Sherlock arrived at his brothers dwelling shortly after he left John's flat. Together, the brothers went to Sherlock's flat and Mycroft waited patiently as his little brother packed a suitcase.

"He asked you to stay longer?"

"Even a single night requires clothes. I need more than the sleep wear you handed me last night."

"How is he doing?

"Fine. Not like you really care."

"Should we wait until we get back to my place or are you going to just start demanding answers about how to fix this?"

"I don't know how to deal with amnesia patients."

"It's not my area either, brother."

"You could have mentioned he had amnesia!" Sherlock exploded, throwing a once well folded shirt at the suitcase. Mycroft made no facial expression.

"It was not an important detail."

"It's the most important detail."

"Do you love him less?"

"No, I..." Sherlock paused, realizing that it was true. John was still the same man, kind and caring and passionate. "We have to start all over."

"Love doesn't make anything easy, Sherlock. If his memories come back, he will remember you. If they don't, well, he seems taken by you already. He hasn't kicked you out of the flat. He encouraged you to stay."

"Still a bloody arse thing to do."

"I see none of that angst he had when you were in school. Be thankful he's a grown man now. None of that nonsense."

"His father could turn the tide."

"If his father becomes a problem, I'll have him removed." Mycroft pulled a glove off his hand, his face expressionless. Sherlock was fighting hard to control his shock. Why would Mycroft even suggest, even offer such a thing? What was it to him if Sherlock was happy?

The brothers made little talk as they were driven towards Mycroft's home. Half way, he received a call and told the driver to take them to his office instead. Sherlock made no comment, and had none to give, to this change. Once in the office, Mycroft settled behind the desk and busied himself with work all the while urging Sherlock onward.

"It's difficult to admit I'm very helpless with John."

"I'm sure it is. That's why I called in a favor." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, looking to the door as Mycroft paged someone to come in. A woman with long, red hair and glasses came in, arms holding a few notebooks as well as a backpack. She couldn't have been older than 19. She sat in the chair directly beside Sherlock, seemingly unfazed by his demeanor.

"Hello, Felicia, this is Sherlock Holmes, the man I spoke to you about."

Her gaze, a liquid green, landed on him. It was very unusual that anyone made him feel remotely uncomfortable, but her gaze did just that.

"I hear you're having problems with an associate."

"He's my friend." There was a pause before she smiled coldly.

"Friend. Of course. He has amnesia. Afghanistan, correct?"

"Yes. He remembers bits and pieces but I'm unsure how to... help him."

"Yes. I have gathered the information you will need." She handed him two of the notebooks. The hand writing in them was neat, precise, and seemingly non female. Yet Sherlock knew it was her hand writing. "I hope I don't have to go over the writing."

"No." Sherlock was beginning to become irritated at the young girl. She obviously thought herself above him. If John wasn't so important and first priority, he would have considered teaching her exactly how much more intelligent he was.

Since John was, in fact, more important than proving his intellect to a lowly teen, Sherlock instead flipped the first notebook open. There were many possibilities for head trauma, many possible ways to get his memory back. It was underlined three precise times that he never, ever force the memories in any way shape or form. This included telling John specific things in life.

Sherlock read, "The possibility that a memory never fully comes back even if all other memory does, simply because they were told it was a certain way. For example: If their favorite color is blue but they are told it is red, if all other memory comes back but they believed you upon the favorite color, they will almost always prefer red." That part was simple enough to read and understand. What Sherlock found to be irate, however, was not founded out of incapability of understanding.

"Although through relationship status, new memories that are similar to the old ones are acceptable unless the relationship was ended by the one who received head trauma. The relationship on-goings beforehand should be kept at least somewhat a secret, such as a particular date or time. The sentence, 'We've gone to the carnival dozens of times before,' is unhealthy."

Sherlock looked up at his brother. "Is it really necessary to assume John and I are a relationship?"

"I don't assume anything, brother dear, I merely observe."

"It would be healthy if we all met up once a week, as needed, until John's full situation is understood." Felicia slipped into the conversation, stopping Sherlock's retort at the roots. "Or I can simply meet up with Sherlock and discuss any questions or concerns."

"You think this girl is skilled enough to be the head care-taker of John? What credentials could she have aside from parents' money?" Sherlock snapped out. She didn't seem the least bit surprised or taken back.

"About as much as you ridding on our parents' money throughout your education. She is top in her class and I respect her enough to have her on my payroll. She is appointed head of John's care-taking by me. I will gladly take your word into consideration if you feel another person is more capable..."

"I am." Sherlock interrupted and Mycroft sighed.

"I know you think it so, Sherlock, but you are emotionally invested and am therefore unable to make cold calculations the likes of which are necessary. I am simply looking out for John's health."

"You don't fool me, Mycroft. His life isn't a toy for you."

"I am well aware. I assure you." The brothers stared each other down for a few moments before Felicia cleared her throat rather haughtily.

"Let's get back to the papers, shall we? I have much to do and I would like you to read through the notes for any questions you may have."

Mycroft's phone buzzed to life at this moment. He threw on his charming smile and told Sherlock he would be but a moment.

Help please. JW

Frowning, Mycroft put his phone back in his pocket. He thought about the message for one split second before joining in on the rather heated argument Sherlock started with Felicia about family support and how John's family isn't supportive enough to keep a jelly bean off the floor.

The question now was, how to deal with the text message that may or may not have been for Mycroft, and what to do about it.