Sherlock's grimace as he sat down at the dinner table did not escape Mycroft's notice. He raised an eyebrow at his brother questioningly. Sherlock had been out again last night and, while Mycroft hadn't witnessed him coming in, he knew his brother had arrived home late; after 2am. Sherlock ignored Mycroft's silent enquiry, keeping his head down as he continued to pick at his dinner.
Mummy chatted to Mrs Beeston as she cleared the dishes away, and Mycroft followed his brother into the drawing room.
"Not now, Mycroft." Sherlock warned, seeing his brother's approach and knowing exactly what he was going to say.
Mycroft sighed and poured them both a glass of after-dinner Port, passing the smaller one to his seventeen-year-old brother and taking the opposite seat to him next to the fireplace.
"I'm worried about you, Sherlock." he said, taking a long drink. "What kind of people are you hanging about with that they do this to you?" Mycroft waved his hands in the direction of Sherlock, indicating his full knowledge of his younger brother's new injuries.
"I don't need your concern, Mycroft." Sherlock spat, draining his glass and slamming it indelicately down on the table.
The younger man started to stand and Mycroft stood to approach his brother. As Mycroft looked into Sherlock's bloodshot eyes, he noticed his dilated pupils and noted a slight tremble in his hands.
He hesitated a moment before beginning to speak.
"Are you...?"
"What I do and who I do it with is none of your concern, brother." Sherlock interrupted, turning on his heels and heading out of the room. "I will thank you to keep your nose out of my business."