Little Brother

It had been 7 months and 2 days since he had died, 7 months since he had left London. The majority of that time had been spent searching and disposing of the band of criminals Moriarty had put together. He had expected there to be a few 'specialists', but he had underestimated the number. There were not 3 or 4, more like 16. 16 individuals with specific skill sets, 16 individuals which included the few that were in London that day, who had been set up for his friends. They was the first on his list, he had known that getting them out of the way first would make it more difficult to find the others but it had to be done, that was personal.

After them, he had stayed unemotional till the end. Staying focused and efficient until he had removed the rest. He had finished 1 month and 23 days ago and the idea of returning to London had been hard to resist. The only link he had to London was Mycroft. Mycroft and Molly was the only people who knew he was alive. Both out of necessity, it would have been nearly impossible to pull off without Molly and as much as he didn't want to admit it, he needed Mycroft.

Mycroft had set him up financially and kept him updated about his friends. He had stopped getting regular updates about Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade a few weeks later but the updates on John kept coming. He had expected to get them for a month or two after his apparent death but he couldn't understand why he still got them, more than likely Mycroft just having fun with him. He was grateful really, but he would never tell his brother that.

He was currently staying in a small B&B in Nottingham, sitting in an arm chair in his room staring out his window when his phone beeped, notifying him that he had a text. Sherlock got up and grabbed his phone expecting Mycroft's typical text of John's routine. What he didn't expect, however, was the 2 words that was there instead.

'Come home - MH'.

Sherlock glared at his phone for a minute, Mycroft knew he couldn't return to London. Yes, he had disbanded and destroyed Moriarty's band but he didn't want to take the chance and get John killed. He had been informed that there was surveillance on the 3 people in his life for a few days after his death and then been removed, which was the 'band's doing, that was how Sherlock knew them, the 'band', he had also knew that there was a chance that John might still be being watched, making his return a impossibility. If he returned and John was still being watched, John would die.

Sherlock quickly typed his reply 'No' and hit send. He never initialled his texts anymore it had become a habit and since it was only Mycroft, he didn't really care anyway. As that thought finished there was a knock and the door and the voice announced it was the owner. He opened the door and the B&B owner smiled sheepishly at him before stepping back, for Mycroft to take his place. Mycroft thanked the man and walked into the room and took the armchair Sherlock was just sitting in. Sherlock sighed and closed the door before turning to his brother and leaning against the door.

"What are you doing here Mycroft?" He asked, not even trying to hide the bitterness in his voice. Mycroft raised his brows at him before speaking "It's good to see you dear brother. I knew you would not take my text seriously so I came myself, you need to come back". Sherlock glared at him "I have no reason to return brother, as you already know. It is better for me to stay out of London, safer", as much as Sherlock disliked his brother, he had come to depend on him quite a bit and they had unfortunately become closer, therefore more honest, with each other.

"You will not return to London in fear of John meeting an untimely death, correct?" Mycroft asked, Sherlock just blinked at him, this was obvious and they had discussed it previously, it was not like Mycroft to repeat. "Well, as I am here, I am taking you back, with or without your consent Sherlock" Mycroft smiled at him, which made him glare again, why was he pushing this? It was unlike him. "Mycroft, what is going on?" Sherlock hated not knowing Mycroft's plans, he always had, Mycroft's smile faded and he sighed "It is in John's best interest if you come home", Sherlock would have laughed at this if he didn't start to feel slight panic at the words, "What's wrong with John? He could be killed if I return, you know this" he rubbed his hand through his hair in frustration, what the hell was going on? He was starting to worry and Mycroft must have seen the concern on his face.

He had always been able to see through him, it's one of the reason's he doesn't like being near him. Mycroft took a couple of steps forward before speaking again "John is alive" he said quietly and Sherlock sighed in relief "There is a car waiting for us downstairs and a jet waiting at the airport" Mycroft continued at Sherlock frowned. "If John is fine then I will not return" he planted his feet firmly on the ground and glared at his brother, "Now, Mycroft, if you don't mind…" he reached for the door handle as Mycroft spoke up again "I said John is alive, not fine" he sighed and Sherlock stopped. He turned his head to look at him, really look, he looked tired, more than usual, been awake 2, no 3 days and smelled like disinfectant and scrubbing alcohol. Hospital, John's not fine but alive, he's in the hospital.

Sherlock stared at him, willing him to speak, he was growing inpatient, why was John in the hospital? Mycroft looked at him and took a breath "Mrs. Hudson called 999 yesterday morning at 7:35 after she went to take John his morning tea. He wasn't up yet, so it seemed, so she went to wake him up but seen the bathroom door wide open. He was in the bath, his wrists were lacerated multiple times and there was an empty bottle of sleeping pills and a half full bottle of whiskey beside the bath." Mycroft stopped there and watched him. Sherlock hissed in a breath and held it, John tried to kill himself. Why? He couldn't speak. He couldn't really feel anything, he felt numb.

A sudden rush of pain and anger poured through him and he opened his eyes, which he didn't even noticed was closed, and blinked. He was sitting in the armchair, Mycroft was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands posed under his chin, and he looked….concerned, which was strange. Sherlock knew he had to go, but he had to process this information, to understand, first. How had he got from the door to the chair? Obvious, Mycroft. John was alive, but apparently not fine, in hospital, attempted suicide. Why? If John was having suicidal thoughts, it wouldn't have gone unnoticed. He would have had depression for a while beforehand. Mycroft had known, about the depression, and he had kept it from him.

"Now Sherlock, if I had told you, it wouldn't have made any difference, you wouldn't have came back but you would be constantly worried and emotional and the end result still would have been the same" Sherlock sighed to himself, he would not say it, but he was right. How long had this been going on and what caused it? How long was more important right now, so that's what he asked "How long?" his voice sounded strange, he frowned at himself but let it go. Mycroft still hadn't replied, "How long Mycroft?" and Mycroft sighed and stood up, walked to the opposite chair and sat, he leaned forward before replying "7 months" was all he said and Sherlock stared at him.

7 months? But that means….Me? I caused this. But why would John, why would he…because of me? It didn't make sense. John couldn't still be…depressed because of his death, he might be sad sure but not this. Mycroft sighed and pulled something out of his pocket, it was a piece of paper. Sherlock looked at it, confused. "This was under the whiskey. I didn't want to show you this… I'm sorry", Sherlock's eyes snapped up and stared at Mycroft. Sherlock gulped and held out a hand and took the paper, he took in a deep breath before unfolding the paper and read John's writing.

See you soon
You idiot
I love you Sherlock.

It felt like all the air had left his lungs. His hands started shaking, he felt lost, and he felt his eyes fill and knew he was going to cry. At that he started to panic, he hadn't cried since he was a child. He did now what he had done then, looked to his brother. He felt the first tears roll down his face, Mycroft smiled sadly at him "It's been a long time, little brother".