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A Third Holmes Brother

Summary:

When Mrs. Holmes calls Sherlock up saying that she's adopted a 14 year old boy, how does Sherlock react? What happens when John finds out that Sherlock's childhood was much, much different than he had thought?

Notes:

I had this written before season 4 came out, so Eurus doesn't exist in this, and Sherlock's parents are very, very OOC. Like VERY. But hey, that's what AUs are for.

Chapter 1: The News

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.

Chapter 2: It is Not A Funeral!

Summary:

The Day has Arrived. And It is NOT a Funeral.

Chapter Text

The next few days seemed to pass with excruciating speed, as well as frustrating slowness to Sherock.  He solved two cases in the meantime, both of which would have likely taken the Yard weeks to do on their own.

To most, Sherlock seemed to be his regular self, an arrogant, unfeeling, but effective genius.  John could see past that though.  He had learned to see the nearly imperceptible tics that Sherlock that showed worry, nervousness, anticipation, and impatience.  

Then, the night came.

"Ready?" John asked, as he tied his tie.  No answer. John sighed.

Sherlock sat in his chair, staring at his hands.  He raised one up.

"Look at me, John. I'm shaking." Sherlock said. "How pathetic is that? I could stop it if I needed to, but I don't need to, so I can't stop it. It's quite annoying.  What am I feeling, John?"

"Excitement, anticipation," John paused, taking a sip of his tea. "It's probably anxiety that's doing the shaking though."

"I've got to calm down, John." Sherlock said, "Emotions are clouding my brain."

Sherlock pressed his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes.  After a few moments, he lowered his hands and sighed, almost as if in relief. 

"All gone." Sherlock said, opening his eyes. "As it should be."

"All gone?" John asked, "Every single emotion, you can just... make it stop?"

"Well, all the bad ones.  I kept the good ones." Sherlock said, "The rest I threw out the window."

"You threw them out the window." John repeated.

"Yes, of my mind palace, keep up." Sherlock said.  It was silent for a moment and both focused on getting ready to leave.

"Want me to call a cab?" John asked, already picking up the phone.

"Don't bother." Sherlock walked to the window and peaked through the blinds. "It appears my brother has already taken care of that for us."

Outside sat a brand new Hyundai Accent, the keys in the ignition.

"Wanting to ensure our attendance, I assume." Sherlock said, "He probably has it set up to alert him if we don't leave the flat by a certain time."

John sighed.  "He really has all the bases covered, doesn't he?" John paused, "You do have a license, right?"

"Of course, don't you?"

"Yes, but driving and I don't get along. Or at least, not now." John finished off his cuppa and quickly set it in the kitchen sink.  "We should probably get going. Can't leave your family waiting, can we?"

"No, I suppose we can't."


Sherlock and John came down the stairs just as Mrs. Hudson was set to go up the.

"My, don't you both look dashing today," She commented.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, but I'm afraid we don't have much time for your chattering today, we're in quite a hurry." Sherlock said, sliding on past her. "Should be gone most of he day."

"Wherever are you going?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Not a funeral, as it may appear." John sighed down at his clothes. 

Sherlock tilted his head, in that particular way, just enough to know that Sherlock thought he was wrong.

"It's not?" Sherlock mumbled, just loud enough for John to hear, then took off towards the car.

"It is not as bad as a funeral, Sherlock," John called after him, "Stop being a drama-queen!"

Sherlock started towards the car and was already getting in.  Going by his appearance, stride, and walking pace, one would have thought he was more limb than trunk.

John turned back to Mrs. Hudson.

"We've been invited over to his parents' house for dinner." He said, "Apparently, they wear suits to supper." 

"John?" Sherlock called out from the driver's seat.

"Coming Sherlock!" John said, "Got to go. By Mrs. Hudson."

Sherlock honked the horn, and John took off towards the car and pulled himself into the passenger seat.  

Chapter 3: Secrets Revealed

Summary:

Picking this story back up. It's been awhile, but time to see some deeper bonding between Sherlock and John and further discussion of the yet unseen baby brother.

Chapter Text

After several attempts at small talk, John decided it was best to either remain silent, or come up with something worthy of discussing.  He settled on the latter.

"Did they- uh- hurt-" John hesitated, unsure of whether or not he should ask.

"Which ones?" Sherlock asked, obviously having caught onto John's train of thought.

"The Holmes,:" John clarified.

"Occasionally," Sherlock said, "Not often."

"What about not physically?" John asked, once again hesitating. "Emotionally?"

"You know I'm not a good judge of that, John." Sherlock answered.  He was surprisingly calm given the subject matter. 

