I just want to say thank you to everyone who's read/voted for/commented on this! Just got over 100 comments and not too far from 10,000 reads. Still unbelievable. Thank you :)

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"John, so nice to see you."

These were the words John was greeted with when Mycroft opened the door to his office. There was a smile on his face, though John knew that behind his friendly façade, Mycroft was not happy at John's unexpected visit. Nevertheless, he smiled back and walked inside when Mycroft stepped out of the way.

"Please, take a seat." John did as he was told and sat down in a plush armchair in a corner of the room. Mycroft closed the door, then sat across from John in the other one. He crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap as he stared at John. John stared back for a moment before realizing that he should probably be the one to speak first, since he was the one who had requested that they meet. He knew it was short-notice but he'd really needed to see Mycroft.

It had been over two months since they'd gone to Lestrade's party, and though Sherlock's nightmares seemed to be gone for good and he was back to working on cases, John still felt like something wasn't right with him. He had been acting very secretive lately, like there was still something he was keeping from him, and John had run out of ideas as to how to get Sherlock to tell him whatever information he was withholding. He figured that out of all the people in the world who could help him with tips on how to get information out of Sherlock, his brother would be the best person to go to. So, that morning when Sherlock had taken off to Scotland Yard to meet with Lestrade, John had made a quick phone call, and now here he was, sitting in front of Mycroft, twiddling his thumbs while he searched for the right words to say.

"I suppose you'd like to know why I asked to talk with you."

"Something's wrong with Sherlock, and you want my help figuring out what." John looked to Mycroft, who had his usual haughty look upon his face. John let out a sigh and nodded his head.

"Yes, well, sort of. You see… he's been acting a bit strange lately." Mycroft chuckled without humour.

"John, it's Sherlock," he scoffed.

"I know, but I'm not talking about his usual strangeness." John said, slightly annoyed by Mycroft's tone of voice. He wasn't particularly fond of the way everyone spoke about Sherlock, and the fact that his own brother would speak about him in such a manner was even more appalling. Not to mention the way Mycroft always spoke to John as if he were some sort of caveman. He was quite insulted, but continued anyway. "He's been acting stranger than usual. He's a lot…happier and more pleasant to be around, which I wouldn't be complaining about if he hadn't become so secretive as well. You see, he never lets me see his phone, not even for a second. He always has it with him and he's been using it more than usual, but when I ask him about it he just looks at me like I'm insane and then won't speak to me for an hour. He just seems to be more distant and reserved as well. I know he's sort of like this normally, but I feel like something's changed. I've tried talking to him, but I'm not getting anywhere."

"I see…" Mycroft said, leaning back slightly, raising his hand to stroke his chin. It seemed his interest had been piqued. John smiled to himself before he began talking again.

"I know he's keeping something from me, and I'd like your help in figuring out just what it is he's hiding, or at least tell me how to get Sherlock to, um, open up."

"Have you tried getting him drunk?" Mycroft suggested. "He tends to lose what little bit of a filter he has when intoxicated."

"Well, we went to a party a while ago and he had a few drinks there. But even then I didn't get much out of him. He only told me about the nightmares he's been having."

"Nightmares?"

"Yes. He had these terrible nightmares for quite some time. He used to wake up in a cold sweat, often shouting and sometimes thrashing about. It was quite awful really, but they've gone now." John decided not to tell Mycroft that the nightmares were all about him, or that he'd been sharing a bed with his brother for the past two months in an effort to keep the dreams at bay. "Do you know of anything that may help me find out whatever secret it is Sherlock's keeping?" Mycroft made a face and tilted his head slightly, glancing up as if in deep thought.

"Well," he said, "when he was younger and threw a tantrum, which was often, Mother used to give him Chamomile tea to calm him down. Perhaps if you gave him some he would be more relaxed and be more willing to talk."

Though John wasn't too sure as to how tea would help much of anything, he decided Mycroft did know Sherlock best, and that he should trust him. He made a mental note to stop by the store on his way back to the flat. Mycroft's phone began ringing, and he excused himself to take the call, leaving John alone with his thoughts.

He tried to think of possible reasons for Sherlock to suddenly become so secretive. Of course, he'd never been an open book, but it had never been this bad. John started to wonder if it had something to do with them sleeping in the same bed every night. Perhaps with John invading his personal space at night, Sherlock was trying to compensate for that by staying so distant and inaccessible during the day. John feared that Sherlock had possibly felt that one kiss he'd given him that night. Though it had only been that one night, and that was quite some time ago. Still, it was around that time when Sherlock had started acting strange again.

John thought back to when the secretiveness had all began. He and Sherlock had been sitting in the living room, John on his laptop and Sherlock playing the violin, when Sherlock's phone had lit up. Since it was sitting closest to John at the time he'd picked it up and given it to him. While he passed the device to Sherlock he'd noticed the text he'd received was from an unknown number. When he'd asked about it Sherlock had basically ignored him, taking a moment to respond before shoving his phone in the pocket of the trousers he'd been wearing and resuming his playing of the violin. John remembered how the song he was playing had changed. Before Sherlock had received the text he'd been playing a simple classical piece one might play at a recital, but after the text the song Sherlock had played sounded like it belonged on the soundtrack of a romance movie. It had been quite unsettling for John, and for the next few days all he could think about was who that might have been. Sherlock hasn't let John hold his phone since that day.

