John's POV

The nurse handed me my mobile phone and assisted me in sitting upright. She refrained from talking and left the room, leaving me alone in the silence.

I wasn't going to call Mum or Dad. They couldn't be in the same room together without starting a fight. And if I invited one, eventually the news would be heard by the other parent, and then there'd be another dispute between them. I decided to call Harriet. She was basically the only one who understood this, and she was willing to comfort me whenever I had needed it. So I gave her a ring. At first she didn't answer, which was typical of her. I dialed the number again. This time she picked up.

"Hello? John? Is everything okay at Mum's place?" she answered with her reassuring voice, as usual.

"Yeah, everything's fine, Harry. Listen, erm, I'm at the hospital-"

"The hospital? John, are you okay? What's happened?"

"No, no, I'm fine, really. It's just a broken leg, I think. Are you, erm, busy?"

"Of course not. Which hospital are you at? I'll be right there."

"I think I'm at Bart's. But you don't have to come if you're unavailable. I'm much better now."

"John, I'm always going to be here for you, okay? Stay cool, little Hammy. I'll be there in a few," she chuckled and hung up.

She often called me Hammy because of my middle name. She never let me live through having the middle name of 'Hamish'.

I eventually decided to play on my cell as I awaited her arrival.

3rd Person POV

Sherlock was worried. Although he often avoided feelings, his brother was much better at it, and he knew he'd get scolded for showing that he cared. He didn't plan on "caring". It just sort of, happened. But Mycroft wouldn't have understood him. Sherlock knew that he screwed up. And he screwed up badly.

Once Sherlock finally reached their house, he desperately tried to escape into his room. This, of course, even he knew, wouldn't work. Mycroft had all eyes and ears all around the house. If he heard one creaky floorboard, he'd appear right behind you, almost immediately. But what else do you expect when you're forced to live alone and take care of your little brother from the dangers of London? Mycroft often showed neither sympathy nor affection towards Sherlock, or anyone, to be precise. He believed that caring was a weak point in everyone, thus, he simply chose to avoid it. However, caring was just in human nature. Mycroft was merely just an expert at hiding it. He spent years and years teaching Sherlock how to avoid getting any emotions or feeling sentiment.

"Sentiment is the human error," he'd always say. "Avoid it, and you'll be superior towards the weak."

This of course, wasn't what he always thought. He was seven years older than Sherlock, which allowed him to become much more experienced before Sherlock grew older.

At around his first year of secondary school, Mycroft had already been through many friends. They'd all promise to stick with him until the end. They planned on sharing flats together and starting international charity campaigns all around the world. They were just hopeless kids, planning for their future without any care in the world.

One day, (specifically November 1st), his closest friends had gone out to eat some ice cream after class. There, he had met a lovely girl around his age. Her name was Charlotte. She had a pale complexion; however, she had deep, vivid green eyes and freckles to make up for it. Her hair was orange and silky, reaching down to her hip. She was just as sweet as pie and pleasantly generous. To everyone, she was perfection in human form. However, to Mycroft, she was absolutely charming. Despite all his close friendships he had at that time, Mycroft had reserved a special place in his heart for Charlotte. As a matter of fact, the special place is still reserved for her. However, it is now long lost in his heart, along with any other emotions he packed away.

After a few weeks of an intimate friendships, they had become much more than friends. Charlotte had become Mycroft's whole life. She was always on his mind, and there was no way of getting her out of it. They began to frequently stick around each other until they were practically inseparable. Anything remarkable that they did; they did together like two peas in a pod.

It had been about 18 months, to the point where it now started to bug their friends too. Nevertheless, their whole 'clique' had assembled together one night just as a little "get together". As young teenagers, they enjoyed silly little games such as 'Truth or Dare'. This, however, was an absolute mistake once it had gotten to Charlotte's turn.

"Okay, Charlotte, truth or dare?" asked one of the boys (whose name was Alan).

"Um, dare!" answered Charlotte bravely.

"Okay, well, um, I know! I dare you to tell Mycroft our secret!" he began giggling as everyone stared in anticipation.

Charlotte's eyes bolted, but she knew she had to do it. It was all part of the rules, of course.

"Well, uhm, Mycroft," her sweet voice stammered, "please don't get mad, okay? Well, um, Alan and I, well, we…um… we've been dating secretly for about 14 months."

Mycroft stared back at her, unable to reply. 'They're probably just pulling a prank on me' Mycroft thought reassuringly.

But they weren't. They had been dead serious.

"I'm really sorry, Mike, but it's over between us. "She added. And those were the last words he ever heard from her melodic voice ever again.

After he had been through such a bitter and intense heartbreak, Mycroft had to find a way to prevent his little brother from experiencing the same sorrow as he once did. Sherlock was born as an exceptionally intelligent child, so it was simple to teach him to avoid these emotions. Sherlock was only around six years of age, so he was unaware of what happened to his brother, causing him to lock himself up in his room for hours. Mycroft was like a father figure to Sherlock, so he willingly listened and obeyed him for years. However, at times, although Sherlock didn't admit it, he found life a lot more challenging. At times, he wished that he was just normal for once. But Mycroft was only protecting Sherlock. He didn't plan on making his life much more troublesome. He didn't want Sherlock experiencing what he had been through. Mycroft didn't want to see his little brother hurt.

Sherlock's POV

Frantically, I unlocked the door knob to my bedroom, desperately hoping that Mycroft had not heard me enter the flat.

"Isn't it a bit late, little brother?" Mycroft's dull voice croaked behind me.

Well, fuck.

"Well, uhm, you see," I stammered, greatly searching for a valid excuse.

"What were you doing, Sherlock, that caused you to become this late? And I don't want any of your foolish lies," Mycroft was extremely strict about these things.

I sighed. It wasn't very effective to lie to Mycroft anyways. "I sprained my wrist and they forcefully took me to a hospital. There, that's it." I knew he'd sense that I didn't tell him the whole truth. It was worth a shot anyways.

"You're getting worse at lying, Sherlock. Now, is there something you want to tell me?"

"Honestly, I don't have any desire to tell you," Mycroft forced a smile. A "you don't have much of a choice here considering that you're the little one" smile. It was one of his many façades, but this was one that I especially despised.

I rolled my eyes and vaguely explained all that happened today.

"I stumbled as I tried to push away someone from their downfall and we just happened to have fallen. I was taken to Bart's and that was it, okay?"

"And who was this 'someone'?" Mycroft interrogated.

"You don't know him and he isn't important."

Mycroft raised his eyebrow in reply. Of course, I get stuck with one brother and he's not only extremely arrogant, but he also knows almost everyone in central London.

"His name is John. He just goes to my school. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to my room." I unlocked my bedroom door and slammed the door behind me.

Sometimes, Mycroft was such a fucking arse-hole.