"You need to tell John." Said Mycroft, without looking up from his newspaper.
His younger brother had just entered his office, without knocking as usual, and thrown himself down in Mycroft's favourite armchair. He made a point of making as much noise as possible as he sat down. Mycroft was sat at his desk looking over the morning's papers with his usual grim expression.
"Why?" Replied Sherlock incredulously, looking up at his older brother.
"You know why Sherlock, because it's not fair on him. He's been tearing himself apart over all this." Mycroft was still staring at the newspaper, his eyes moving from side to side, scanning and taking in the whole page.
Sherlock huffed, "Since when did you care so much?"
Mycroft turned the page, not answering Sherlock's question.
"How did you know?" Sherlock asked when Mycroft remained silent still.
"What, that you'd faked it? Oh come on, credit me with some intelligence Sherlock. Now are you going to tell John or am I going to have to do it for you?" Mycroft finally tore himself away from the paper to look at Sherlock with a condescending glare.
"It's been three weeks. He'll be over me by now." Sherlock waved a hand dismissively.
Mycroft just looked at him.
"What?"
"Do you really think so?" Mycroft asked.
Sherlock bit his lip, thinking.
"I'm still not telling him. I'll just disappear somewhere, start again..."
"Yes and all this time the world thinks you're a fake!"
"I don't care."
"Yes you do. You do because, what if John starts to believe it? You care what he thinks, don't you?"
Sherlock didn't reply.
"Look, Moriarty is no longer a threat to you Sherlock. He's dead and I've personally seen to it that his organisation has disbanded. We've even managed to capture his right-hand man. A sniper by the name of Moran. It was strange actually, he was found with Moriarty's body on the roof in an absolute wreck. He's attempted suicide twice so far, apparently distraught by Moriarty's demise. We're keeping a closer eye on him now..."
"Why are you telling me all this?" Sherlock interrupted.
"To try and make you see that it's not all about you Sherlock!" Mycroft raised his voice, losing patience with his younger brother. "Other people have been hurt by this, especially John. Moriarty is dead, therefore there is nothing stopping you going back to John and apologising for all the grief you put him through over your apparent death!"
There was a silence.
Sherlock sat staring at the carpet. He knew his older brother was right, and why was he even refusing to go back to John anyway? Was he scared of how he might react? Scared John would completely reject him? Sherlock had been shunned by people all his life, and John was the first person who had been a friend to him. Sherlock may have seemed heartless and cold to the rest of the world, but deep down he was still human. He needed friendship and he didn't think he could stand being rejected by the only person who had ever offered him that.
"You need him Sherlock and he needs you." Mycroft's voice was softer now "and God knows, I need John too. What you'd get up to without him around... I'd be picking up the pieces just like before."
Sherlock stood up and made his way to the door of the office without a word. Just as he opened the door Mycroft spoke again.
"By the way, how did you get in here?"
"What?"
"Please, Sherlock. We're ten metres underground in a top security location. People can't just walk in here. Especially people who are meant to be dead."
"Well, you weren't exactly surprised to see me."
"I know what you're like, Sherlock."
He chuckled as he closed the door to Mycroft's office and made off down the corridor, the back of his coat swishing as he walked.