"You said something earlier about them ruining you?" John prompted, "What did you mean?"

Sherlock sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"You know me, I'm not... normal," Sherlock said.  "I'm not what they expected, and definitely not what they wanted.  They made it obvious, tried to put a square peg in a round hole...  I tried to be normal, for awhile, I did.  I tried to learn manners, tried to get good marks, tried not to get into fights... I tried to be ordinary.  But I'm not.  No matter how much I may have wanted to be.  The Holmes family, as you know, is quite wealthy, powerful, and well known.  This is not only due to Mycroft's impact, but due to my parents' as well. They adopted me when it was a fad among the higher ups to take nothing and turn it into something, no different from why they have adopted another boy, my new brother.  They want to create a rags to riches story.  They tried with me, and when it didn't work, when I wasn't good enough, they let me know.  I was expected to take their critiques, criticisms, and insults in a calm manner, going over them logically, and trying to apply them.  If I got upset, then it was just made worse."

"Made worse how?"

"More yelling, insults, name calling... nothing important, really," Sherlock said, shifting his focus to driving for a moment as they rounded a particularly sharp curve.  

"Nothing important- Sherlock, how on earth could you say that wasn't important?!"

"Because it was better than where I came from."

It was silent for a moment.  There was a stillness in the car that was unusual for the pair. 

"What did they call you?"

"The usual, machine, psychopath, creep, freak, and a few others I don't care to repeat," Sherlock said.  "Nothing I haven't heard since."

Another silence, longer this time.

"If that's better than where you came from," John frowned, concerned, "What did you come from?"

"It was more." Sherlock pursed his lips.

"More?"

"Just - more."

John had long since figured out the best way to make Sherlock talk was to say nothing at all.  Eventually John's wondering got too loud for Sherlock to tolerate.

"There was more, physically," Sherlock said levelly. "Neglet and abuse.  Primarily the latter."

"Oh.  Uh... how bad?"

Sherlock usually preferred a blunt approach, after all.

"I don't really have anything to measure it with," Sherlock said.  He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again, carefully training them on the empty road.

"You mean you were never not-" John hesitated again.  

"You can say the word, John, you're a bloody doctor," Sherlock rolled his eyes.  "I was abused as a child.  Not saying the word doesn't mean it didn't happen."

"I was trying to be tactful," John supplied.

"Stop.  You know that doesn't matter to me," Sherlock snapped, then softer.  "And yes.  For as long as I can remember."

"How old were you when the Holmes adopted you?"

Sherlock hummed, thinking.

"About... twelve?" Sherlock answered.  "Something near it."

Suddenly a question popped into John's mind.

"Was Mycroft adopted too?"

To John's surprise, Sherlock let out a dry chuckle.  He shook his head.

"No, no, Mycroft's definitely biological."

"What does he-"

Before John could finish his sentence, Sherlock had squirmed his mobile out of his pocket and held it out to John.

"Pull up Mycroft's text to me," he said.  "Anything that's confidential will be encoded, don't worry.  Go ahead. Read them."

"You want me to - right, then.  Um - alright." John took the phone.

Sherlock was generally a very private person, rarely let John know any of his personal interactions beyond what John himself witnessed. Now that it was becoming necessary, John was drowning in information, struggling to process it all.

John pulled up the texts between Mycroft and Sherlock.  They were filled with vicious criticisms and reprimands for how Sherlock dealt with cases, clients, Scotland Yard, and the Media.  Sometimes Mycroft would just insult him for no reason, entirely unprompted. Other times, he would order Sherlock to show up at a certain time in a particular place. 

"If I don't show up, he tracks me down." Sherlock said, in answer to John's unspoken question.

"As for what we do, he'll generally yell at me for awhile, making no sense at all, then threaten to tell Mum and Dad that I haven't changed my ways, again, making no sense at all."

"How often does he do that?"

"Eh - at least once a month, give or take," Sherlock shrugs. "Now you know where I go on my 'walks'."

"Your parents, they didn't do that to Mycroft then, did they?"

"No, just me," Sherlock nods. " Mycroft didn't deserve it.  He was a child prodigy turned head of the British government, beneath only the queen herself.  Then you've got the other son.  The adopted runaway self-employed antisocial high-functioning sociopathic high school drop out drug addict who's never been able to keep a 'real' job, friend, or flat mate, and who can't balance a check book, go to the grocery, cook, clean, remember to feed himself, or sleep regularly, and can't even be trusted to be left alone too long for risk he might blow up something with the chemicals he acquired illegally." Sherlock paused to take a breath.

