A/N: Wow, I'm a very sucky person. You guys have been waiting months for an update! My life is so crazy and hectic, making it very difficult to find time to write! I know my promises do not mean anything, but I promise I will never give up on this story! Unless there is a spontaneous, tragic accident that changes my life or leaves me dead, I will finish this story! You will just have to be extremely patient with me.

WARNING: I decided to not put any more warnings for language because you guys should know by now that I like to use it quite often. So I guess: WARNING, there will most definitely be tons of strong language from here on out and probably until my dying breath! Tread carefully and, of course, enjoy!

Chapter 11: The Encounter

John stood in the cafeteria checkout line, holding a cup of coffee and some jam spread toast. He waited patiently as the woman in front of him took 50 years to search for her credit card in her large Gucci purse just to pay for one granola bar. After almost 10 minutes passed, John was ready to offer to pay for her food, when she finally found what she was looking for. John sighed with relief as he quickly paid for his food and left.

As John walked down the halls, sipping his coffee and nibbling on his toast with, surprisingly, the most delightful jam, he passed by the hospital gift shop and stopped. He looked in through the glass walls and saw several different bright flower arrangements along with all the other "get well soon" gifts. John was tempted to go in and buy Sherlock some beautiful, white roses or some colorful chrysanthemums, but decided against it as he knew that his best friend would not appreciate the gesture. John could just picture Sherlock lecturing him about how sentiment is a chemical defect or some shit like that. John almost laughed at the thought of how well he knows his friend. Well, obviously not well enough. John thought, a pang of guilt hitting him. John turned his back on the gift shop and continued on his course to Sherlock's room.

John reached the room and opened the door slowly, trying to make as little sound as possible. When he entered the room, he saw something that he did not expect to see. Mycroft Holmes was sitting in the chair a meter away from Sherlock's bed. He was looking down upon his little brother with scrutinizing eyes, his brows furrowed as he took in every part of Sherlock's appearance. There was something hidden behind those dark, cold eyes that was trying to force its way through Mycroft's arrogant and proper façade. What was it; pain, sadness? John highly doubted that Mycroft Holmes had the ability to feel any of these emotions, whether it was for his little brother or not.

But then there was Sherlock; blunt, high-handed Sherlock. John never thought his flat mate was capable of feeling, well, anything, except, of course, excitement for the occasional triple homicide or pleased with a challenge that he could pick apart and solve with great satisfaction. Moriarty was a thrilling challenge for Sherlock, in which he took head on without any thought. But even beside the pool, seconds away from being blown sky high, the thought did not even seem to faze Sherlock, instead he just grinned in the face of death. John was so sure he had figured his friend out, but he had it wrong the whole time. Sherlock was a human like everybody else. He felt emotions just like any other person, he just chose to hide them away. Mycroft could be the same.

As soon as Mycroft heard the squeak of the door closing, he immediately looked up, whatever emotion that John glimpsed at quickly vanished. Mycroft smirked at John with his normal, conceited smirk. Burning hatred bubbled up inside John as he had the strong urge to punch that insolent smile off of his face.

Mycroft stood up, leaning on his ever present umbrella. "Why hello, John. How nice it is to see you. Hope you are doing well, considering Sherlock's most recent idiotic actions." He spoke, the disgust in his voice immediately wiping away John's original thought of Mycroft being able to feel anything. John could not even believe that he compared this fucker to Sherlock.

Mycroft looked around the little hospital room with complete revulsion, as if it was the last place he rather be. Knowing Mycroft, that was probably true.

There was silence between the two men, john's angry, heated glare fixed on Mycroft's cool, icy one.

After a while, Mycroft sighed. "Well, I best be off. I have an important meeting with the Prime Ministers of eight different countries in a little bit more than an hour, to discuss… oh you don't need to worry about that," Mycroft smirked, as he headed toward the door. "Take care, John, and please do make sure to keep a close eye on my brother. We do not want him to fall into more trouble, now do we?" He pushed open the door and left.

Anger bubbled up inside John. He tried really hard to keep it contained, but the last insensitive comment that Mycroft made and the loathing that he felt toward him in that moment pushed him over the edge.

John loudly pushed open the door and stepped into the florescent-lit hallway. "I have something to say to you, Mycroft Holmes!" John spat, his fists balling up at his sides, knuckles turning white.

