'It's all fine,' that was what John had told him, and he found himself thinking of the small box he kept carelessly stashed under his socks. The one containing the plain, black ring he'd received for his thirtieth birthday – a gift from his infuriating, annoying, beloved big brother.
He'd never actually worn it, but he sometimes held it in his palm and just looked at it – a tangible reminder of the fact that it was indeed fine, and he was not alone.
(It was also a token of Mycroft's brotherly affection, though they'd both die rather than acknowledge as much.)