"Get out of my life, Mycroft. I don't want to see you again." Sherlock hissed at Mycroft after a particularly bad argument.

"Okay." Mycroft replied with a nod and promptly walked out of Sherlock's life.

"You shouldn't have done that. He's only trying to help you, Sherlock." John sighed, shaking his head.

Mycroft didn't see his brother again until two years later. He'd made a point of staying away from Baker Street and not lending his assistance. He ignored John's calls and stopped keeping an eye on the Detective and his Blogger. He knew he shouldn't let Sherlock's words bother him, but it did hurt to be continuously pushed away by the younger brother that he cared so much about.

"You called my office, John?" Mycroft said as he arrived in the hospital waiting room.

"Yes. Sherlock was stabbed during a case." John replied.

Mycroft kept his expression blank, "Will my brother live?" he asked.

"Yes, but I thought you'd want to know." John replied.

"Apologies John. I have a meeting with the Prime Minister." Mycroft said before he turned away.

"Mycroft. He does miss you." John said, watching the man pause.

"I am not welcome in my brother's life. I understand that." Mycroft replied, turning back to face John.

"He was angry. He didn't mean what he said." John sighed, "Stay and visit him."

"Things have changed, John. Sherlock is no longer my priority." Mycroft replied, moving his left hand a little so a gold ring caught the light.

"You're married? Wow. To who?" John asked in surprise, walking over and separating the distance between them.

"Deduce me, John." Mycroft encouraged, amusement in his voice.

John laughed a little, "I doubt I could deduce anything about you, Mycroft." he said.

Mycroft went to sit down and John sat beside him.

"Look closely and tell me what you see." Mycroft invited, relaxing in the chair.

John allowed himself to look Mycroft over. He'd never had the opportunity to openly study him. The man was impeccably dressed, as always, but he seemed more relaxed beneath his three-piece armour. The umbrella, with it's large wooden handle, was in Mycroft's right hand as usual. The gold ring looked new as it lacked scratches and scuff marks.

"You got married recently. This year?" John started, continuing after Mycroft gave him a reassuring nod, "So it's someone you've known for a while and not someone you've just met. You're very private, you don't have a large social circle... Anthea?"

"Very good, John. My brother is wearing off on you." Mycroft chuckled warmly, "Yes. Anthea. We were married in the Spring, after many years of avoiding the issue."

"How long has she worked for you?" John asked curiously.

"I recruited her straight from university." Mycroft replied, "I knew she would be useful to me. I was right, we've worked together for just over 12 years."

"Not just a fling then?" John chuckled.

Mycroft nodded, "Not just a fling." he agreed.

A nurse came into the waiting room, "John Watson? Mr Holmes is asking for you." she said.

John got to his feet, "Come on, Mycroft." he said before he followed the nurse.

With a sigh, Mycroft accompanied John to the private room where his little brother was.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock said with a groan when he saw Mycroft.

"Dr Watson alerted me to your injury." Mycroft replied from the doorway. He didn't move any closer, wanting to be able to walk away quickly.

"You've changed." Sherlock stated, examining his brother, "Marriage, stress, illness."

"Be quiet, Sherlock. I prefer for my private life not to be broadcast so freely." Mycroft said coolly.

"Illness? What illness?" John asked, turning to look at Mycroft, "What did I miss?"

"Diabetes, John. He's got pinpricks on the pads of his fingers. Obvious." Sherlock declared.

"You're a diabetic?" John asked, looking Mycroft over again.

"Yes. Years of 20-hour days have caught up with me, I'm afraid. Middle age is not kind." Mycroft replied with a sigh.

"Sit down before you fall down, old man." Sherlock hissed, with very little venom in his tone.

"How kind you are, brother." Mycroft muttered, taking a seat beside the bed.

Anthea arrived with coffee an hour later. She went straight to Mycroft and handed him one of the cups.

"Just coffee and some cream. No sugar." she warned him, squeezing his shoulder.

"I'm going to have to get sweeteners. This no sugar rule is dreadful." Mycroft complained.

"I'll get you some." Anthea assured with a smile. She walked around the bed and handed both John and Sherlock a cup each.

"Thanks, Anthea." John said with a smile, "Congratulations." he added when he spotted the gold ring on her left hand.

Anthea sat down in the spare seat beside Mycroft, "Thank you." she replied.

Sherlock watched them as he drank from his cup. His eyes widened a little as Anthea took the umbrella out of Mycroft's hand, and his brother let her. He'd given the umbrella to Mycroft as a graduation gift, in the years when they'd both gotten along.

John watched them too. It was obvious that the umbrella was a favourite possession of Mycroft's, so it showed how much he trusted Anthea to just let her take it.

"Why are we breaking into a house in the middle of the night?" John whispered as he stood beside Sherlock, rubbing his cold hands together.

"Mycroft has files that he won't give me." Sherlock muttered as he worked to pick the ten locks that were on Mycroft's front door.

"This is Mycroft's house?" John whispered in surprise, "Why are we breaking in?"

"Breaking in is quicker than trying to force him to give us the files." Sherlock replied.

John sighed and kept watch, making sure that no one saw them.

"Yes!" Sherlock whispered as the final lock click and he pushed the front door open. John followed him into the house and carefully closed the door behind them.

The hall light switched on and they both froze.

"Why are you breaking in?" Anthea asked. She was sat on the stairs in her dressing gown and slippers, clearly expecting them.

"Where's Mycroft? Not here, I hope." Sherlock said with a frown.

"He's upstairs asleep and you're not to wake him." Anthea replied, "He only returned from Moscow a few hours ago. Is there something I can help you with?"

"I need the files that he's hiding from me." Sherlock said.

Anthea sighed and led the way to a locked door in the back of the large townhouse. She unlocked it with a key that she retrieved from her dressing gown pocket. She pushed the door open and flicked on the light. The office was luxurious, with a chandelier and wood paneling.

"Wow." John murmured, looking around. The whole house was huge and it was clear that Mycroft was very wealthy.

"Which filing cabinet?" Sherlock asked, practically shoving past Anthea.

"The one beside the window." Anthea replied, moving to sit down in Mycroft's office chair.

"Should I have a key made for you, brother?" came Mycroft's voice from the doorway. The man stepped into the room. He looked tired and was dressed in creased trousers and a shirt.

"That would be easier." Sherlock replied sarcastically.

Anthea walked over to her husband, "You should be in bed." she said.

"I have slept quite enough." Mycroft dismissed.

"You need more sleep and you know it. The doctors said-" Anthea started.

"I know what the doctors said, Anthea!" Mycroft snapped. The room fell silent as it was rare that Mycroft lost his temper. "Apologies. I am more tired that I thought." he murmured before he walked away.

Anthea sighed, "He gets frustrated. His mind is slower nowadays and it makes him angry." she said, "Middle age frustrates him."