A/N: So I'd been bouncing around the idea of adding in some extra scenes from my other story 'Don't Lose Faith' for some time, and these are basically chapters that I couldn't fit into the original story, or have suddenly thought of. So far I've got eight chapters planned, but that could increase or decrease depending on things. They won't be in chronological order, and if you guys think of anything you'd like to see (say, for example, Greg's reaction to Mycroft's return, which I've already got planned) then you're more than welcome to suggest some.

So yes, I would thoroughly recommend reading my other story first, because unless you can guess an entire plot from a deleted chapter, you're not going to have a clue what's going on.

This chapter is set after Milverton's offices have blown up, and Sherlock has just stormed out of the flat having almost killed Milverton before John talked him out of it.

The sling had only been on for an hour but it was already itching. John tried not to scratch it as he sat in a cab, worrying instead about the condition Mycroft was going to be in. He hoped the government official had gotten away in time as there was no predicting the extent of a blast, and it would be easy to think you were in the clear when really you were far too close, John knew all too well.

And, God, John didn't want to think about the state Sherlock might be in now. Seeing that look of pure, utter horror cross the detective's face as the building exploded was an image John hoped he would never have to see again. And it was something he hoped Sherlock wouldn't have to repeat, because he didn't think he'd be able to let Sherlock continue believing something like this again, it would break his heart.

He wished this hadn't happened. Well, who wouldn't? But having found those plans for a bomb when they were searching Milverton's office, John knew he was going to be involved whether he wanted to or not. Of course he would have helped Mycroft with whatever he needed, but now, having seen the effect Mycroft's supposed death has had on his little brother, he wished dearly to be able to tell Sherlock that it was all a lie, that Mycroft was alive.

But he couldn't because neither he nor Mycroft knew if Milverton had means of getting to Sherlock, even from jail. It was too risky at the moment, and John longed for the day where this would all blow over and things could go back to the way they were. He hoped that day was soon. It would have to be, because John didn't know how destructive Sherlock was going to be in the coming weeks.

Just now had been evidence enough of what was to come, what with Sherlock shouting and grabbing his sprained arm in a fit of anger. Yes, both the words and the actions hurt but John didn't blame him for it. How could he, when Sherlock thought his brother had just been killed? He knew he would have reacted the same way if he was led to believe someone had harmed Harriet.

Hell, he had reacted the same way after Sherlock had jumped off St. Bart's. He'd shouted and yelled at Mycroft and told him to get out whenever he visited. No, he didn't physically do anything, but he knew when emotions took a hold of Sherlock, they were strong and fierce because the detective wasn't used to controlling them.

The cab finally pulled up outside Mycroft's estate, and John tried not to feel too intimidated by the grand building. As he walked up to the door, he wondered if Mycroft ever got lonely. He pushed the thought aside and without bothering to knock, he pushed open the front door and stepped inside. Mycroft had told him he'd be in his drawing room, though where that was John had no idea, and it took him a good five minutes to finally find it, despite it being on the ground floor.

Opening the door, his eyes quickly flickered to Mycroft, who was sat at a table and rubbing a hand over his face wearily. He didn't even glance up when John marched in.

Placing his medical bag on the table - which he'd managed to grab after leaving the hospital - John unzipped it and began rummaging through the contents.

"Alright?" he asked. Mycroft hummed in response, not looking up.

"Let me see you, Mycroft." he said, gently removing his hand from his face. He tried not to show his shock at the blood running from a wound on Mycroft's left cheek and instead moved closer, examining the slice thoroughly.

"That's going to need stitches, I'm afraid." he said softly, and Mycroft nodded. He shifted so that his legs were no longer under the table and rather facing outwards so John would not have to lean across the wooded desk to reach him.

As John began to prepare the needle and sutures, he glanced again at the elder Holmes. Mycroft looked sullen and weary, and John softened. Yes, maybe he didn't like being in this position, but he hadn't even thought about what Mycroft must have been going through.

He sighed before speaking again. "Do you want me to apply an anaesthetic?" he asked. Mycroft shook his head, and John frowned.

"Are you sure? It's going to be painful otherwise." he pressed, swiftly cleaning the wound with an antiseptic wipe.

"It's fine, John." he said quietly, and John decided not to argue.