Mycroft stopped dead in his tracks. He slowly turned around and glared daggers at John. "Really, John? There are eight men waiting for me to help devise a plan for preventing terrorist organizations from attacking their soil. Now, you best tell me what it is you must say to me or leave me be and run yourself back to Sherlock. He should be waking up soon based on how much morphine they recorded giving to him."

John clenched his jaw and then harshly spoke, saying, "Why do you have to be such a heartless dick all the time. Sherlock, your brother, is in the fucking hospital right now from attempting to take his own life, and all you can think of is your fucking meeting!" It felt so good for John to yell and let all his anger and frustration out. All these emotions built up from the past few days and all this piled disliking toward Mycroft ever since he first met the man in that warehouse, were really starting ware him down. John knew this feeling before even meeting Sherlock. It would latch on to him for days, weeks, even months at a time, slowly draining him until he finally cracked. John knew he was being extremely harsh, but at the moment, he did not give a bloody damn. He just really needed the catharsis.

John could see Mycroft trying to keep his cold exterior, but there was hot steam rising behind those dark eyes. His grip on his umbrella grew tighter.

John should have stopped there, but he knew there was no turning back at this point. He needed to let his sharp words flow out of his mouth. "Where were you, hm?" John yelled, loudly. "Where were you when Sherlock put that fucking noose around his neck and kicked away the chair? You always seemed to know what the hell Sherlock is doing all the time, so where were you and your handy-dandy surveillance cameras? Or maybe you did see Sherlock trying to off himself, and you just really did not give a fuck. Maybe you even got some sick, sadistic joy from watching him in pain. Now tell me, Mycroft. Did you find it hilarious when his limbs jerked from lack of oxygen? Was the sight of tears streaming down his face thoroughly entertaining to you? I would not even be the littlest surprised if you recorded it, so that in the future you could watch the video when things got too dull. Maybe you would even go so far to…"

"Will you shut the bloody hell up?!" Mycroft roared, face red from such strong anger. His voice echoed loudly, and John could even swear that he could feel the floor shake beneath him. He continued in a strong, yet pained, voice, "Do you really take me as such a heartless man? My heart may have hardened with ice the past many years, but do not think for one second that my little feud against Sherlock has surpassed my feelings toward him. He is still and will always be my brother, and I his. I may have failed him many times in his life, and he may have pushed me away as a result, but my ability to care for him has not wavered." Mycroft looked away from John. "I may come off as a sociopath, but that does not mean that I do not feel anything."

John stood there stunned by Mycroft's words, speechless almost. He has learned so much from the Holmes boys these past few days than he has since he first met them those many months ago. John could not help but stare at him in awe, his anger practically diminished.

The two stood there in a heavy silence, Mycroft still fuming. Mycroft quickly regained his composure and straightened himself up. He brought his eyes back to John and sighed. "Well," Mycroft spoke, "now that that is out of the way, I really must be going. Prime Ministers do get quite impatient."

Mycroft turned on his heels without another word and walked off down the fluorescently lit hallway, eventually vanishing around the corner.

Passersby awkwardly stared at John as he still stood there frozen in the middle of the hallway. John could not even feel their burning glares on him. His whole body became numb from how his and Mycroft's heated argument ended.

John rapidly blinked his eyes as he broke out of his stunned state. He looked around and saw all the eyes locked on him. All conversations had stopped in mid-sentence, as guests, doctors, and nurses watched the previous confrontation being played out. John's face turned a bright hew of pink from embarrassment. Not all the stares were angry and judgmental, though. Some, mainly coming from the nurses, including the nurse that witnessed his breakdown earlier, looked at him with sad, sympathetic eyes. John averted his eyes from the people, quickly mumbled a quiet apology, and walked back into Sherlock's room, not looking back.

A/N: So what do you guys think? I have really wanted to pull Mycroft into the story and finally found my chance to do that! I really like the thought of the Holmes boys showing their human side, which is what this story is going to be about, actually. Also, it's nice to have some hints at why Mycroft and Sherlock's relationship is filled with so much contempt (I mean most of the time Sherlock cannot even stand his brother's presence). It makes me think that something really bad must have happened in their childhood that caused at least one of them to push the other away.

Even though this is mainly a fic between Sherlock and John, be prepared for more Mycroft in the future!

Thanks for reading! I hope to see some more thoughts, comments, and suggestions in the reviews! It's very awesome to hear what you guys think about my story! Plus, you guys have really cool and interesting ideas that I always love to read! I promise, they are all being taken into consideration!

I love you all, and thanks for being so amazingly brilliant! :) Cheers!