Mycroft's POV
John sat with his head in his hands, hunched over. Just minutes before, Mycroft had seen him leave his brother's room in a flurry of curses and tears. He cautiously approached him, trying to quell his morbid curiosity over what Sherlock could have said that upset him so much.
Lowering himself into the chair beside him, he awkwardly put his hand on John's shoulder.
"What did he say?" he asked quietly.
John raised his head to look at him, his eyes bloodshot and disbelieving. "That's between him and I." He sunk back, sighing. "What are we going to do? He needs help, I just don't know how to get him to see it."
"Sherlock won't listen to me, though I think you know that by now." Mycroft replied, adding a small smirk at the end.
John held his hand out. "Give me the number for that place in Upper London. He is going there, whether he likes it or not."
Sherlock's POV
He awoke to hear the door of his room latch shut. Sherlock kept his eyes closed and his breathing steady as he feigned sleep in hope of avoiding the barrage of questions surely coming his way from John and Mycroft.
"Hello, Sherlock."
The voice reached his ears with a faint Irish lilt. Sherlock was confused for a moment. The only person he knew with an Irish accent was - No. He was supposed to be dead. It can't be him.
His efforts to keep his heartbeat steady failed, and he opened his eyes. Standing over him, was none other, than Moriarty.
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Sherlock's secret
FanfictionJohn has found out about Sherlock's self harm and is left baffled as to how to tell Sherlock about his own secret. *TRIGGER WARNING*
