Warnings: Beware, more angst ahead. I'm sorry :( I promise fluff and smut in the last couple of chapters to make up for it.

Baker Street tonight? We need to talk -SH

John read over Sherlock's text with a slight frown on his face. He suspected that Sherlock had always been blissfully free from those four words and the certain doom that they implied. Therefore it was likely that coming from Sherlock the words weren't an ominous warning of bad things to come, so John tried to relax. Everything had been fine, better than fine, just that morning…how wrong could they possibly have gone in just a few short hours? He groaned internally as he reminded himself who he was dealing with. Anything could happen when it was to do with Sherlock Holmes. Not that he himself wasn't struggling to understand and process everything that had gone on between them in the last twenty four hours. He was utterly confused, yet at the same time filled with a clarity of thought that was astounding. He loved Sherlock, had long since realised that, but everything seemed to be moving so fast. He knew that things always did with Sherlock. Like when he'd first met him and trusted him inherently almost immediately- something that had really never happened to him before. In fact, he had been sure enough of their connection to kill a man to protect Sherlock, without even thinking twice. So yes, he had to admit that life with the eccentric consulting detective didn't exactly move at a normal pace.

Then there was the small matter that he was straight, or had always thought of himself as such. He'd never had a reason not to, having never before been interested in another man in that way. Yet here he was, completely driven by an overwhelming passion and desire that he hadn't felt since he was a teenager. He thought back to the conversation he'd had with his therapist one particular day not too long after he'd finally plucked up the courage to admit that he was in love with Sherlock.

"Sexuality is a complicated thing, John," she had said in her sensible yet reassuring way. "It's not always black and white. In fact, there is a lot of grey area for most people. Just because you find yourself having these feelings towards Sherlock it doesn't mean that you have to label yourself in any particular way. It's entirely possible for people to suddenly find themselves attracted to someone of the same sex even though they never have before and may never again."

John had nodded, still finding it difficult to talk about. He hadn't been entirely able to place what the problem was. Was he worried about what other people would think? He didn't think that was it- most people he and Sherlock had met automatically assumed that they were a couple anyway. It happened with such alarming regularity that John had given up correcting them, finding that it bothered him less and less each time. So if he wasn't bothered by that, was he bothered by what he thought of himself? For awhile he had pushed the question deep down, despairing in the fact that he would never be able to truly find out since the one person who invoked those feelings was gone forever. When that hadn't worked he had spent months debating with himself and interrogating his own feelings to the point that by the time Sherlock had reappeared he had almost convinced himself that he had imagined the whole attraction. Almost, but not quite. And then Sherlock had turned up and shattered all pretense into a million broken shards. John's feelings for the man were as strong as ever before and no matter how much he wanted to hate Sherlock, wanted to punish him for what he had put him through, all he could do was gravitate towards him as though some kind of magnetism were drawing him there.

He finished up a few things around the flat then headed out to Baker Street once again, unsure of what to expect. But whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn't the sight of Mycroft Holmes sitting in John's favourite arm chair, looking every bit as unapproachable and perfectly indifferent as he had before Sherlock had left. John was momentarily taken aback by his chilly demeanor, forgetting that this was common of the older Holmes brother. He had seen quite a different side to Mycroft whilst Sherlock had been away- one that was warmer, almost caring, and infinitely more human. He felt his own heart instantly turn to stone as he remembered that Mycroft had played his part in Sherlock's plan, that his compassion and apparent grief had all been a sort of despicable game. For a brief moment he considered turning around and walking back down the stairs, running away from this horrible reminder of everything that had happened in the past year, but a glance at Sherlock's face stopped him. An apology was written all over his features, along with the same traces of regret and sorrow that John had been glimpsing since Sherlock had returned. The expression was raw and unchecked, and it took John a moment to recover from its intensity. He knew this day was coming, knew that there was only so long he could avoid contact with Mycroft. He swallowed hard.

