"Mycroft..." John paused, struggling to process this information. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Unsure of what to say. Yes, he had known Sherlock had some kind of history with drugs, ever since Lestrade's "drugs bust" but he never expected that it would be this serious...
John glanced back up at Mycroft. His expression was blank and bored, as always, but there was something else there. Something hidden behind his eyes. Fear. Desperation. Pain.
"So, you're telling me... that there has been this problem, this thing, that could potentially kill my best friend, and you never thought to tell me?" John fumed, finding himself suddenly overcome with an intense anger that he had only felt a few other times in his life.
"It simply wasn't relevant until now," Mycroft explained.
John stood up, fuming. "Not relevant? Oh, yes, if Sherlock goes too long without a case he could die of an overdose, but no big deal!"
Mycroft slowly closed his eyes and began to massage his temples. "Look, Dr. Watson, I don't expect you to understand my reasoning. I simply-"
"Try me."
"What?" Mycroft lifted his head and looked at John, who's face was beginning to grow slightly redder.
"Try me."
"Fine." Mycroft relaxed in his chair. "It wasn't until recently that I realized how much you cared for my brother," Mycroft paused and looked John directly in the eyes, "and... how much he cared for you." There was a slight pause before he continued, "I have already informed Mrs. Hudson of my brother's condition, and I did not deem it necessary to tell you as well. It simply seemed pointless. Besides... I did not wish to scare away the only true friend he's had since-" Mycroft paused abruptly, lowering his gaze.
"Since. What." said John through gritted teeth.
Mycroft took a breath before putting on a falsely pleasant facial expression. "In a very long time. Now, if you could please leave, I have much work to do. Anthea will escort you home, good day Dr. Watson."
