Hate

“Oh, and I’m sure you know how much I hate your hands. A personal favourite, actually.”

Sherlock blinks. He’s used to replacing love with hate, sure, but other things — not so much. He guesses he got too careless; but oh well, they’re already talking about it, and Mycroft clearly saw through his wordplay months ago, so that’s not exactly a revelation.

Honesty has never been Sherlock’s thing. Telling the truth through a lie though is a completely different story.

Or; Sherlock replaces the word love with the word hate every time he admits something he probably shouldn't to Mycroft. The elder sees right through him.

I hate you has never been so hard to say.