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"Looks like the doctor gave you a taste of your own medicine." Mycroft said reading news paper maintaining a stoic expression.

It had been a week since Sherlock's visit to the doctor and he seemed to be more and more retreating to his shell. This alarmed Mycroft. He found out about the incident easily and determined to talk to his brother about it. He couldn't blame the doctor, anyone would have behaved this way but he was extremely concerned that this may lead to another attempt from Sherlock to take his own life.

Sherlock didn't reply. It had been a week of magnificent self-discovery for him. Everything that happened to him made sense now. Now he knew how he had led himself to destruction. Now he could completely forgive the woman for playing him, using him for her own benefit and deserting him for someone else.

Obviously. He thought. I am not meant to be loved by anyone. Then why would she? It was my own lack of judgement that I saw it that way for so long when the answer was so simple. It was my mistake that I thought I could be loved, it was my lack of knowledge that left me wrecked. It was me. All the time, all the pain caused was by myself only. No one else is responsible.

Mycroft saw where his brother's thoughts were headed. He knew this was going to get worse. Because no man could ever simply believe that he was incapable of being loved. Especially Sherlock who had a flood of emotion heavily lidded under that cool, rude, aggressive exterior. That is the reason he fell in love with the wrong person in the first place.

Wrong person. It was the kindest word to describe Irene Adler. A woman with forged identity who seduced and married a rich politician to bask in monetary gains and political manipulations. Sherlock naive and confused got sucked into a whirlwind of manipulative romance and left broken thought every person was wrong for him.

Worst now, he thought he was wrong for everyone. All because of a highly intelligent and unscrupulous woman who knew exactly how to play Sherlock.

Yes it was easy to break into Sherlock's shell. He never had a mother, never experienced familial comfort Mycroft being the only family left. He had to see to so many important issues from a very young age that he couldn't care for the small child like a child deserved. Lack of caring, nurturing, comforting made him vulnerable and susceptible to such gestures. His naivety about romance and physical pleasures didn't help the matters much.

Mycroft was sorry for not being able to give the child the affection he was entitled to, for not being able to give him proper guidance, for not being there on time to stop his life being ruined.

Now that the damage was done he had no other option than to help him cope and prevent further damage. He was doing it with all his life. After Sherlock's first attempt at his life he had moved him to his own house and refused to let him move out again. He had been quiet distant from his brother all their life and now it would be incredibly awkward if he tried to show affection. So he did what he could for him while staying as cold and detached as always. He only knew how much he hated himself and held himself responsible for his brother's deterioration.

And now this doctor fellow had contributed to all the existing troubles and made matters worse unknowingly.

Psychiatric treatments, rehabs, medicines everything had failed as Mycroft knew they would. No one could tamper with his brother's stubborn mind except for himself and when a notion was fixed in there then it was written in stone and the only person who could erase it was Sherlock himself.

Mycroft sighed as he looked at his brother staring out of the window, face stoic, deep in thought.

The first thought in John's mind was to run after Sherlock just after he left but he thought the better of it. Then he thought of calling him. He took the number from the reception but couldn't find the courage to call.

What if the man had already done something? What if he was held responsible? Oh that ominous brother of his would tear him apart.

John slapped himself mentally. A person's life was at risk because of him and he was panicking about himself? That was foul. He is a doctor. Most of all he had caused a person pain. Maybe he did deserve some of it but he was not the judge of what another person deserved.

After several attempts went unanswered John was left with no other choice than to leave a voice message. He didn't like it. He wanted to talk to the man personally and gauge the damage he had made.

You have reached the voice message inbox of Sherlock Holmes. Please leave a message after the beep.

"Hello Sherlock. It's me Dr John Watson. I…uh…it would have been better if you took my call…but I can understand. Look I just wanted to apologise for what I said the other day. I had no right to behave that way and I'm sorry. And…if you want to talk to me again sometime…you know for giving me free advice and all…you could just drop by. Take care. "

John ended the call with a heavy heart wondering if the message at all reached Sherlock.

Sherlock sat on his bed looking at the wall listening to the message over and over again. A faint reluctant smile tugged at his lips.