I've written this little fic for my good friend LDLFF - or Eldell as she is now known in Mrs Hudson's Kitchen - as a gift to celebrate her birthday :)

Disclaimer: As ever, I don't own, and it's making me quite cross!

Mycroft felt the trickle of sweat run down his temple, skirting the edge of his clean shaven jaw, to lose itself as it travelled down his neck and under his collar.

Of all the things he thought might happen after his brother jumped, John turning up in his office with a loaded weapon was not one of them, and if he were to be honest with himself the mere sight of the steady aim of the doctor's arm and the concentrated anger in his stance and expression terrified the imperturbable embodiment of the British Government.

He risked a glance at the man standing with a gun aimed at his heart.

"Don't look at me." John ground out between gritted teeth.

Swallowing audibly, Mycroft pulled on all his reserves to stay calm.

"John….."

"Shut up Mycroft." The blond ex-soldier spat. "What makes you think I want to listen to anything you have to say?"

"John…" this time the voice came from outside. "John its Greg – I'm coming in."

A fine tremor shuddered through John's body.

"Stay out of this Greg." John struggled to keep his voice neutral.

"Listen mate, I know how you feel…"

"No Greg, no you don't. Did you know he sold his brother to Moriarty?"

"What?" Lestrade looked from one to the other. "John, he doesn't exist."

"Yes he does." Mycroft croaked his throat tight with fear.

"But…you mean Sherlock didn't…"

"Make him up to make himself look good? Go to the top of the class Greg, grab yourself a gold star."

"I traded information about Sherlock to get information from Moriarty, but it backfired – the information he gave us was useless." Mycroft confessed quietly. "By the time we realised it was too late, he'd already set wheels in motion to discredit…." His voice faded as he noticed a solitary tear tracking its way down the smaller man's face.

"You did your duty and sold your brother for the good of the country" John whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "And you let that mad man destroy both him and his reputation."

What happened in the next few seconds was a blur as Lestrade, realising with horror that John's finger was tightening on the trigger flung himself forwards, knocking away the doctor's arm as the gunshot sounded, deafening in the quiet of the office, and the bullet embedded itself harmlessly into the window frame.

Greg had expected to have to fight to prevent John from taking another shot, but the ex-soldier had crumpled to his knees on the plush carpet, the gun hanging from lax fingers as he hung his head and cried.

Making the gun safe, Greg handed it to the shaken man still sitting in his chair.

"That gun," he said coldly, "is your property. John took it with the intention of frightening you, nothing more. I know you can make that a matter of record, I suggest that you do so – if only to honour your brother's memory."

Leaning down the Detective inspector pulled the unresisting ex-soldier to his feet, a look of sorrow on his face as he handcuffed the man he once called friend.

"John Watson, I'm arresting you on a charge of threatening behaviour. You do not have to say anything. However, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence"

As he led John towards the office door Lestrade looked back over his shoulder.

"Fix this." he said. "I don't care how, just do it. You've already destroyed your brother, don't let it happen to another good man, don't let John suffer for your 'duty' Mycroft, he was the only one who believed absolutely in Sherlock Holmes."

Long after the door had closed behind the two men, Mycroft sat in his chair, the gun still in his hand. Taking a deep breath he placed it carefully on the desk in front of him and pulled out his mobile.

'John has had a breakdown. He's been arrested. MH'

A response took less than a minute to arrive.

'What happened? SH'

'He tried to kill me. MH'

'I know how he feels. SH'

'No, I don't think you do. MH'

'Sort it – look after him. SH'

"Easier said than done, brother!" Mycroft muttered to himself, then leaned forward and pressed the intercom button. "Anthea, I have a job for you….."