Discovered (Johnlock Fanfiction)

Chapter Eight

(A/N: I changed it to Mycroft's POV for this chapter, please tell me know if it's alright!)

Mycroft's POV-

I brushed off my suit as I walked out of Sherlock's room, feeling strange. I've not shown such compassion in a long while. I took a deep breath and sighed. I had much to say to John. I adjusted my coat again before walking into John's neighbouring room. 

Upon entering, John looked up and a blush spread across his cheeks. I was confused for a moment, before I realized that I knew about his fondling with my brother.

"Oh, don't worry John," I told him. "I won't be scolding you. I just need to explain something, and make sure that you understand." John nodded with a confused expression. I took a few moments to gather myself, sitting down on the chair at his bedside.

"John, I think you understand the way you feel towards Sherlock, and I can assure you that he feels similarly. The only difficulty is that Sherlock doesn't quite understand it. He hasn't had a proper personal relationship, so he doesn't understand what he's feeling. I'll admit I'm partially to blame for this, but either way, I advise you to be careful." John seemed even more confused than before.

"How can you be to blame?" was all he asked. I looked down at my feet. I had hoped that I could avoid telling John some more personal details, but there was no way to avoid it. I took another deep breath.

"When Sherlock was young, he was basically the opposite of who he is now. He was open and happy. Back then, we also had a-" I hesitated for a moment. "Another brother." I could see John's eyes widen out of the corner of my eye. Ignoring his blatant surprise, I continued. "His name was Sherrinford, and he was two years older than myself. Sherlock looked up to him, and I'd never seen him so close to anyone. Sherrinford understood that Sherlock was different, and he was the only one who made him feel normal. In fact, Sherrinford was the reason Sherlock wanted to be a detective; he always told him stories of difficult cases and murders.

"One day, when Sherlock was about seventeen, Sherrinford was kidnapped, by the same man who kidnapped you. So, Sherlock went to work. He stayed in the warehouse where he always worked on his cases, but he couldn't figure it out. Our brother was found dead in the local park. I had never seen Sherlock so broken, not even after he lost his dog. After that I'd made a vow to never let him get like that again. The only way I knew how to do that was to tell him to block out his emotions, to stop feeling. If he didn't get attached, he wouldn't get hurt. I did the same, and it seemed to be working quite well."

"Hold on." I looked up. John's expression showed shock, sadness, and a hint of anger. "You mean to say that you're the reason Sherlock locks up his feelings? You stopped him from- from living!" The anger was prominent now, and his fists were clenched. I averted my eyes.

"I only wanted to protect him. But-"

"Why are you telling me all of this?" he snapped. His words were icy, and his body was slightly angled away from me. I sighed.

"Because I need your help." John turned back toward me, but his demeanour didn't change. "Sherlock spent the majority of his life without understanding or expressing anything he was feeling. Once he starts to open up again, he will be very delicate. You need to be mindful of this, and you need to help him. He cares for you almost as much as he did Sherrinford, and if he loses you...the outcome won't be good. Please, John." As I spoke, the anger left his face, leaving him with a melancholy expression. He turned his eyes to his lap.

"Of course I'll help him." John said to his hands. "I know that he's delicate, and I'll do my best to keep him happy." A small smile spread onto my face.

"Thank you, John. Oh, and one more thing." I added, remembering what Sherlock told me to tell him. John looked up. "As you could probably tell from Sherlock walking out of the room, his wounds still aren't healed. He technically isn't supposed to be out of bed for another day or two, and the only reason he came over here when he did was because I convinced one of the nurses. He asked me to tell you that he's sorry, but he won't be back to visit for a little while. I hope you understand." John nodded. 

"Can you get our phones? I'd like to text him, if that's okay." John's eyes were hopeful. I nodded.

"Yes, I can bring your phones, but it has to wait until around dinner; I have some work to do at Buckingham Palace. Actually," I said, checking the time. "I lost track of time, I must go. Thank you, John. And please, take good care of him." I got up and walked towards the door.

"That's okay, Mycroft, I will. Thank you. Goodbye," John said as I opened the door. I raised my hand in a farewell wave before walking out of the door. I didn't really have work to do at Buckingham Palace. I chuckled to myself as I pulled my mobile out of my pocket, walking to the exit. I may be able to read Sherlock like a book, but he can't do the same. I dialled a number and it began ringing.

"Hello?" Greg Lestrade answered. I reached the front door and opened it as I answered.

"Sorry I'm late," I said. "I was visiting Sherlock and John in the hospital. Are we still on for lunch?" I walked up to the car I had waiting for me and got in.

"Of course. We can go now, if you want." I heard him reply. I moved my mobile from my ear to tell the driver where to go.

"I'll be there to pick you up in a few minutes. Goodbye, Greg," I said, putting the phone back to my ear. The car started driving in the direction of his house.

"Bye, Mycroft." We both hung up.

A/N: hehehehehehehe I stuck a little Mystrade in there, did you enjoy??? I did. I hope you liked this chapter, and please please PLEASE give me feedback? Do you guys want more Mystrade, or less? Do you want me to go in different POVs more often? Comment or message me. THANK YOU GUYS