"So, you found out." Mycroft stated, appearing in the Stranger's Room at my summons.
"Yes."
"And now you are wondering why he did not entrust his secret to you?" I nodded. "Don't take it too seriously, Doctor. During the past 3 years, the only messages I have received were about him moving or needing more money. They couldn't have been more impersonal if written by a stranger."
"At least you knew he was alive."
Mycroft gave a snort. "You were spared many a gray hair. Sherlock would often not write for months, leaving me to fret over whether he remained okay- heaven knows what sort of trouble he could have gotten into!"
You were spared many a gray hair. But was I? I had begun to worry so much for Holmes, it was second nature. His death, on the other hand had been an awful shock. I sincerely doubted Mycroft's words.
"Still-" I hesitated. My friend was back, and that was all that mattered, but honestly, "He could have at least written a letter- just a simple 'I'm okay' would have sufficed!"
"Doctor- as I said, don't take it too personally, or too seriously-"
"Too seriously?!"
"You have yet to learn, my man, that Sherlock is prone to reoccurring sudden-death. Quite bothersome, I say- but, after all, it is my brother."