Hi, It's been a while, isn't it ? I had this idea of a one shot, hope you'll like it, don't hesitate to comment <3

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"I remember when we were kids," the dark-haired man began, sitting down on the cool grass covered in the humidity brought on by the mild night air. 

The moon shone high in the sky, which was as black as a sea of ink and studded with stars, each brighter than the last. In the distance they could both hear the muffled sounds of the city, taxis, tourists, people. There was even some music, probably from a street concert, which was not impossible as summer was fast approaching and the temperatures were getting milder. Sheltered from the hectic fury of London, the two men sat on the grass to admire the stars as they would have admired the heart of the universe. The first, the younger of the two, was tall, wearing a long coat as black as his curly hair. His large eyes, as clear as the purest of crystal waters, stared intently into the sky. Beside him was his older brother, beautifully dressed in a perfectly cut three-piece suit, sitting cross-legged, his umbrella dutifully placed in his lap. Unlike the other, he looked at his little brother with obvious affection and brotherly love, even though he was known as the Iceman.

" What do you remember, Sherlock?" he asked with a smile that seemed nostalgic to the British government personified.

'I remember the house," breathed the detective after a long silence. "I remember you snatching cakes from the kitchen to join me in the playroom. I remember you teaching me everything you knew, doing puzzles. You were the better of the two of us, Mycroft."

" That's the first time I've heard you say that," laughed the older man with a touching smile. "

What else do you remember?"

The detective remained silent, preferring to lie down this time with his hands behind his head. Mycroft watched him without batting an eyelid, without moving an inch, and waited patiently for his little brother to speak again. After all, they had the whole night ahead of them.

"I remember the promise you made to me, to always protect me, to always be my brother. But you left home to study when you already knew everything. You let me down and abandoned me. I hate you, Mycroft..."

"We both know that's not true, Sherlock, just as I don't hate you. I know you started taking drugs shortly after I left, and I'm sorry. I've always tried to make up for that mistake, Sherlock, and I'm sorry I can't. I hope you can forgive me."

Mycroft Holmes had never been so fragile, so vulnerable as he was at that moment, and his little brother kept staring up at the sky as a few tears that he refused to shed filled his clear, yet clouded eyes with sadness and grief, with mourning and dark clouds that clouded his mind, preventing him from thinking. He sniffed, almost painfully.

"You've abandoned me again, Mycroft," he said painfully.

"I know," whispered the older man. "And I'm sorry."

"Why did she do it? Why so?"

"I'm afraid I don't have the answer, Sherlock, but where I'm going I might find it. After all, we all end up in Samarra," he murmured, stroking his younger brother's hair affectionately." I'd like you to play, Sherlock for a bit before I have to go."

The younger Holmes shivered but did not reply. Mycroft knew, he knew his brother couldn't hear him, though he was sure the detective could feel his presence at his side. No matter, they had the whole night ahead of them. The politician stood up and admired his stars, leaning on his umbrella which would accompany him even to the other side. Then, after an interminable pause, Sherlock straightened up and grabbed his violin, which he had brought with him, to rest it against his shoulder, his chin resting on it, and began to move the bow back and forth on the taut strings, filling the air with a sweet melody from their childhood that made Mycroft sigh with happiness and relief. Moving closer to his brother, the elder saw the tears rolling down his cheeks, beading from his closed eyes as he played with his heart and soul. The government man cocked his head to the side to gather them one by one in the palm of his hand and Sherlock played harder, more passionately, as if he wanted to touch his older brother's soul to keep it close to his own.

"Don't leave me...," he whispered to the night. "Mycroft..."

"I'll always be here, little brother," the older man whispered, placing a hand over his heart, sending a frozen shiver through his younger brother's body as he finally felt his presence at his side. "Always," he repeated as he slowly moved away, disappearing into the night, towards the stars.

"I love you big brother...," the younger man said quietly. "Goodbye Mycroft, see you in Samarra..."

He never knew, but his brother left without pain, confident, his heart swelling with his love, his words and his music accompanying him to the other side in the starry night.

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