AN: Now being beta-read by the lovely Anarfea!

The video played on the tiny screen in John's palm and, though the sound was muted, he could hear every word. Goodness knows he'd certainly listened to it enough to have it memorized.

"John?" Sherlock mumbled, sounding groggy but cognizant.

"Well look who finally decided to wake up," John said, leaning forward. Sherlock's pupils were still a tad dilated but nothing like black holes they'd been when he'd told him about Mycroft.

The smile he gave Sherlock was a fake, and not a very good one at that, but John had never been able to act like Sherlock could.

"You haven't slept."

John didn't bother to deny it. He'd been sleeping fitfully in the hospital chair for the past few days, having refused to leave Sherlock's side. Mycroft had understood the unspoken warning and smartly stayed away. Instead of answering, he turned his attention to the evidence in his palm that he'd never be able to use. He pressed the close button.

"Well, you were stabbed," John replied.

"Not fatally," Sherlock answered. He narrowed his eyes in what John assumed was supposed to be intimidation. He couldn't quite pull it off with the sickly pale skin and slightly unfocused gaze.

"Yes." John waved an arm at him. "You are still here, after all."

"Mmm."

Sherlock's eyelids drifted down, and slow, even breaths made their way in and out of his slightly parted lips. Well then, that conversation hadn't lasted long.

John almost jumped when they flew back open.

"Phone."

John hesitated at the outstretched hand before deciding to get up and retrieve Sherlock's mobile. He resolutely ignored the questioning look sent his way. Best not to give Sherlock access to the recording.

Sherlock began texting immediately once the mobile hit his hand. "You filmed me and now don't want me to view the video. Must have been quite the show," he said, not looking up.

"You did mention something about how I looked like a hedgehog."

"Hmm. Yes."

"What do you mean-"

"Why did you fight with my brother?"

John froze, though he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Nothing about Sherlock should be surprising anymore. "What?"

"Nevermind. Mycroft is refusing to answer. He always answers when I'm in hospital. Add that to the fact you're looking at me like I'm a victim of some heinous crime, and I can only conclude you've become aware of the nature of my relationship with my brother." Sherlock frowned. "The recording on your phone. You should delete it."

John pressed a protective hand over the pocket that held his mobile. "It's evidence."

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "I had hoped you would be able to understand, but clearly I've overestimated your intelligence."

"Much older big brother is having sex with the younger brother, whose life he controls, for all intents and purposes. Doesn't take a genius to think there's something not quite right about that."

"You believe Mycroft is controlling me?"Sherlock looked amused.

"Not necessarily. It could be an unconscious decision on your part. You're smart enough to realize that he can make your life difficult-"

Sherlock sighed again and turned his attention towards the mobile in his hands. "Dull."

"Sherlock, will you bloody well listen to me for once in your life!"

John reached forwards to yank the phone out of his hands or maybe turn his face back towards him or – something. He wasn't certain exactly. It didn't matter anyway as he found himself paused with his arm outstretched, hand just on the outside of the invisible barrier that was Sherlock's personal space. Nevermind that Sherlock never seemed to notice said space.

He flinched back at the ugly look Sherlock sent him.

"I'm not going to cry if you touch me. I haven't been traumatized by my brother's actions. For goodness sakes John, I was the one who instigated the relationship!"

"You did," John said. Was that how Mycroft had phrased it to a younger Sherlock? Twisted things around until it was suddenly his idea?

"You don't believe me."

"Of course I don't believe you! Mr. 'I'm married to my work.' I've never so much as thought you might masturbate, let alone start an illicit relationship with your damn brother!"

"Can you shout any louder John!"

They both glanced towards the door. Blood sang in John's ears and it was all he could do not to run out into the hall and shout the truth to everyone he met. See Mycroft try to cover that up.

When it appeared no one was coming to inquire about the Holmes' incestuous love life, Sherlock continued, "I could hardly tell a man I'd just met that I was in a relationship that defied society's definition of appropriate." His voice told John everything he needed to know about Sherlock's thoughts on society and its silly rules. "Your reaction now, after we've known each other for a number of years, is evidence enough of how well that would have gone."

Though Sherlock didn't say it, John could read between the lines and hear the rest of it. Sherlock had liked him, from the very beginning, and hadn't wanted to lose him. Even now, he wouldn't have told him his secret willingly for fear of John leaving. It was enough to simmer his anger to a more controllable level. He reminded himself that he wasn't angry at Sherlock.

"You began your relationship. Ok. How did that happen?" John tried to keep his voice soft, aware of the fact that Sherlock wasn't used to questions like these. Personal questions.

Sherlock shrugged. "I'd thought him perfect for years. A highly intelligent individual who was not only aware of my more eccentric behavior, but was himself not what society would consider 'normal.' At least not any more normal than he pretended to be for all of the simple-minded people constantly about." He crinkled his nose in distaste. "He was someone that would be forced to put up with me whether we slept together or not, so we might as well enjoy the more carnal pleasures with one another. It was only logical that I pursue him."

Logical. Sleeping with his brother had been logical. Bloody hell.

"And then you had sex."

"Yes, John. We had sex. I can't understand your obsession with it. It must be so boring to live a life full of the thoughts of body parts rubbing against each other."

John winced at the mental image of Sherlock and Mycroft rubbing anything together. "He agreed to all of this right away, then?"

"Hardly. It took me several years to convince him that it was pointless to follow the conventions of people that hadn't the intelligence to tell the difference between a dog groomer and an actress based upon their shoes, let alone understand the complexities of a relationship between two equals that just happened to have been born to the same family. You yourself are an example of the sort of dull creatures we have to put up with every day. Can you imagine either of us actually engaging in a relationship with one?"

John's lips thinned into a tight line.

"No offense."

John was starting to think Sherlock didn't actually know what that phrase meant.

Sherlock pressed on. "Of course, one can't discount the effect of my addiction-" Sherlock abruptly cut himself off, the expression on his face saying his brain had finally caught up to his mouth. He gave John an uncertain look. The one he gave him whenever he realized accidentally wandered into something a bit not good.

"The effect of your addiction?"

"Relief over my continued existence, no doubt."

And that was a lie if John had ever heard one. Not the words, they made sense enough, but the way Sherlock pointedly tried to appear as if he didn't care. Considering he'd just gotten done trying to convince John fucking his brother was natural, his sudden disinterest in how that had come about was suspect at least.

"Right."

They stared at each other for a moment, John for once the one trying to figure out Sherlock's secrets.

"Yes, well, if you could please refrain from attacking the British Government, I would be most appreciative. Though I've no doubt Mycroft deserves a good chinning, it does make him unbearably moody, and I would like to have sex again sometime in the next century."

"I won't make any promises," John said, making a face at the mention of sex.

He silently promised himself he'd deck Mycroft every chance he got.