Mycroft rose from his seat, umbrella handle gripped in his left hand, and approached John with an overly polite smile that made John want to smack him over the head with his own umbrella.

"John. So good to see you," Mycroft said in his impeccable accent, his voice as smooth and controlled as John had ever heard it, and extended a hand towards John to shake his hand.

John ignored it and stared directly into Mycroft's eyes, his expression stony.

"What do you want, Mycroft?"

Mycroft turned away, his body language displaying his apparent distaste that John was choosing to be so difficult.

"There are certain things that need to be explained. Sherlock thought that it might be easier if I were here, since I played such a large role in the subject of our discussions."

John turned to Sherlock with a question on his face. He couldn't help feeling betrayed- like the Holmes brothers were somehow ganging up on him. Sherlock spoke as though he were reading John's mind. Again.

"John, I'm sorry. I don't want this to feel like a confrontation but I want to be completely honest with you now that things are…different…between us."

He flushed ever so slightly at the last part, shooting Mycroft a quick glance as though he expected him to laugh or say something insulting. But Mycroft continued to stare at his shoes as though their highly polished surface were fascinating to him, apparently uninterested in his brother's obvious discomfort.

"And why exactly does he need to be here?" John shot back, already feeling his patience wearing thin.

"Because he's right- he was involved and therefore it will be easier if we explain together," Sherlock said reluctantly.

"Fine, whatever, let's just get this over with then," John replied sharply, causing Sherlock's expression to abruptly change to one of hurt.

John instantly regretted being speaking so harshly, but Mycroft's very presence here was grating on him. He glanced back meaningfully, trying to apologise without words. Sherlock seemed to read the message, for his face relaxed slightly and he sat down on the sofa, gesturing for John to sit beside him. Mycroft resumed his position in the armchair and John briefly wondered how anyone could make a chair as comfortable as that look so much the opposite. He crossed his legs and folded his hands neatly on his lap, observing John once again in his usual shrewd manner.

"There's also another reason I'm here today, John. I wanted to apologise for everything you have been through during these past months-" John snorted in protest, but Mycroft ignored him -"It was…most regrettable. But entirely necessary as I'm sure you will see."

John said nothing, almost completely convinced that he certainly would not see. He stared back at Mycroft, trying to put as much contempt into his gaze as possible. Mycroft stared back passively, showing no evidence of being at all fazed by John's anger. It was as though they were strangers once again. Mycroft turned to Sherlock with the same smug little smile that John had learnt he used during particularly unpleasant dealings, and cleared his throat politely.

"Sherlock, would you like to begin?"

Sherlock took a deep breath, his hands unusually twitchy and fiddly, and looked at John.

"I told you about my plan to fake my own death, about how I did it and why-" He paused and John nodded minutely -"but I didn't tell you how far back it went. I knew for a long time that my life was in danger and that yours would be too, so I started taking steps towards a plan that I had hoped I would never have to put into action. But when Moriarty resurfaced for the final time I knew that I would have to."

"What do you mean how far back it went?" John asked after a moment, feeling confused already.

"I…started forming the plans just after Irene Adler disappeared for the last time. It was the perfect opportunity to carry out the first step, which was to formulate some kind of test to determine how capable you would be of lying about someone's whereabouts if required."

Sherlock looked to Mycroft.

"So Sherlock asked me to approach you with the story that Irene Adler was beheaded, but to suggest that we keep the information from him."

John stared between the two brothers uncomprehendingly. Then their meaning dawned on him. Sherlock had decided that John's lie wasn't convincing enough, that he couldn't trust him with the truth about his eventual 'death'. This was the reason John had suffered for months. There was a sudden gush of words at the tip of his tongue, but he didn't seem able to express any of them.

"So Irene Adler is alive then?" he said finally in a quiet tone. It wasn't really a question, but was something he wanted confirmation on nonetheless.

"Yes," Sherlock replied softly.

Of course she is, John thought hopelessly.

"Where is she?"

