"John, we need to talk." Sherlock put the cup in front of him and sat in his chair across from John.

"Are you breaking up with me?" John smiled.

"You've been here for just a few days and already you have tried it once."

John sighed and put his paper down. "And?" And?! This was suicide not sweet and sour chicken?

"And I told you that I want to help you and that is what I'm going to do. I think that we should really talk about this and I want to clarify a few things."

"Okay then…" John picked up his cup and gingerly took a sip before deciding that it was fine and settling his eyes back on Sherlock. "Talk?"

"Right." Sherlock shuffled around on his chair. "If I am actually going to help you then I need to know everything surrounding your pain, this includes anything that causes the pain and your thoughts on the matters. This also means your coping mechanisms and anything else that might be regarded as relevant. I realise that this will make you feel uncomfortable and vulnerable but if I don't know all of this then I will have no hope of really helping you. Understood?"

"Understood."

"But this is a two way thing, John. I'm helping you but I understand that I'm not doing you a favour or that you should be thankful because you would much rather to just be left to your own devices so I need to know what you want from me." John looked at Sherlock confused. "Well, you're going to have questions and rules about this, you might not realise until the moment that they occur to you but you will and I need to know about them because I'm not a mind reader."

"You could have fooled me." John looked down. "Alright then. If I am going to tell you the bare, stinging truth then I will have questions for you and I need you to be prepared to answer them and answer them truthfully. The last thing I need is you treating me like a child. I let you in and you let me in; that's how this works or it doesn't work at all. Understood?"

"Understood." Sherlock sighed and stood up before turning back to John. "Would it bother you if I played the violin?" Probably should have mentioned that.

"No no, on you go." Sherlock picked up the violin and fixed his bow as Mrs Hudson walked in. "I didn't know you played?"

"It helps me think." Sherlock started to play. He won't talk unless…

"You ought to watch him, Dr Watson, he gets lost when he plays that thing. He can play it for hours and not even realise that…"

…I talk. He is willing to be open and truthful with me but as long as I give him the same back. Lying will cause the man to clam up and lose whatever trust he has decided to put in me. But I have no desire to rehash that whole episode. I may have to. There is definitely more than meets the eye with Dr Watson and his demons. Jim Moriarty. The demon that keeps John up at night and in a perpetual state of regret, shame and despair. Jim Moriarty, the man who saved the lives of men who had no respect for him and lives on in John's nightmares.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock stopped playing and turned around to John who was at the doorway to the flat. "What?"

"Your brother has been here since I went to the shops an hour ago?" Sherlock looked to where John had been sitting at Mycroft who gave him an unconvincing smile. Hasn't slept properly. Face a little puffy. Made a cup of tea but hasn't drank it. Mobile on the end table. Problems.

Sherlock looked back at John. "An hour? Is that how long I've been playing?" He put the instrument down and rubbed his head. Certainly didn't feel like that long.

"No, you were playing for at least half an hour before Mycroft turned up." John walked into the kitchen to put the bags he was carrying down on the table. "Mrs Hudson wasn't kidding when she said you get lost when you're playing."

"He's always been the same, Dr Watson." Mycroft twirled the wooden handle of his umbrella in between the palms of his hands. There was only one thing that made Mycroft act like this.

"What have you done?" Sherlock sat across from Mycroft and brought his knees up to touch his chin.

John came back into the living room to sit at the desk behind Sherlock before he turned to Mycroft. "I can go upstairs if you-"

"No…" Mycroft sighed. "No, it's fine. He'd only tell you anyway. And I haven't done anything, Sherlock. At least I don't think so…" He looked into the distance. Before holding his phone out to Sherlock. "Press call."

Sherlock took it and looked as John leaned to look over his shoulder. 'Gregory.' Sherlock looked at Mycroft before pressing speaker and the call button. It rang a couple of times before it cut off.

"He won't answer. You try." Mycroft took his phone back, put it in his pocket before leaning back and looking idly at his cup of tea.

Sherlock took out his phone and John put out his hand. "I'll do it. If you phone right after your brother he'll know." Good point. The brothers nodded. "He'll hang up though, he'll be busy look." John put the speaker on and pressed call. It only rang once.

"Hello, John. How are you, is everything alright?" John looked to Mycroft who shifted uncomfortably in his seat but didn't look surprised.

He doesn't sound very happy. Sherlock and Mycroft shared a look. I don't think Mycroft has even wondered why.

"Yeah, everything's fine I just thought I would check in and let you know I'm okay. Listen, do you fancy a drink tonight? I need out of this flat and you know what Sherlock's like, I need an adult escort apparently."

"Sounds good mate. I'll phone you when I get off, I shouldn't be too late."

"Are you on a case right now?"

"Yeah, seems straight forward though, city boy, Eddie Van Coon, has committed suicide in his flat so-"

Wait. Something. Something. Something. What… The email Sherlock received and disregarded popped into his head. Can't be a coincidence. "Eddie Van Coon?" Sherlock grabbed John's phone and stood up talking into the mic with it still on speaker.