"Not many people are as perfect as Mycroft, and that's what my parents are expecting.  Another Mycroft," Sherlock said. "No one can make that standard, believe me, I tried.  And when my new brother does, he will fail, they'll be angry with him, and start doing the same thing to him that they did to me.  Depending on his background, who knows what that could do to him." Sherlock glanced at John through the corner of his eye.

"I can't watch that happen again."

Chapter 4: Not the First Third

Summary:

Sherlock and John's conversation as they drive to the Holmes' Manor. John gets to learn more secrets of the Holmes family than he ever thought he would.

Chapter Text

"Again?" John asked. 

"There was already a third Holmes boy," Sherlock answered. "They adopted him just a few months after me.  Don't ask Mum, Dad, or Mycroft about him.  We're forbidden to speak of him.  They've disowned him.  He's dead."

"So they disowned him because he's dead?" John asked, thoroughly confused.

"No, not because he died, but rather how he died," Sherlock said.  "He was always the wild child, wilder than me, even.  He was the one that introduced me to cocaine.  He had fun doing just about everything he wasn't supposed to.  He kept experimenting, taking more and more, until he took too much.  I was there, told him it was too much, but I didn't stop him.  I don't remember why.  Anyway, he overdosed, I called 999 and tried to save him, but he was gone before the ambulance ever got there.  Because of how he died, we're no longer aloud to speak of him.  My parents are thoroughly convinced it's bad for the public image." Sherlock rolled his eyes, "They refuse to believe he ever existed."

"What was his name?" John asked.

"Deleted it," Sherlock said passively.

"You deleted your dead brother's name?" John asked in disbelief, "How did you remember the story then?"

"I deleted his name, not the story," Sherlock answered.  "I always delete the names of the dead, but I keep their stories.  If I refer to them as 'the victim' from then on, it makes it easier to detach myself from the case."

"So you do feel empathy for them, then?" 

"Not for the victim, no, they're dead.  They don't have any feelings to empathize with.  But the families, however, of course.  You'd have to be inhuman not to.  So to look at things objectively and to investigate thoroughly without bias, I delete the name and turn of the empathy.  Don't you do that?"

"Uh- no, I don't," John said.  "Most people can't just turn empathy on and off like a tap."

Sherlock hummed, "Maybe that's why they're such rubbish at investigating."

There was a comfortable silence for a few moments.

"You know Sherlock, to others, it looks as though you don't feel empathy at all," John broaches the subject cautiously.

"I am aware."

"Then why don't you explain what you're doing?"

"Because they never bothered to ask."

They lapsed back into silence.  

As time passed and they neared the Holmes Manor, John noticed Sherlock getting progressively more tense.  His grip on the steering wheel had his knuckles turning white.

"I can't read your mind, Sherlock," John prompted.  He could tell that Sherlock wanted to speak but had refrained from doing so for some reason.

"I've absolutely no clue how to handle this," Sherlock stated.

"Well, first off, relax, mate," John nodded over to Sherlock's hands. "You're cutting off circulation to your fingers."

Sherlock's grip loosened only marginally.  John picked his brain for an answer to the problem.  After about ten minutes, he spoke.

"How's this," John started.  "Chances are, your parents haven't told him much about you, so he won't know what to expect.  So you behave as Mycroftly as possible, and then once we manage to get him on his own, you can drop the fascade.  Be real with him."

"That may actually be worse than if I remained the same way."

"It will be fine, Sherlock," John insisted. "People are my thing, not yours  I know how they work.  Trust me on this one."

"I do."

This was one of those rare moments when Sherlock dropped the arrogant persona and showed his true colors.  These past few days have had Sherlock at the most emotional John's ever seen him.  As well as the most stressed.

"Just relax," John encouraged, "Just pretend it's just you and me at the flat."

"But it's not."

"I know, but try."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you're relaxing," Sherlock grumbled.

"Go in under the assumption that he is too," John said. "Go in believing that he's going to be your favorite person in the world,"

"Hmm... One of my favorite people," Sherlock corrected, in a harrumph. 

"You've got more than one?"

"Not counting him, two."

"Who?"

"You and Mrs. Hudson."

"Me?" John asked, surprised. Sherlock nodded, squinting ahead at a road sign.

"Why?"

"Because..." Sherlock hesitated, before shrugging.  "You're... you."

Sherlock turned the steering wheel to the left.

"Almost there," He announced.

Sherlock once again appeared entirely at ease, but John seemed to have learned to recognize a certain tension within him, a certain stiffness that indicated anxiety in the detective.  John wished he knew a good way to comfort Sherlock, but the best way he'd found was simply to be nearby.  To sit in his chair when Sherlock was in his.  Or to sit across the couch or table from him.  John wasn't sure why or how it worked, but it did.  

