Hello all! This was written for otterystbarts, whose prompt was: "John reacting, possibly telling, about Mycroft's 'If you ever break his heart they will never, ever find the body' speech." So... this is probably nothing like ottery wanted at ALL and I'm really, really sorry. I would, however, like to thank Ottery for the wonderful and challenging prompt. All my love, Rose.

John walked home with his hands in fists, half expecting the rain bucketing on him to turn into steam.

"Sherlock may call himself a sociopath, but I assure you he is not."

John kicked at a puddle, sending the water everywhere, including towards a woman's feet. "Sorry," he muttered, not really caring. Damn Mycroft. Stupid over-protective creep.

"It might do you well to remember that even a minor position in the government can go very far. I can easily ruin your reputation, send you packing to America; make you a criminal in every part of the world. However, if you ever hurt my brother I won't be that kind." John laughed, kind? "No, John. I will defy queen and country and kill you. Painfully."

John shook his head at the memory. In the end, Mycroft's threat wasn't the most aggravating thing. He had dealt with much worse threats on Sherlock's cases. No, the worst thing was Mycroft's need to tell him what he already knew. The worst thing was Mycroft's complete lack of faith.

"Sherlock would not be happy with you if you killed me."

"Believe me, if you had broken his heart, he'd probably be dead or close to it before I could kill you. You seem to have consumed his entire being… It's doubtless that you leaving would kill him instantly."

Mycroft had said all of this with a look of distaste, clearly hating that his brother had gotten so sentimental. What was it with the Holmes boys and sentiment? John realized that the question was rhetorical, he knew why. They both thought they were above human emotions. Pompous idiots. Dirty liars.

"Which is why I'm telling you it's necessary to stick with him."

John cringed, remembering the outburst that followed Mycroft's statement.

"Necessary? Damn it, Mycroft! Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I don't feel exactly the same way? I can barely breathe when he's gone, and he was gone for three…" John had faltered, looking at the ground. "… Three years. He left me, empty and pointless and useless… for three years. So don't you dare tell me how he would feel if I left. I know what it would do to him better than anyone else. I lived it!"

John had stormed out after that, finding a main road to figure out where he was. After settling on a direction, he had started marching, which is where he was now, having a mental breakdown.

As it turns out, he wasn't the only one.

Sherlock bugged Mycroft's office as often as he could, testing which places took the longest for security or Mycroft to find. This bug, in Mycroft's umbrella stand, was running on two days undiscovered. Sherlock wished that he hadn't planted it at all.

If he hadn't, he wouldn't be overcome with guilt right now. He wouldn't be feeling like he had ripped out the only-person-who-mattered's heart. He wouldn't be feeling like he had tortured John for three years.

Sherlock knew that John had gone through a lot when he had faked his death. That much was evident from the pure rage John released upon finding out that Sherlock was alive. He had yelled about going through hell and such until his voice gave out, which was when he grabbed Sherlock in a tight hug.

He had clung to Sherlock for a long time before finally calming down and walking out of the room. They never spoke of that moment again. Maybe they should have.

Footsteps. John. Sherlock quickly shut the laptop, grabbing his violin and placing the laptop on the table. He slipped back into his cold self, slowing down his heart. John couldn't know that Sherlock knew. He had spent a year hiding it, obviously he was determined that Sherlock never knew how badly he was hurt during those three years.

"Sherlock?" The consulting detective looked up, trying not to notice how good a drenched John looked. "You okay? You look… ill." Sherlock grimaced on the inside, fooling John was incredibly hard.

"I'm fine." John shrugged, heading towards the kitchen. Sherlock followed him with his eyes, amazed at how well his doctor was at hiding his emotions. If he hadn't seen the video himself, he probably wouldn't have noticed anything wrong. And he noticed everything. "Where were you?"

"Your brother kidnapped me, wanted to check up on you." Sherlock could barely contain the proud smile threatening to show. John was a brilliant liar. He told as much of the truth as he could, and showed the normal amount of annoyance for Mycroft's kidnappings. All of the sudden, a thought popped into Sherlock's mind. John could be lying to him about all sorts of things.

Sherlock really did look ill. John groaned on the inside. A sick Sherlock was the last thing he needed right now. However, Sherlock acted perfectly fine, so maybe it was just the lighting. Looking over at his partner, John almost dropped his cup of tea. Sherlock was pure white, staring at nothing with a horrified look on his face. "Sherlock?" John set down his cup of tea and ran to Sherlock's chair. "Hey," he stroked Sherlock's forehead and hair. "Hey, look at me."

"John." Sherlock barely spoke the name.

"Yeah, I'm right here Sherlock. It's okay."

"John. How often do you lie to me?"

Well… that was unexpected. How often did John lie to Sherlock? He tried to never lie, mainly because Sherlock would know. There was only the time with Irene Adler… and the whole not gay thing, but that really didn't count because he wasn't. Sherlock was his only exception.

"I can't lie, Sherlock. I live with a consulting detective."

"No… you can lie, John! You can lie brilliantly! Just now… with the whole Mycroft thing."

"What… That was the truth!"

"Half-truth. He didn't call you to check up on me."

"How do you know?"

"I bug his office. I saw the whole thing."

"Oh."

"That's all you have to say? Oh? No apology for lying? No explanation? You must be wondering how I bugged the British government's office. Come now, John, you-"

"Sherlock!" The consulting detective closed his mouth, looking over at John with raised eyebrows. "If you wouldn't mind shutting the hell up for a second, there are a few things I'd like to say. First off, I didn't really lie. Second off, the only reason I never told you more about your three years away was because I knew you would feel guilty. You don't deserve to."

"John…" Sherlock shook his head, burying it in his hands. "John, I wouldn't change what I did. I had to keep you alive. But I still feel… like I did something wrong."

John let out a short laugh. "You finally admit to having emotions… but I don't feel triumphant at all."

"John… you should know that I can't function without you either. I…"

John decided that they had had enough talking about emotions to last British men a year. He promptly ended the conversation by kissing Sherlock senseless.

Hours later, however, as John and Sherlock lay on the couch, a certain detective whispered, "I would never let Mycroft kill you." A certain doctor whispered back, "I would never give him a reason to."

AWWWWWW... Gosh, why does everything I write turn fluffy?! It's like a really nice curse. BUT! I did put some angst in there! Did'ya see it? Did'ya, did'ya? Alright... I'm just going to go now. I really love you Otterystbarts! I hope that this put at least a few smiles on your face!