Sherlock's secret

CHAPTER 9

John had been sleeping, his head leaning on his hand, when the loud footsteps woke him. He looked up, flinching as he saw Mycroft heading straight for him, and judging by the expression on his face, he was pissed.

"How long have you known? Why didn't you tell me?" He was practically yelling, and John looked around, embarrassed.

"Mycroft, please calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down, Watson-"

"I only found out today," he quickly blurted, cutting him off. Mycroft's face fell and he sat on the chair next to John. "I only found out before...before he attempted." John's face flushed, feeling guilty for not even being able to say the words.

"I should have warned you, John. I'm so sorry, you didn't know what you were getting in to when you met my brother."

"Don't apologize Mycroft. I wouldn't trade your brother for anything in the world. He is the most amazing person I know." He paused, his heart aching. "Scars and all."

They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. John spoke first, asking what had been plaguing him since he first saw the blade littered sink.

"Why?" Seeing Mycroft's confused expression, he elaborated. "I mean, how did it start? When did you find out? Just...why?"

The older Holmes brother took a deep breath, composing himself. This subject rattled him like no other. "He started when he was around ten. He was bullied a lot in school; kids made fun of him for being so smart. Our Father was quite...opinionated - back then. He got into big arguments with Sherlock, and I'm guessing he felt like he had disappointed him. I'm not sure of the exact reason that started him off, but I'd wager a guess it was a never ending culmination of those trials.

"The day I found out, he admitted everything. He lay in my arms for hours, rambling about how he hated himself, how he was a terrible person, how he wanted to die...even back then." He covered his eyes with his hands, trying to hold back tears. Get it together, Mycroft. "I told him I was always there for him and that I would try and help in any way I could, and I thought - God, I thought that might have been enough, but I should have tried harder. Maybe he wouldn't be lying in there half dead if I had."

John's eyes had grown considerably larger, hearing Mycroft talk that way. He actually had feelings. He patted his back, trying to console him, though knowing it would just make it awkward.

"What are we going to do?" John ventured.

"Sherlock's not going to like it, but I'll drag him kicking and screaming if I have to. I think he should begin an inpatient program on a ward in upper London. I've always kept my eye on that place in case...this sort of thing happened." He leant back, waiting for John's opinion.

He only nodded once, tersely. "Let's go tell Sherl."