Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, the BBC do. And I do not own the characters or general story, Arthur Conan Doyle does. The only thing I own is what I've written here and I don't profit from it in any way except the sheer enjoyment of writing it

Story: Wanting to know more about his lover, John meets up with his brother, Mycroft, and discovers a dark past that shocks him to the core. Holmes/Watson. Contains some shocking imagery so rated M to be on the safe side.

N.B. I have totally made up Sherlock's past it isn't based on the BBC series or on Arthur Conan Doyle's work.

"So, you know why I'm here, then?"

"I'm guessing, you've finally hit it off with my brother?" Mycroft produced a pale smile nothing like his brother's. "I can't help but wonder what took you so long. Actually, considering my brother, I can."

John managed something of a smile as he lightly fingered the rim of his teacup. They were sitting in a cafe quite a way away from the flat he shared with Sherlock. John didn't want to risk Sherlock bumping into them, even though that was unlikely – Sherlock observed most cafes to be dirty with second rate food and avoided them altogether where possible.

"Yes, well, I was hoping you could tell me a bit more about him?"

Mycroft looked surprised. "Why don't you just ask him yourself?"

"I've tried, believe me," John said, annoyance transparent in his voice. "I even asked Mrs. Hudson, she's the landlady of our flat, and she knows next to nothing."

"Ah yes, the man who loves to deduce everything about everything...can't stand people to know anything about him." Mycroft flashed a wry smile. "Ironic, isn't it?"

"Why...why is that?" John clanked his teacup down a little more aggressively than he had intended. "What is it that he can't stand for people to know? He has a fear of failure? He secretly cross dresses? He likes to bake cupcakes? For all I know, it could be all three."

"Well, he certainly has a complex," Mycroft shrugged, crossing one leg over the other as he sat back in his chair. "Have you ever felt...like you weren't wanted, John?"

John frowned, and shook his head. "I don't think so. No."

Mycroft nodded understandingly. His face had taken on an almost nostalgic expression now, intriguing John. "Well, unfortunately, Sherlock did. You see, more than anything in the world, our mother wanted a daughter. When I came along, she was disappointed, but loved me. And vowed to try again. But when she got pregnant again, and found out it was another boy, she was heartbroken."

"But, she would love Sherlock too wouldn't she? He's her son."

Mycroft nodded. "Yes, yes, I think she would have. She could easily have tried again for a girl after Sherlock." His face twisted into sadness, obvious reluctance to tell the next part of the story. "Except that things went wrong, John. During the birth there were complications. Mother lost a lot of blood. As soon as Sherlock had been delivered by Caesarean, she had to have a hysterectomy. You're a doctor, I assume you know what that is," he added.

John nodded. "No more children."

"That's right. Mother tried to love Sherlock, as she did me, but as he got older he became more into boyish things, like science and deduction, mysteries," he waved a hand vaguely, gesturing to imaginary magnifying glasses and the like. "But he was still young enough to want her love."

"She pushed him away," John said aloud automatically. "And that's why he's so dysfunctional with people."

"I fear so," Mycroft agreed. "You can't imagine what it's like. I have one memory, of a Christmas morning. Sherlock had gotten some detective book off our father, a guide to deduction type of thing. He was so excited, John. The first thing he did, once he had thanked father and shown it to me, was rush to show it to mother. He wanted a hug from her, and she just completely brushed him off like he wasn't even a family member."

"I have to see him," John murmured.

"Y-You can't tell him I've told you this," Mycroft stammered, jerking forward. "John – "

"No, I won't, I promise," John reassured him as he grabbed his jacket and threw down some coins for the coffee. "I just have to see him."

'He's been so alone, all this time,' John thought as he hailed a taxi down, a climbed into the back, quickly informing the driver of the destination. 'And I never even realised. How could I have been so stupid? It's beyond not reaching out to people. He goes out of his way to reject them, to cut them out of his life, with his arrogance, and rudeness. It's because he's terrified inside. That they'll reject him first. He couldn't take it another time.'

"Don't worry, Sherlock," John muttered as he strode over to the door of the flat. "There's one person who won't reject you."

Any strange images he had of Sherlock alone, crying, disappeared as he entered their living room and heard Sherlock's cacophonous violin.

"What did the violin ever do to you?" he called out with a grin.

Sherlock put the violin and bow onto the coffee table and turned to John, a mildly annoyed expression on his face. "Where have you been? You've been a while. Two hours, two minutes and 12 seconds, to be precise."

"What, am I not allowed to go out now?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Did you bring back any nicotine patches?" Then his expression changed, his mouth opened. "You've been with my brother, Mycroft."

John recoiled incredulously. "How did you know that?"

"I can smell his aftershave on you. He puts a whole bottle on every day. Must be a terrible waste of money." Sherlock's eyes were now fixed on John's, asking silently.

"He wanted to meet up," John bluffed, then got into it more fluently. "As soon as he heard about you and me..."

"And how did he hear that?"

John mustered up a convincing sigh. "He read my blog. Noticed that I'd started using more positive adjectives to describe you."

"Oh really. Like what?"

A grin of disbelief effectively covered how quickly Sherlock had once again put him on the spot. "Oh you know...tall, dark, handsome." John took a step towards Sherlock with each adjective.

"I am all of those things. But next time..." Sherlock's gaze now lingered on John's lips as he pulled him a little closer. "You might want to try something more original."

John's ability to come up with a retort was drastically reduced as he couldn't concentrate on anything but Sherlock's lips leaning in to kiss him.

"Well, look at that, you've gone and distracted me from my case," Sherlock murmured a moment later, placing a kiss on top of John's head.

"Sorry," John murmured, indulging in the moment. He had to fix this. It was just him and Sherlock. He had to tell him how he felt. Pulling back a little, he gazed up into the impossibly green-blue eyes.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock smiled down at him.

"I love you."

N.B. A juicy cliff hanger! Hope you liked this one.