"I've just had the most disturbing moment of my adult life."
Sherlock turned questioningly from the window and raised an eyebrow at his brother, indicating for him to go on.
"Frankly, Brother Mine," Mycroft added tiredly, "It's your fault. I've just had a certain Doctor John Watson, formerly of Her Majesty's Royal Army, sobbing on my shoulder."
The younger brother's face flushed as he turned back to the window with an unsteady, "Is he alright?"
"His best friend just jumped off a building in front of him," Mycroft reprimanded, "And is now hiding under the pretense of being dead!"
"I don't have "friends," remember?" Sherlock snapped back.
"I used to believe you."
"What are you implying, Mycroft!"
"I am implying," Mycroft stated calmly, "That he is so close to following in your footsteps... and 'not friends' are not that attached."
"You don't honestly believe that John-" Mycroft was nodding, "-that he would..." Sherlock's voice died.
"Do what you have to do," Mycroft said quietly. "I'll watch over John... but he's resistant. You know this. I can only do so much."
For the second time that day, Mycroft had another's arms wrapped around him as he embraced them in turn, but Sherlock was different. He'd held his younger brother many times when they were children, but not since Sherlock's graduation. After they were both adults, their bond had torn. Sherlock was emphatic that he wasn't "Little Brother" anymore, thus, he became "Brother Mine," and "Little Brother" only when he was being a real pain.
"Do what you can, Mycroft..." Sherlock murmured before parting with his brother. "If...if this all comes to nothing... if he dies because I'm trying to save his life..."
The unspoken words were clear: he'd jump for real.
"I'll text you every few days, let you know how things are, and I expect you to do the same."
Mycroft had put on the big-brother-tone and Sherlock nodded amenably.
"Monthly meetings, too," Mycroft added. "You're not destroying your body by starving yourself of food and sleep."
"Okay."
Mycroft was concerned: his brother was never this agreeable. But then, he was losing his best friend.
"Good luck, Brother Mine," he murmured, stepping away.
"And you," was the curt reply, and then in the swirl of a coat, Sherlock left.