If anybody is cursing me for the last chapter, do please forgive me. I'm the most cold hearted fanfiction writer alive. Hope this one will make you feel better.

Breaking

"What did you expect, Sherlock?"

Mycroft Holmes looked at his brother, standing in front of him, drenched, white shaking. He noted the red rimmed eyes.

Sherlock looked at him as if he was insane.

"What did I expect?! Mycroft, I expected him to stay alive, to not give up!"

Mycroft shifted the inkpot on his table. "He is alive. So be happy."

There was a rattle and the inkpot spilled as his brother's hand slammed on the table. "Be happy?! Mycroft, how can you say that?! I've just found out that my best friend attempted suicide in the three years I was gone and you-"

"Sherlock."

Sherlock Holmes stops at the tone of his brother's voice.

"Sherlock, you are the most egocentric, selfish, imbecilic being I have had the misfortune of knowing."

He saw his brother start.

"You expect Dr. Watson is at your beck and call, is that correct? You expect him to be there when you leave, to be there when you come back. You expect him to blindly forgive you, to go wherever you please, whenever you please. You expect him to do whatever you please. So congratulations, Sherlock. He has lived up to your expectations so far. "

He saw his brother's pale face blanch even whiter.

"But, Mycroft, I-"

"You think that only you have the right to break, do you, Sherlock?" Mycroft was not aware when his voice had risen but it had. "You are the only one who is allowed to go into depression, to take cocaine, to go into black fits, to shun friend and family?! Are you the only one Sherlock?"

Sherlock's face had gone a deep red. His eyes glittered angrily.

"Mycroft" he said, dangerously "Don't you dare say that. There is nothing-"

"Then why did he try it?!" Mycroft got to his feet and stood facing his brother. "Do you think he does not require support?! Or do you regard him as a constant, always there to support you and take care of you and bring you back from the edge of death? Has he no family? Is he not human?"

If it was possible to kill with words, Sherlock would have been six feet under by now.

"He always stayed with me." Mycroft started at his brother's voice. He had never sounded like this before. "Always. He was always at my side. Even when he got married, he would help me. He was always there."

He sounded like a broken child.

"Sherlock." Mycroft saw his brother look up. There was no tears but such a deep despair and sadness showed in his grey eyes that Mycroft suddenly felt an intense deep sympathy for his brother. God Knows, Sherlock had always been sensitive as a child and now this.

"You were gone for three years, Sherlock." He tried to make his voice as gentle as possible. "Three years and he thought you were dead, gone from his life forever. You were always very close, Sherlock, you must see how much that hurt him. And then, his wife died."

Sherlock looked away.

"He loved her, you know that. God knows Sherlock, he might have broken long ago, but he held on. And, with time he steadied himself, writing stories. And when they ran out, there was nothing to hold him to life anymore. Nobody."

His brother stood, looking out of the window, his hands clenched

"But…he didn't break, Sherlock. Be proud of him. He may have tried to, but he held on. I've seen him during those months." Mycroft looked away from his brother. "Sometimes I wish you would not regard everything as a case Sherlock. Certainly not him."

The soft thudding sounds told him that Sherlock had reached the door. He looked up to see his brother twist the knob. Open the door, leave the building.

The rain hadn't stopped.

This isn't even a drabble.