Chapter summary: Mycroft visits his little brothers.

Author's Note: Apologies in advance for my mistakes. Sorry, this is a rather little chapter, but there's a hint of what is to come.

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"Dad cheated on mummy-" John trailed off and stared at his brother. "Richard was unfaithful?"

Mycroft sipped more of the offered tea John had made and shifted on the chair. It was not an easy topic of conversation, neither was it easy to tell John, the man who he considered was his little brother that their father had had two affairs with his respective secretary an a colleague. Mycroft knew Sherlock had always known, of course. In fact, Sherlock had deduced it and had known it since he was very little, almost a teenager, and he never told John. John was very fond of their father. Richard had always loved John, he had always supported him and somehow patted his back when he announced once afternoon when he was a merely thirteen-year-old boy that he wanted to be a soldier.

"Yes. Two times. One week with a young secretary and then two months with a colleague of his," explained Mycroft, as if it had been the most natural thing to explain.

John caught his breath. He had always considered Richard as a good hearted man who loved their mummy deeply. It was obvious he loved her. Richard was always taking their mummy abroad on holiday every time he had one or two days off. He gave her expensive necklaces, flowers, cars - everything Elizabeth wanted, Richard was there to please her.

"You knew."

Mycroft nodded. "Obviously."

"Sherlock knew."

"He had always known."

"And why he never told me?"

Mycroft frowned. "Why don't you ask him?"

"You know I can't."

"He chose not to tell you because he wanted to protect you," Mycroft said calmly. "You loved our father. And he loved you too. Do you really think Sherlock would have wanted to see you, shall we say, heartbroken knowing our father was unfaithful to our mother?"

John chose not to say a word this time. He sunk into the armchair. The empty cup on his hand felt light and if it hadn't been because it was Mrs Hudson's, John would have slammed it against the wall. John couldn't live knowing Sherlock was his brother, that they were finally together liked they used to, like they used to when they were kids, together all day long, but now they were complete strangers. They barely spoke to each other. Sherlock was away most of the day and John just stared at the black armchair in the living room, that dark armchair Sherlock had bought for him when they were living together years ago before he had left to Afghanistan.

"If it's any consolation, remember father always went back to our house at the end of the day, to his bed with mummy, to us. Those... adventures were nothing," said Mycroft softly.

John decided to change the subject. "He talked about mummy too."

"He's hurt. He thinks she did it on purpose. That she left him on purpose."

"Why does he think that?" John asked confusedly. "What else did he forget?"

Mycroft took a deep breath. This was not going to be easy. But John needed to know.

He couldn't lie to John anymore.

"He thinks the doctor who looked after mummy killed her."

John wanted to cry. Because he had been the doctor looking after mummy, prescribing her medications, taking her pulse, listening to her heart, making himself sure she was fine.

And now Sherlock thought he had been the one who killed their mummy.

"Ah, Mrs Hudson said there was someone who wanted to see me," said Sherlock as he opened the door. "Getting John to make you tea?"

John looked away. He stood up and offered his hand to Mycroft. "Good afternoon, Mr Holmes."

"Thanks for the tea, Doctor Watson."

John put his jacket on and left.

Mycroft looked how Sherlock ran to the windows and watched John walking down the streets.

"What are you doing here?" hissed Sherlock angrily. "Making yourself sure I'm not injecting myself again?"

Mycroft nodded. And this only made Sherlock feel angrier. "Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."

"What did you tell him?"

"Nothing."

Sherlock sat on his own chair and glued his hands together under his chin. "Threatening him like the others?"

"Doctor Watson is different from the others," admitted Mycroft, fixing his eyes on hi own umbrella. "I know he will keep you sane."

Sherlock curled his lips slightly upwards into a little smile. "Jealous?"

"Of an ordinary, army doctor?" Mycroft asked sarcastically.

"John is not ordinary."

Mycroft stared at his little brother. There was something in his eyes... something that made Mycroft feel relieved John had finally come back to them, to take care and keep Sherlock sane. Because what Sherlock needed was John - his brother.

But there was something else.

Something Mycroft didn't like. Or at least he knew he was not going to like at all.

"You have grown quite fond of Doctor Watson," Mycroft said, just a simple comment.

But he wished he wouldn't have said that.

Because Sherlock's answer was the last thing Mycroft had wanted to hear.

"John is different. He's special," Sherlock said softly, not looking at his brother but at the door, as if John would come back in at any moment soon. "He keeps me entertained."

Mycroft laughed sarcastically. "Does he?"

"Oh yes," Sherlock almost panted. "And not so many men had done that in the past."