He did believe him.

He did.

He did believe in Sherlock Holmes.

But should he?

Sherlock's head had snapped around to glare at his brother with eyes so cold they burned.

"Yes." John kept his voice under control, for now. "He said he was, and I believe him."

The elder Holmes leaned back in his chair and regarded them slowly, regally, but there was also something very, very tired about his manner. "This is a very old habit of my brother's. It's gone on so long that it's become second nature, rather a friend, and is likely not something he will be very interested in stopping. He, like myself, can be very manipulative when he stands to lose something."

John felt the sofa shift beside him as Sherlock stood up. He continued to glare at Mycroft with a look so intense that it made even John uncomfortable.

"Mycroft. Shut up."

The standoff stretched out for several long minutes as Mycroft looked back up at him steadily, and John stared from one to the other.

"I came here for the sole purpose of ensuring—"

"I said shut up. You can both stop talking as if I can't hear you. Secondly, I have done nothing for over two weeks! I am clean. Despite what you may believe, I do have self-control."

That sounded as honest as the first time Sherlock had told him he'd stopped.

But when was the last time Mycroft had been wrong?

Did that mean…?

No. He didn't want to think that.

Sherlock didn't lie to him. He wouldn't just use him like that.

"I said nothing about your self-control, though I would like to. You claim to have 'done nothing,' but as I understand it John found you high out of your mind barely a week ago. I would not consider that 'nothing.' If that is your definition, then I can only wonder what else may be included."

Mycroft had a point…

Sherlock blinked and glanced away for a second. "That… was an alternative."

"Pardon?"

He cleared his throat and set his jaw. "A last-ditch effort to avoid doing… it."

"Hardly a step up."

"There weren't many 'step ups' available at the time." Sherlock's reply was snarky and genuine—not the sort of thing he said when he was trying to lie or persuade.

Maybe…

"And you expect me to believe you because…?"

"Because it's the truth. You haven't slept well for a while, I see. Could it be that you're getting antsy because you worry you can't control every detail about my life now? Your anxiety is making you delusional."

"I am anything but delusional, Sherlock. I aim only to make sure you don't end up dead on the floor and ruin the landlady's carpet."

Sherlock went white, and John stood quickly before either of them could say any more. "Okay, break it up! You're both delusional! Am I seriously the only one here who can think rationally for once?"

That one earned him two very surprised stares.

He took a deep breath and continued. He just better be right about this. "Mycroft—you care about him a lot, I can see that. But you're going about it the wrong way. You're so caught up in making sure he isn't lying that you're convinced he is. And Sherlock, I know he's overbearing, but he is just trying to help." He paused, suddenly uncomfortable with giving such a little speech. "I can't believe I'm having to explain this."

The brothers glanced at each other, for the moment united in their astonishment, though that remained understated, because, well, they were the Holmes.

John couldn't tell if they were convinced, but at least neither of them was spitting harsh words at him about it. Yet.

He crossed his arms.

This was ridiculous.

Both of them must care about each other, they were brothers for god's sake—but they were too stubborn to admit it, or to show it in any way. They seemed determined to one-up each other in their elaborate 'I-don't-give-a-shit' display.

It was probably the stupidest thing John had ever seen. Time for a change.

"Mycroft, stand up. I'm sick of this."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Am I being asked to leave, then…?"

"No. Just get up." He turned to Sherlock. "And you, stay right there."

Sherlock seemed torn between glaring at Mycroft and shooting searching glances at John. When the two of them were standing next to each other, save for the deliberate space between them, John nodded and took a breath, arms still crossed stubbornly.

"John, what are you even—"

"You two are brothers, and you need to start acting like it. I don't care if it kills you, you're going to hug each other."

From the looks on their faces, maybe it would kill them.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on! It's not that hard! People do it all the time!"

They spoke at the same time. "I'm not sure, in our situation—"

"No."

"I'm not taking no for answer." John tapped his foot impatiently and squared his shoulders.

Honestly, their expressions were ridiculous.

And so was their attitude.

But god dammit, they were just going to have to get over themselves.

"I'm waiting."

"I'll walk out." Sherlock muttered warningly.

"Do that and I'll let Mycroft do whatever he was planning on to 'help you.'"

"It's not as if I would let—"

John rolled his eyes and gave him a firm shove forward, and Sherlock found himself face to face with his brother, stumbling into him so Mycroft was forced to catch him before they both went tumbling over backwards.

Sherlock's face was ashen, and Mycroft, too, looked decidedly out of his depth.

"Proper hug. That's all I'm asking for. You two never show each other you care, and you both need it."

They hesitated, and seemed to decide there was no other way out.

It wasn't exactly what John would call a 'proper hug'; it was uncomfortable and quick, and Sherlock had no idea what to do with his hands and ended up just patting his back awkwardly.

When it was over they separated promptly, each trying desperately to regain his stoic composure without looking each other in the eyes.

But…

At least it was something.