This isn't how things are supposed to be
"I want to be left alone," mumbled Sherlock and Mycroft nodded in consent and both he and John wandered into the kitchen, talking in hushed voices that the detective didn't bother to try to listen to. The embarrassment was just starting to filter into his mind. The sociopath had shown emotion; that was a paradox if ever he had heard one. He had always prided himself on the sociopath label, even though it was a label he had admittedly given himself. It kept his away from people, he had always revelled in solitude and he much preferred that label to the Asperger's diagnosis he knew John had given him; he'd looked at his internet history.
His grip on the cushions tightened as frustration in his inability to control his normally non-existent emotions hidden. He'd shown weakness in front of his best friend and brother no less. And since when did Sherlock Holmes have a best friend, he had acquaintances, those he was indifferent to, those he hated, enemies, arch enemies, the occasional person he respected, a few people who he kept around because they sometimes proved useful but he didn't have friends. Friends could be used to hurt him, they could be targeted and cause unnecessary weaknesses. They might interfere with the work. He'd had a friend once before and that had ended in disaster, one of the criminals he was chasing manipulated him, making him shot Sherlock and then kill himself, after that incident he had completely isolated himself from everyone except Mycroft. But he didn't think he could get rid of John now he was in his life and he hated himself for it, John would most likely at the hands of someone trying to annoy the detective or trying to get his attention.
In anger Sherlock raised his arm, gripping onto one of the cushions and went to throw it at the wall but a hand grabbed his arm from behind stopping him instantly. Looking up he could see the kindly yet worried face of John and he felt all of the anger melt out of him, it was a peculiar sensation. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with concern, Mycroft lurking in the background, the constant presence.
"Nothing," muttered Sherlock lowering his arm but then he caught the glare that his brother was shooting in his direction and he thought it best to change his answer in case Mycroft did in fact have to power to make people spontaneously combust, if anyone was to have that power it would most definitely be his brother.
John sat down next to his friend and smiled. "That's called being human Sherlock. I do need to have a serious chat with you as Mycroft said but we can postpone it if you wish, you have had rather an emotionally exhausting day today." Sherlock shook his head.
"If we have to talk about this then I'd rather get it over with, if we put it off then I know I won't let it happen."
"Are you sure?" Sherlock nodded once again and John smiled as a means of encouragement.
"Very well, Mycroft, do take a seat. I have no idea how long this is going to last."