Chapter Text
"Sherlock?" John called out.
"Hm?" Sherlock hummed, still entranced by his book on the decomposition of bodies under sub-zero temperatures.
"It's your mother, she's on the phone."
Sherlock made no response.
"She wants to talk to you," John pressed.
"Just tell her I'm very busy with a case."
"Tried that already, doesn't seem to be working."
Sherlock groaned and slapped his book down onto the couch.
"She says to stop groaning," John relayed, "And not to growl, as she knows will come next."
Sherlock threw his hands in the air, but took the phone from John and held it to his ear.
"Yes mother?" Sherlock said, smiling sarcastically to himself, in an overly sweet voice. John gave a look that said, You really shouldn't do that.
"Alright, yes Mum?" Sherlock sighed, "What do you want?"
"I have news!" Mrs. Holmes said, "And don't you dare hang up this phone! I'm not finished" Fact was, the phone was already half way to the hook. Sherlock groaned and brought it to his ear once again.
"As you know, my two boys have both left the nest, and Byron and I have been getting very lonely."
"The point, please, Mum?" Sherlock said, doing his best to remain polite for the sake of John.
John was proud of Sherlock, he was making progress. He wasn't entirely rude when his mum called this time. Mummy didn't call as often as you would expect mothers to. This was the first time in eight months that she had called, the last time being to confirm that Sherlock wasn't actually dead when they received the news that 'The Great Detective' was back. John knew Sherlock and his parents weren't very close at all. His parents had attended his funeral and sent flowers, but they hadn't been there for the visitation, and they didn't stay to watch the casket get lowered into the ground.
John sat in his chair, hearing only one side of the battle of wits. Then Sherlock went silent. Concerned, John looked over his shoulder from his position in the chair. Sherlock mumbled a goodbye out of habit before slowly lowering the phone from his ear and staring at it a moment before pressing the end call button.
"Sherlock? Is everything alright?"
Sherlock didn't answer, just stared out at nothing and slowly brought the hand with the phone to his chest, breathing deeply. His complexion that already resembled that of a vampire paled even more, and the fingers on his left hand all twitched once, in rapid succession, as if he were tapping them on a table. He took deep, measured breaths.
"Sherlock, sit down." John ordered, rising from his seat. No response.
"Sherlock-" John grasped his arm, and pulled Sherlock to face him, but he pulled out of John's grip.
"I'm fine- John." Sherlock walked past John to his chair. He brought his hands in front of his face, pressing them together before his lip as he did when he was thinking.
"What's happened?" John asked, "Are your parents alright? Did something happen to Mycroft?"
Sherlock shook his head, releasing a breath that John would have sworn shuddered a bit.
"My family is poison, John." Sherlock said, "You don't think that, I know you don't. You always think the best of people. That's a good trait. Something I've always admired about you."
Sherlock turned, looked John in the eyes.
"But you haven't met them," He continued. "At the funeral, yes, but not really. You didn't actually talk to them, did you? They arrived late and left early. You remember, you noticed it, thought it was odd. Attributed it to overwhelming grief, you did. But did you see any tears? Of course not. My family is not one for the sentimental, or the caring in the least. Mycroft and I may have turned out halfway decent at dealing with human beings if it was, but we're not, and they weren't. I was different from the start, and how we were raised, despite their best efforts, did nothing to help that. Made it worse, even."
"Alright then..." John said carefully, "Why are you telling me all this now? It's not like you to beat around the brush."
"My parents have adopted another child, John." Sherlock said, "He is to be 3rd Holmes brother." John's eyes widened.
"So you've got a baby brother then." John's eyes widened, "Wow- um-"
"No, not a baby." Sherlock muttered, just as much to himself as to John. "He's fourteen years old. They've had him for two months now, never saw fit to tell me. Apparently Mycroft knew from the start. He probably even helped to speed up the adoption process."
"And they tell you this through a phone call?"
"Not the problem, John." Sherlock was about to go on, but John cut him off.
"It really is," He said, "You've had quite a shock, and you're pale as a sheet, though I'm really not quite sure why."
"John-" Sherlock couldn't quite voice his thoughts, tried to, but the words wouldn't fall.
"Tell me what you need." John said.
"I need that boy safe." Sherlock's voice shook ever so slightly.
"He's not right now? Why?"
"I told you," Sherlock said, now much more passively. He seemed to have regained control of himself. "My family is poison."
"As you keep saying, but you haven't bothered to tell me what you bloody mean by it!"
"My parents don't want another child; it's a fad among the higher ups, adopt a child who came from nothing, give them a home, schooling, manners. It's a sort of game they play to see who is the 'best'. This isn't the first time they've done this. They can't have him, John, they'll ruin him."
"Ruin him? Ruin him how?"
"Look at me John, and note my worst characteristics. My near inability to empathize, inability to categorize, recognize, and react to even common emotions, difficulty displaying and expressing those emotions, dislike and irritation with social interaction of almost any kind, and excessive arrogance." Sherlock listed, "To say all these traits weren't born in me to some extent would be lying of course, but when I was sent to the Holmes', these traits were unintentionally and unknowingly supported to the point I can know no other way now."
"So- wait- When you 'went' to the Holmes family?" John asked, thoroughly confused.
"I'm not Holmes by birth. I was adopted." Sherlock confirmed, "Fit in well though, just as cold as the rest of the lot. That's why I can't let him be my parents' son. It would destroy him."
"So... you're adopted."
"Yes, John, keep up will you?"
"What's your actual last name then?" John asked, after clearing his throat.
Sherlock shrugged, "Must've deleted it."
"You deleted your name?" John shook his head in disbelief. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"
"Where I came from, it was... not good." Sherlock pursed his lips, "I was young when I moved in with the Holmes, still stupidly optimistic. I thought things were looking up, so I deleted it. Everything about my former home. I had a new one."
"Everything?" John asked, "You deleted everything. You don't remember it at all now?"
"I do, sometimes." Sherlock said, "I can never actually delete anything, that's just what I call it when I throw it in the dungeon. That's where I throw bad and/or useless information. But..." Sherlock paused. "Every once in a while, it sneaks out. "
"So you do remember it then?"
"Parts," Sherlock said, "Only parts."
"Which ones?"
"All the ones I wish I didn't." Sherlock shook his head, "Back to the point. What in the world am I supposed to do? This boy has undoubtedly been through enough already, the last thing he needs is this."
"Well, when are you supposed to meet him?"
"We're invited for supper Saturday."
John coughed, "Pardon, you said 'we'?!"
"I haven't seen my parents face to face in 12 years, John," Sherlock said, "If I must go, I'm dragging you along with me. Plus, Mum wants to meet the person who's finally befriended her sociopathic son."
John raised an eyebrow, "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"It don't know, and I don't like not knowing."
Sherlock took to pacing across the room.