„Why does it always have to be my fault?", John shouted. And he meant it. He chose this woman, so it was his fault that she was 'bad', wasn't it? Because he was just that way; because that was what he was into? Did that meant that was what he deserved? He was into danger. He couldn't lead a normal life. So that was what he got? Pain was what he got. Did he have to be actually GRATEFUL for that as well? Because he had a wife, someone to spend his life with, right? Other people didn't get that. So he should be grateful. The best he could ever get from life was pain; the worst was loneliness.
Sherlock was born in loneliness. At least that was what it felt like. His parents never understood him and of course his brother didn't. There was only John and John had a girlfriend... wife. Of course Sherlock would do anything to protect his friend's happiness and therefore to protect his friend's wife. Sherlock would literally get himself get killed or kill someone else, just to make sure his friend was happy. And of course he didn't ask for anything back. Because John hadn't asked for any of this. Sherlock had done all of this out of his free will. Sherlock didn't deserve even John's pity. Sherlock had always been lonely and this was how he would always end up. Because this was just his fate. It was nobody's fault. It was just how it went.
And all of this didn't matter to Mycroft, of course. Because John's life was his past and Sherlock's his present. Mycroft had loved people who had been bad for him. People he had chosen. And he had emerged stronger from it. Yes, he was lonely, but he was also... beautiful. There was no other word to describe him right now. When he looked into the mirror, this was all he could see. How easy it was in front of his brother that he actually CARED about all of those diets. How he even pretended in front of himself when he looked down on his stomach that he thought he was too fat. But all of the self-pity was only for show, of course. He didn't really CARE about all of this. A few pounds more of less, so what? He would no longer let himself be controlled by other people's opinions. Love used to be the biggest factor, of course. But Mycroft was in control of his feelings now. He didn't fall in love anymore. He didn't get hurt anymore like John did. And Sherlock was just one more step away from becoming strong like Mycroft. He would transform loneliness into strength like his brother. Sherlock had always had the weakness of an addict, clinging to drugs, to his detective work, and finally to John like there was no tomorrow. But by now he should be cured of this notions. Events should have taken care of that.
Mycroft sipped on his Whisky. The bottle was almost empty. But then he had been drinking on it for some time now, hadn't he? When his glass was empty, he stumbled to his bed for another sleepless night. His only hope was that he wouldn't wake up the next morning.