That was bad enough, but then Sherlock had started spending more time outside of the flat. John would wake up and find that Lestrade had texted him asking where Sherlock was, and he wasn't in the flat. Whenever Sherlock did return from wherever it was that he had been he was always in a great mood, smiling and laughing and being an absolute joy to live with, and John didn't like it one bit.

He liked moody, sarcastic, cynical Sherlock, not this man who offers to make him dinner and watch television together. He missed the narrowed eyes and steepled fingers resting beneath Sherlock's chin as he lay on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, and the tantrums that were thrown whenever Sherlock lost to John while playing any board game. Now it was just a smile, a friendly pat on the back and Sherlock saying 'Good game John, care for another round?' It was terrible.

When Mycroft returned and noticed the frown on John's face he asked him about it, and John told him everything, not mentioning how much he missed old Sherlock. He then sat silently and watched Mycroft as he took in what had been said to him. His eyes were cast downward, and his mouth was set in a firm line. After a few moments had passed he looked up at John with what was almost a half smile on his face.

"Well, if we were talking about anyone but Sherlock I'd say he's in love. But since we are talking about my brother I'm not sure." John just nodded his head while he talked, and when the words finally sank in his eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

"Wait, what? Love?"

"Yes. Love. Everything you've just described to me: the disappearing, the strange texts, the happier demeanor are all signs that point to having a secret lover." John clasped his hands together and looked down at the plush carpet.

"I see." He felt an aching in his chest as he thought about what Mycroft had said. It all made sense now, and John started to regret coming to Mycroft. He would have preferred to remain ignorant to this his entire life rather than feel this way. Rejection hurts, and even though Sherlock had never rejected him, (how could he if he didn’t even know John felt this way?), it still hurt as much as it had when Tabitha had left him sitting all alone on that picnic blanket.

Once John remembered where he was, sitting in Mycroft's office right across from him, he straightened his shoulders and met his curious gaze with a firm look of his own. As he looked into Mycroft's emotionless eyes a question came to him.

"Um, has Sherlock ever…" John trailed off, unsure of how to phrase his question. "Has he ever been in a relationship before?"

" No." Mycroft tiled his head back slightly, as if he had just remembered something. "Well…" He shook his head. "No. Not really."

"Not really?" John asked, his brow furrowing as he looked to Mycroft. When Mycroft saw John staring at him he smiled. Or, sneered was more like it. John wasn't sure if Mycroft was actually capable of producing a genuine smile, for any person or purpose.

"No need to be jealous John," he said, "They only went to prom together."

"Who did?" There was a brief pause as John's mind processed all of what Mycroft had said. "Jealous?"

"Her name was Harriet. Harriet Turner."

"I'm not jealous."

"It was just prom though. I don't think he ever spoke to her afterwards." John sat back in his seat and placed his hands in his lap. There was a knock at the door, and Mycroft went to go answer it. While he sat alone waiting for Mycroft to return John thought more about the possibility of Sherlock being in anything close to a relationship, and fought to keep a straight face as he did so.

"John," Mycroft called from the door, "Would you like some tea?"

"Sure, thank you."

Mycroft soon returned with two cups of tea and the two began chatting more about Sherlock. Somehow over the course of their conversation the topic changed to stories from Sherlock and Mycroft's childhood. John learned that Sherlock had actually gone to a summer camp one summer when he was ten, and hated it. He said they'd constantly receive letters from Sherlock begging them to 'rescue him from the wooded prison in which he had been placed'. Apparently he tried to escape, and was nearly successful. The only reason he had been caught was the fact that he used a pay phone to call his counselor and brag about his brilliant escape plan. It hadn't been very hard for them to figure out just what town he was in and what phone he was using. He'd been returned to the camp later that day.

Mycroft then told John about the time Sherlock came in second place in some science competition and then nearly burned the school down with his project on purpose in protest of the judges' scores. He told John about Sherlock's childhood dream of becoming a pirate, and how he would play along with his make believe games on the weekends if he didn't have too much schoolwork to do. He told him about how for the entire eighth year of his life Sherlock would only eat Shreddies, and nothing else. He told John about the time he'd broken his arm after trying to steal a bird's nest from a tree and his resulting fear of falling. He'd then gone on to tell John about the time their family went to an amusement park and Sherlock cried on the Ferris wheel. John and Mycroft shared many laughs at the expense of young Sherlock, and by the time John left Mycroft's office he had enough blackmail material to make Sherlock become his own personal slave.

"Please do let me know if you do manage to squeeze anything interesting out of him," Mycroft told John as he walked him to the door.

"Will do."

"And John? Try not to get too jealous. Trust me, you have absolutely no reason to be."

"Of course I don't," John said frowning and narrowing his eyes at Mycroft, who just smirked an opened the door. "I'm not jealous."

"Please, feel free to come back any time," Mycroft said, still smirking. John nodded his head in response, and Mycroft held up a finger. "But do give more of a warning before you show up."

"Yes, sorry about that. I just wanted to talk while Sherlock was out."

"I understand. Goodbye John."

"Goodbye."