John knew, from the very moment he heard his diagnosis, that he would not kill himself. He would not allow anyone to assist in his suicide. For John could not allow Sherlock one less day with him. He could not allow Sherlock to inject him or have someone else do it. He could not allow a future Sherlock to fall into his periods of "silence" and, ultimately, focus on what he'd done.
One afternoon, when the pain was nearly beyond endurance, when Sherlock unsteadily prepared an injection of pain medication, John saw; a telling look, indescribable, and lasting less than a second. A look that told John that as he slept: Sherlock would prepare a hypo, gently insert the contents, and then watch as his breathing and heart slowed and stopped.
John spoke with Mrs. Hudson, asked her to contact Anthea. His message to Anthea was coded-he had to keep from laughing at that, 'how very Bond' Sherlock would sneer- he wanted to meet with Mycroft.
And so, a "situation" was created, one which "demanded" Sherlock's attention. Sherlock, of course, refused to go. Until John gave him a calculated look and begged him to help.
Mycroft did not appear in a suit; what John had thought his only clothing, much as Sherlock's designer trousers, tight fitting shirts and Belstaff coat. Mycroft was wearing jeans and a cashmere jumper.
John actually stared for several seconds.
"Yes, John, I do own other clothing." Mycroft smiled he then sat in the chair beside John's bed "Tell me."
John's ability to speak had slowed considerably, was slurred and rough. He also needed to take frequent breaks. Mrs. Hudson, anyone that heard him speak, would be unable to fully mask their grief at the slow loss. Even Sherlock.
Mycroft however, along with Anthea, never cared. John had observed them both when their 'act' of indifference broke. He knew that his decline in speaking was not something they pitied. He was grateful for that.
John explained what he had seen.
Mycroft leaned forward, and placed his hand atop John's "Your reasoning is for my brother, but what of you?"
"It's what I want."
Mycroft shook his head "That isn't true though." Mycroft grabbed John's hand.
"It's what I want for him." John paused "your brother doesn't know what he has in you. What you've given for him. His dislike of you is selfish and childish and cruel. Yet you do it all, because you love him." John took several moments "Even your...that time in the palace, what you said. It was all an act because that's who you are to Sherlock. You know what he needs."
"I am not dying, John. I'm not in pain that only ceases when sedated."
John tried his best to squeeze Mycroft's hand "you'd do the same for him."
Mycroft's entire body twitched "I'll ensure he-" Mycroft smoothed the impeccable front of his jumper, eyes focused intently on his hands. Mycroft stood, looked at John's face as if making a vital decision, and then leaned down and placed his palm against John's forehead. He looked into John's eyes for nearly a minute.
John understood Mycroft's gesture, smiled gently and tried his best to communicate his thankfulness towards who Mycroft truly is. What John does not expect, is four words that come softly and unsteadily from Sherlock's "Arch Enemy"
"I will miss you."