"Alright, hold still." Whilst working quickly but efficiently to reduce the time Mycroft would spend in pain, John tried to determine the best way of getting the man opposite him to open up. The government official winced when the needle pierced his skin but did nothing more. He remained quiet throughout the time John was working, and when he finished, Mycroft leaned back in his chair as the doctor threw away the excess suture. Other than that major wound, none of the other scrapes stood out as being in need of immediate care. Besides the soot-covered, torn clothes and the cuts and bruises, Mycroft seemed better than he'd hoped.

"I can give you some painkillers if you want or... no? Are you sure?" Mycroft shook his head again. "Alright, fine, but at least let me get you a drink." When the other man didn't respond, John moved away from the table and began to search the nearby cabinets.

"Where do you keep your...?"

"Left-hand side." Mycroft muttered, and John found the appropriate one and drew out a crystal decanter filled with brandy and a tumbler before returning and pouring out a glass, handing it to Mycroft who took it with a muttered "thank you".

John sat down opposite him and moved his bag to the floor. He then looked across at Mycroft, who was staring down into his glass morosely.

"Mycroft," he said gently. "Please don't beat yourself up over this. You said yourself that this had to be done, that we need to ensure Sherlock isn't going to be in danger. There's nothing to feel ashamed about."

The elder Holmes finally glanced up at him. "What was Sherlock like?" he asked quietly. "When the building exploded?"

John hesitated, then decided to tell the truth, knowing that Mycroft should know. "He was... distressed. You saw what he was like in the car park, and when the offices blew up he just looked defeated, really. I thought for a moment he had fainted because I felt him slump against me, but I think his legs just gave out due to the shock."

Mycroft bowed his head, and John tried to catch his gaze. "He's strong, Mycroft, he'll get through this. It's not permanent, don't forget, so the two of you will be back to bickering in no time." he added with a soft smile.

He saw Mycroft attempt a smirk, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. "I had no idea he'd be so affected." he murmured, resting his head in his hand and fiddling with his tumbler.

"You're his brother, of course he was going to be affected. You don't really think he hates you, do you?" John scoffed.

"No, don't be ridiculous..." Mycroft started to say, but he trailed off, his tone lacking the verve he had been aiming for.

John winced at the thought of the man in front of him always being led to believe Sherlock did not need nor want him. He shifted and gripped Mycroft's arm, gaining the other's attention.

"Look," he began. "I don't know what caused this feud between the two of you, and I'm not one to pry, but you must believe me, Mycroft, when I say that Sherlock is thankful for you. Yes, sometimes you can be a little overbearing and protective, but I'm sure Sherlock would much prefer that sort of brother than one who never contacted him at all.

"He's... dare I say it, he's naïve, and the whole sentiment thing is new to him. I know that he's strong enough and has enough will to fend for himself, but whenever emotions do get the better of him, he starts to panic. I think in your case... being snarky and sarcastic is the only way he knows how to communicate with you, and if he ever does need something, he'll just increase the snarky-ness until you can infer what he wants and he can go on to call you interfering and nosy when you do complete the task.

"So of course he's going to be affected by your death, and I know you'd be just as distraught at his. The fact that you have a rocky relationship proves nothing in regards to how much you care for one another."

Throughout his speech, Mycroft's troubled expression had deepened, and John immediately took that as a bad sign.

"I'm sorry, that was too invasive." he began to backtrack, knowing that neither of them needed to pour their souls out at a time like this. "I should be going, actually, I need to check on Sherlock." He got up from his seat and bent to pick up his bag, then headed for the door. "If you need anything, any help with tracking people or whatever, then you know, just give me a call." John reached for the door handle, but was halted by Mycroft.

"John, wait." the doctor turned and waited for the elder Holmes to speak.

"Thank you... for that. I think I needed to hear it." Mycroft said softly. John smiled.

"Anytime." he replied.

"Are you alright?" Mycroft asked suddenly, looking up with raised eyebrows. "What with your arm and all... Sherlock hasn't been too hard on you, I hope?"

"It's fine." John said with a brief smile, before turning to the door again.

"John, I know you're lying..." But the doctor had already left, leaving Mycroft to finish his brandy and contemplate the quickest way to relieve his little brother of his grief.

A/N: Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon, and please send me your thoughts on it so far xx