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Sherlock feels drained.
Not the typical drained that he would be after interacting with idiots, no, no this is a different kind of drained- it leaves him with an odd tightness to his chest that he can"t explain.
He left the wedding early because the sight of Mary and John together was too much for him to handle- strange, isn"t it?
He"d been fine when seeing them cut the cake, say their vows to each other but something as simple as standing there on the dance floor together made him so very..he doesn"t know- he doesn"t even know what it made him feel like and that"s what scares him.
He doesn"t like not knowing things.
He doesn"t not know things, that"s not a regular thing and yet here he is, stepping up the stairs to their..well, his apartment, opening up the door and closing it behind him.
Perhaps leaving the wedding was a bad idea.
With no one to talk to but himself, he"ll have time to think of the fact that John isn"t going to be going back to living in the apartment, if he stayed, he could have eventually found someone to talk to- maybe even Janine!- but no, he had to get all...- feeling-sy
that"s not even a real word, look at what this wedding is doing to him-
Sherlock pauses, a dark figure sits on John"s armchair but they"re not there to pick a fight- if they wanted to threaten him or something of the sort they wouldn"t have seated themselves in plain sight.
He switches the lights on and is met by the familiar red head of his brother who stands as soon as light fills the suddenly too empty apartment.
There"s a moment were neither of them say anything but Sherlock can see Mycroft"s all-seeing eyes observing him.
Another moment passes and Sherlock is about to say something, tell Mycroft to sod off but he beats him to it with a soft murmur
"Oh Sherlock."
He despises him very much for that- even more so when he sees that Mycroft"s eyes hold not pity but deep concern.
Damn him. Damn him.
Sherlock finds himself sinking into his brother"s arms when the latter opens them up invitingly despite his hatred for him, a choked noise escaping his lips that he"s glad is somewhat muffled by Mycroft"s shoulder.
"This is your fault." he mutters, ever the younger sibling blaming their big brother, knowing however that he doesn"t sound intimidating at all what with being wrapped up in Mycroft"s secure hold. "If you hadn"t let me get involved this wouldn"t have happened."
"Hm."
"You"re awful."
Mycroft exhales slowly, Sherlock can feel his grip on him tightening.
"I know, brother mine, I know."
And if Mycroft notices Sherlock leaning heavily on him for support or the fabric of his suit dampening where Sherlock"s face is safely tucked in, he mercifully doesn"t mention it.