I was seven years his senior, and from the moment Mummy gently placed him in my arms, I adored him.
“You will watch over him, won’t you, Myc; always.”
It wasn’t a question but a hidden instruction.
“Yes, Mummy,” I said very seriously. “I will protect him at all costs. Forever.”
“That’s my boy,” Mummy said.
Moments later, my baby brother - William Sherlock Scott Holmes – opened his peculiar eyes and looked at me with a scrutinising gaze. His tiny hand curled around my finger, which made a warm sensation bloom in my chest.
“I will always be here for you, Lock,” I whispered; I didn’t want Mummy to hear me use a pet name on him. It would remain a secret between the two of us, I decided.
***
Keeping an eye on Sherlock when we attended school was almost impossible. Back then I didn’t have access to CCTV, and I knew that my parents looked after him. Mummy had not meant that I should track him down at such a young age after all.
But the time came when I made good on my word. Sherlock started university at Cambridge, and I had become crucial to the government. My occupation granted me every access I craved, and from that day, Sherlock was always in my peripheral vision. Cameras followed him, not constantly, but enough for me to have a clear indicator of his whereabouts. I had also recruited one of his peers to keep a keen eye on him. In hindsight I should have known that Sherlock would see through it immediately. My brother told Victor about his father’s secret, which ensured that the two never crossed paths again.
Really, Mycroft. Your tactics are appalling, not to mention; offensive. SH
***
It was easier for Sherlock to hide in London, the immense number of cameras notwithstanding. His ability to avoid them grew by the day, and my promise to Mummy decades ago crumbled before my very eyes.
But one night, emergency lights flickered on the screen to my left catching my attention. My stomach plummeted when I realised that said camera had found my brother. I sighed, instantly planning my next steps to get a hold of him. On closer inspection, though, I saw a police officer - dressed in civilian clothes - having a heated conversation with my brother. The silver-haired man looked sceptical at Sherlock who waved his arms, looking like the addict he was. Sadly, the footage was visual only, so I turned away and retrieved my phone to call for a car.
Myc. Pick me up at home in thirty minutes and drive me to rehab. SH
***
The first time I met John, I told him: “I worry about him. Constantly.”
Three months later, my peripheral vision picked up on a curious scenario. My brother and John stood outside that Italian place they prefer to dine. Of course, Sherlock knew about the camera across the street; he also knew that I was watching. The cameras always moved when I was in my office, and when he and/or John were walking past. Or running. Or snogging each other senseless, like they did outside the restaurant. It made me both embarrassed and pleased.
“Finally,” I muttered under my breath.
***
On my first visit to Baker Street after the incident, John pulled me aside while Sherlock went to the bathroom.
“I know you worry about him, Mycroft, but I can take it from here. By the look on your face, you are very much aware of the development between us. You know I want only what’s best for him. I was a soldier, and I am a doctor; surely that counts for something.”
“Thank you, John. I appreciate your offer. However, I am bound to a promise I made the first time I held him in my arms, so you see, I cannot oblige.”
To my surprise John didn’t argue but smiled a curious smile. It was directed inwards almost. Private. As if he had expected my answer all along.
“An anomaly,” Sherlock told me once and I finally understood what he meant.