"Yeah? Works for some banking group, why? God Sherlock, don't tell me it's a murder. You couldn't know that from his name… Can you?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I got an email from an old classmate who-" Sherlock grunted. "I'll explain later, don't touch anything I'm on my way. Come on, John. Mycroft we have to go." Sherlock threw John the phone obviously unaware that it was still on.

John took the speaker off and put the phone to his ear as Sherlock put his coat on. "Em, we'll be about half an hour Greg. See you there." Greg didn't answer and hung up. Half an hour?

Sherlock fixed his coat collar. "It won't take half an hour to get there?"

"No it won't. But your brother came here for advice and you owe him."

"What?" How did he know that?

"He came here for help and you have just let Greg know," John gestured to his phone, "that he's here. Idiot." Oh.

"It's alright. It's all one can really expect from Sherlock, as you will soon learn."

Sherlock paused a second. Idiot was right. "Stand up." Mycroft just looked at his younger brother. "Come on, you wanted help so I'm helping. Come with us to the scene."

"Sherlock, that's not going to help." John sighed. "Go on, go to the crime scene."

"Why not?" Sherlock hovered.

John looked to Mycroft in disbelief before sitting down where Sherlock had been. "Would you tell me?" Sherlock huffed and left. I wouldn't have been any help anyway. John was still waking up in the night and had started using his cane on the stairs again after the particularly nasty ones.

Mycroft looked to Sherlock as he left then to John and sighed. "I have nothing to lose. You might have a better idea of what I did wrong. As you may know, Gregory is having some trouble coming to terms with his sexuality and I don't. We have started a relationship and when it's just us it's…" a hint of a smile appeared on the man's sad face, it was so unnatural it looked painful, as if he had never had a reason to genuinely smile in a long time, if ever, "it's just when we are in the real world that he changes. Please don't think that I don't understand it, Dr Watson, because I do. In fact, while my parents were completely supportive to the point of indifference by it all the children in my village were less progressive." He sat forward a little in his chair. "I was cornered in a toilet in high school by some particularly aggressive jocks. To this day I don't know if they were going to beat me up or something much more… Traumatic." John swallowed the anger in his throat and extended his neck a little in the attempt to calm himself. John remembered the time that his sister came home covered in cuts and bruises and he put his hand on his forehead. "Are you alright, Dr Watson?"

"Yeah, sorry I was… Sorry, carry on."

"I don't know what would have happened because Sherlock saved me."

John looked up. "He did what?"

"He told me later that while I had been trying to ignore their whispers and taunts Sherlock had been listening in passing and overheard their plans. He followed them and he, shall we say, gave them a physical demonstration of his brotherly love." Mycroft resumed his less genuine smile.

"He beat them up?"

"Oh, just enough until they either passed out or ran away. Needless to say I was avoided for different reasons after that. So I do understand Gregory's problems to an extent and I don't want to dismiss them I just want to help him through them. I want to help. What did I do wrong, Dr Watson?"

"Well... I wasn't there, did he change when you said one particular thing or did he just stop talking to you?"

Mycroft thought for a second. "He was telling me about his marriage. It has recently ended because he has had a string of affairs. He was telling me about his constant attempts to assure himself that he was straight and how guilty he felt over the way he treated his wife. I said that it shouldn't matter now. Then he stormed off." John suddenly wondered if Mycroft should have told him any of his but it not much more than he thought Sherlock could have told him.

"Well, there's your problem right there." Mycroft looked shocked and listened. "He has spent his whole life denying who he is and trying to be someone else. He obviously loved her in some way or he would never have married her and then he goes about having all of these affairs trying to tell himself that he knows who he is. He might have known that he was gay deep down inside but if he's chosen to ignore it then he's lived his life as this false Greg. As the years have gone on it has gotten harder to ignore the man he really is and it's taken over and basically killed the man he thought he knew he was, this false Greg. And all of a sudden he's been thrown out, coming to terms with this new, real Greg and thrown into a relationship with a man who has never had the same problems as him. You may have had your own problems but you always knew who you were and haven't lived to this point in your life walking through mist, never really seeing properly. On top of all of that he's still trying to deal with the guilt he feels about what he did to a perfectly innocent woman whose only crime was loving him and forgiving him countless times. Then you say 'It shouldn't matter'. Mycroft, he doesn't think that you really understand. Maybe try being less like a councillor and more like a boyfriend. Just listen and understand instead of trying to solve and explain."

Mycroft thought for a second or two then nodded slowly. "You're right… I have been such an idiot. Sherlock always said that even around the dinner table I looked like I was in a business meeting." John tried not to laugh. "Thank you." He stood, straightened his tie and put his hand out to shake John's. "If you'll excuse me I have an appointment but if you could, could you try to get Gregory to answer his phone, just once today?"

"I'll try." John smiled and reached for his jacket.

"Can I give you a lift, Dr Watson?"

"Oh thank you, I'll need to phone Sherlock. I don't actually know where the crime scene is. And call me John."