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Mycroft was not surprised to find John waiting in his office. In fact, he’d been expecting it. The absolute force of the well-placed punch against his nose was a surprise though.

John was not a large man, but he was a dangerous one when provoked. “This is your fault. All of it.” John’s voice broke. “Your actions put him on that rooftop near enough as if you had pushed him yourself.”

Mycroft calmly took a handkerchief out of his pocket to staunch the bleeding and looked at John. “I made a mistake.”

The narrowing of John’s eyes and the tightening of his jaw were the only indications of the fury that burned bright inside him. Mycroft, not for the first time, wondered what it was like to feel such emotions.

John licked his lips. “You made a mistake all right. I once told Sherlock that real people don’t have archenemies, but just as he always did, he proved me wrong. Because that’s what you are to me now, Mycroft.”

Such passion, such absolute faith. Mycroft almost envied his brother.

“So consider yourself on notice. It’s more warning than you gave him. You might not think of me as much of a threat with you being the British Government and all. But you’d be wise to remember, I learned from the best.”