroft cleared his throat and Sherlock pulled away, softly pecking your lips before releasing you.