"Did you know he was alive?" He asked, though he knew the answer really. If Mycroft had ever been fooled, he'd have worked it out in far less than three years.
"…Of course I did." Mycroft answered. For the first time in his life, he was both confused and failing to pretend otherwise. As he had been instrumental in the fake death plan all along, knowing Sherlock was still alive hadn't been much of a deduction.
Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say. Mycroft was a decent fighter, if forced to involve himself in such a base human drive, but he did not quite match John Watson. Mycroft observed the fist heading towards his face and the rather unfortunate fact it was adorned with a small silver ring, much faster than he could get out it's way. The ring bounced off his left canine with a sickening crunch, while the rest of John's fist sent him crashing to the ground in a most undignified manner.
Dazed, but beginning to realise what might have gone wrong, Mycroft shook off rising nausea and met John's furious glare.
"You betrayed him, you sold out your own brother to a psychopath and then you let him betray the only people in the world who care about him." John spat.
Mycroft had rarely seen anyone, let alone John, so angry. John had said most of this to him before, though he did not know or even suspect at the time, how badly it was all going to end. Mycroft and Sherlock did know, of course, though it took Mycroft longer to accept than Sherlock. The most dangerous man in Britain had wanted to detain Moriarty in the cell they'd interrogated him in. He believed without compunction, that a quiet bullet through the brain of an unarmed and contained lunatic was fair game, when Sherlock was his target. Sherlock had known they couldn't do that. Moriarty's reach went far beyond one man.
Mycroft pushed himself to his knees, wiping the blood off his lip and grimacing at the flare of pain telling him John had knocked one of his teeth out.
"No, on all four counts." He muttered, anger beginning to burn through his veins, followed dizzyingly quickly by utter despair. John was wrong, but it wasn't his fault. Only Sherlock, could possibly have made an error such as this one.
Mycroft didn't have time to see whether John had heard what he'd said, or been able to count the four mistakes, as the former soldier caught him across the cheek with a powerful backhand. While Mycroft was down and stunned once more, John crouched over him and smacked him, hard, across the same cheek, fist closed this time.
Mycroft knew better than to try to fight him. Not, because he didn't stand a chance, that much was incidental beside the security force he could have with him in minutes if he were so inclined. He didn't fight, because John was one third of the reason for the jump off St Bart's roof. Mycroft was not going to risk Sherlock's sacrifice to prevent a few bruises. John had enough self control not to cause any worse damage than that.
He grabbed Mycroft by the lapels and pulled his shoulders off the floor, shaking him violently.
"Every petty thing you told me about him, every childish thing he told me about you, meant nothing, he trusted you."
Mycroft could feel his eyes rolling back in his head. About seven different John's looked down at him, seeming to realise there was no longer much point in hitting him. It wasn't going to give him much satisfaction if Mycroft wasn't awake to feel it. He let go and stood up abruptly. Mycroft gritted his teeth and forced himself to attempt to get to his feet.
John stood over him while he closed his eyes, forcibly slowed down his breathing and pushed himself off the floor. His nose started bleeding in earnest.
"If anyone deserved to believe he was really dead, you did." John stated flatly, looking at him with such disgust, Mycroft was genuinely offended. Before he walked away, John gave one last parting comment, meant to hurt just as much.
"He would never, have betrayed you."
How ironic, Mycroft thought to himself, struggling to his feet and flexing his jaw. If John's visit had done nothing else, it had let Mycroft know Sherlock had done precisely that.