"I…can't say."

"Do you still see her?"

John's question was sharp, and he wondered why he was asking. Was this really the issue right now?

"No."

John nodded in acknowledgment before moving on.

"So...I failed the test then, did I?"

Sherlock looked apologetic again.

"There were very clear indications that you were lying. Not ones that would necessarily be picked up by an ordinary person but to people trained to read the signs, yes, you would have failed."

John knew that Sherlock was refraining from detailing every little mistake he'd made and he found himself oddly appreciative, despite how upset he felt with Sherlock right now.

"In any case, I felt after that incident that I had somewhat underestimated Moriarty and his reach. I knew that if I didn't act he would and that we would eventually both be killed in the process. So I took matters into my own hands."

"We knew that the time had come," Mycroft took over smoothly. "Sherlock asked me to feed Moriarty the information about himself, knowing that Moriarty would use it to destroy him. I was reluctant, as you can imagine, but it was the only way. So I complied, then I released him, and Sherlock and I awaited the fall that we knew was inevitable."

Mycroft paused, apparently waiting for John to say something. John declined- his mind drowning in the flood of new information and his heart horrified that Mycroft could speak so casually and coldly about his own flesh and blood. But then again, it wasn't like this was news to him.

"I also managed to procure a small amount of the drug that you had both been exposed to at Dartmoor," the older Holmes brother continued calmly. "I knew that it would come in handy at some point…a suspicion that was proven correct, as Sherlock has already explained to you."

"Congratulations," John replied flatly, recovering from his mutism.

Mycroft chose to ignore that.

"And the rest you already know."

"No I don't bloody well know! Sherlock's told me almost nothing of what happened whilst he was away."

This time it was Sherlock who spoke up.

"Moriarty had a wide network of contacts and I haven't yet been able to rid the world of every single one of them. I've taken care of the most dangerous threats, of course, but there will be others. There are always others. And I know I can't protect you from them all. But the less you know about what happened the better."

John let it go for the moment, too mentally drained to bother arguing the point. Besides, there was a concern that was pressing on his mind much more urgently. He turned to Mycroft.

"And all this time Sherlock was gone, you didn't think of helping him? Of going with him? You're his older brother, you're supposed to protect him, for god's sake!"

"John, as you know, I am a very important man. I could not simply disappear for months on end for the sake of my baby brother's vendettas. I knew that he was more than capable of handling things on his own and that he would contact me for assistance if and when required, which he did."

John glanced at Sherlock and was slightly puzzled by the hurt he could see on his face. He could tell that Sherlock was trying hard to conceal it, but Sherlock wasn't the only one who could read people. For anther long moment there was nothing but silence.

"He didn't want to go through with it, you know," Mycroft said suddenly.

"Mycroft…" Sherlock interrupted, his tone a warning that Mycroft wholeheartedly ignored.

"At several points I had to convince him that it really was the best thing to do…that it was in your best interest and for the greater good."

John's glance shifted from Mycroft to Sherlock, noting his pained expression, and back again.

"But the job isn't done yet," Mycroft continued. "Several members of Moriarty's web are still at large. And there is still the matter of clearing Sherlock's name. I was hoping that we would be able to rely on your assistance, John."

John very nearly laughed in disbelief.

"First of all, if I help with anything its going to be for Sherlock, not for you, and secondly I'm not sure right now that I want to help Sherlock, given that I'm obviously not to be trusted even though I've done everything he ever asked of me without question."

He sucked in a deep breath, his lungs feeling desperately starved of oxygen, and stared at his knees. He couldn't look either of them in the eye, but he wasn't sure if the cause was anger or hurt. Sherlock placed his hand over John's but said nothing. John found that he didn't particularly want Sherlock touching him right now, but he also didn't want to pull away. The silence in the room stretched out for what felt like minutes. Finally, Mycroft got to his feet, collecting his briefcase and umbrella as he did so.

"You two obviously have matters to discuss, so I will leave you in peace."

He paused and seemed to struggle with himself over something. And at that moment, Sherlock's phone rang loudly, causing all three of them to very nearly jump in surprise. Sherlock pulled it from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and glanced at it quickly.

"Lestrade," he muttered. "I'd better take this."

And with an apologetic glance he got to his feet and walked into the kitchen, speaking quietly into his phone. John stood and turned his attention back to Mycroft, feeling drained.

"I am truly sorry, John."

John sighed, shook his head, and stared Mycroft straight in the eyes.

"Your apology means nothing to me, Mycroft, because I don't for a minute believe that it is, or ever has been, genuine."

For a moment Mycroft said nothing, but John didn't miss the flash of something like regret that crossed his usually frozen features. He found himself curious despite his current feelings towards the man.

"I assure you that it is."

Another loaded pause.

"I hope that you can find it within yourself to forgive my brother. He never wanted to go through with any of this, it was purely a last resort."

He looked to his feet again, fingers fidgeting with his umbrella in a way that was most uncharacteristic, and when he spoke again his voice was soft and low and more human than John had heard it since Sherlock had left.

"I used to think that he was like me…incapable of emotion, of compassion…of love. But he's not. Or at least not since he met you. He needs you, John. You make him a whole person. He's let his guard down in a way that I've never seen before and he's gone to the ends of the earth to protect you. I know that he would do it a thousand times over. Don't let it have all been for nothing."

John said nothing and he didn't look up- he knew that if he did his answer would be written all over his face, and he didn't want Mycroft to know just how very much Sherlock meant to him. He sensed rather than saw Mycroft leave the room and descend down the stairs, and when he looked back up Sherlock was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching him closely. His expression made John's heart throb painfully.

"John," Sherlock said carefully, the simple stating of his name seeming to carry on its back a thousand unspoken thoughts.

"Not right now. I can't do this, not again."

"I know," Sherlock replied quietly. "And I will leave you to your thoughts, but first please know that everything I did was motivated by my feelings for you. I just wanted you to be safe."

John nodded once. He knew that. It wasn't what was bothering him.

"You should have trusted me, Sherlock. I've never given you a reason not to. And the whole time you were gone I never doubted you for a minute, never believed a word anyone said about you. Because I trusted you. And that's what hurts the most- that you clearly didn't feel the same way. That after everything we've been through together you still left me in the dark."

Sherlock remained silent but stepped towards John, his hand moving to caress the side of John's face, his body moving in to hold him. And John wanted to accept the comfort, wanted nothing more than to reach up and allow Sherlock to capture his lips, to loose himself in the splendor of sensation and emotion. But he couldn't, not right now. He pushed Sherlock away gently, trying to ignore his wounded expression, and headed for the stairs.

"I have to go."

"John, please," Sherlock cried out, catching John's arm.

John shook it free a little more forcefully than intended, and made his way down the stairs and out the door without looking back.

Author's note: Okay, so this story just won't leave me alone! I was meant to be finishing it at chapter nine but sudden inspiration struck and clearly that's not going to happen now since there is a lot of unfinished business and…well, porn…to fit in. So I believe that chapter ten will be the final installment (which is a much neater number to finish on, and satisfies my obsessive tendencies nicely). I hope that you can all hang in there until then.

Sorry for the delay with this chapter but at least it's epically long to make up for it, right? The good news is that the next couple are both partially written so shouldn't be too far away. Thanks so much once again for the continued support, it's been fab. Would love to know what you all thought of this chapter, so please do leave me a review if you find the time to do so.

Mycroft's little plea to John at the end there somehow wound up being reminiscent of Mulder's speech to Scully in the first X-Files movie (or as I like to think of it 'the only X-Files movie', because we all know that the second one never actually happened) so credit to Mr Chris Carter and the other writers for the inspiration. Yes, you all may as well know that I am a hardcore Muller/Scully shipper. Anyway, until next time :)