Perhaps it simply remined Sherlock he wasn't alone.

"Thank you," Sherlock said, out of the blue, "For coming with me, I mean."

"Any time," John replied.

Sherlock took a deep breath and pulled into the enormous circle drive.
 

Chapter 5: And That, Would Be a Mansion

Summary:

Sherlock meets his new brother. John meets the rest of the Holmeses.

Chapter Text

"And that, would be a mansion," John marveled, staring up at the massive house. "Exactly how rich are your parents, again?"

"Filthy," Sherlock muttered.  "They quite enjoy flaunting it."

John and Sherlock got out of the car and walked up the steps to the solid oak front doors.  Sherlock pushed them open to reveal a massive entryway with showcased white marble stairs. 

"Welcome to the ball room," Sherlock sighed. "The tea room, where they will most likely be at the moment, is this way."

John followed Sherlock down a long hallway.  He was fairly certain his jaw began hanging open when he saw the artwork hanging from the walls.  Rembrandt, Monet, and Van Goh amongst other artists seemed to have just dropped off a shipment of paintings.

"Mycroft likes the Rembrandt, but I prefer the Van Goghs," Sherlock said mildly.

"They real?" John asked.  Sherlock nodded and looks up at one of the larger paintings.

"Every last one," Sherlock answered. "I was obsessed with them for a time, couldn't find any evidence of forgery."

Sherlock's fingertips hovered above the door knob, after reaching to turn it, but hesitating.

"I'm going to be an entirely different person in there.  Expect it," Sherlock warned.  "If you act as though this is out of the ordinary, it won't work.  Mycroft would pick up on it."

John nodded.  Sherlock opened the odor and walked into the room, followed by John.

"William, dear, you're late.  Why can't you be more punctual like your brother? Come sit beside your father, we were just discussing the medal awarded to Mycroft by the President of China."

Sherlock's mother turned to John.

"And you must be my son's colleague, Dr. Watson," Mrs. Holmes said. "Welcome to Holmes Manor."

"Yes, thank you Mrs. Holmes.  Call me John, please," John smiled.  Other than the obvious favoritism towards Mycroft, John couldn't really see the problem yet.  They seemed nice enough.

"Where might my new brother be hiding?" Sherlock inquired.

"Oh, he's been up in his room a lot," Mrs. Holmes said. "The transition has been difficult on him, he's still getting ready."

John knew Sherlock well enough to see that he did his equivalent to sighing in relief.  Mrs. Holmes rang a bell and what appeared to be a maid came running into the room.  Literally, running.

"Yes, Mrs. Holmes?"

"Some tea, please.  Two trays, and get an extra cup for Agustus."

Augustus.  So that was his brother's name.

"Shall I fetch him then, Mother?" Mycroft asked, rising from his seat.

"Please do, thank you, Mycroft," Mrs. Holmes agreed.

Mycroft left the room, and Mrs. and Mr. Holmes struck a conversation with John.  John noted they seemed to be ignoring Sherlock almost entirely.

They did, as John found out, often call Sherlock names and otherwise insult him, them speaking about him as though he weren't present in that very room.  They kept telling John embarrassing stories about Sherlock as a child, then immediately thereafter go on a rant about how Mycroft controlled practically the entire British government.

Their favoritism was immense. 

"When Byron and I heard he had made it in the detective business, we were so shocked.  Byron nearly passed out!" Mrs. Holmes exclaimed. "The fact he is actually able to get any business is rather astonishing.  Then again, it is only a matter of time before this whole thing collapses." Mrs. Holmes turned to her husband and began to laugh.  "Remember when he wanted to be a chemist?!" 

"I am a chemist..." Sherlock said quietly, across the room.  His parents didn't acknowledge that he'd spoken.  John turned on auto pilot and just nodded and smiled as he tuned them out.  He didn't need to know every mistake Sherlock had made as a child, and he was already reminded enough of Mycroft's achievements, so he didn't really want to hear more.

Instead, he focused on Sherlock, and trying to analyze Sherlock's reactions to what was being said.

Sherlock was quiet and unusually submissive, while at the same time still maintaining perfect posture and eye contact with the person speaking.  His hands rested in his lap with the exception of the occasional twitch.  John recognized this as a sign of his anxiety.

About fifteen minutes later, Mycroft walked into the room with a boy, who appeared to be about 14, walking behind him.  The boy was wearing a suit, just like all the other males in the room, but like John, he appeared uncomfortable in it.

"Augustus, this is William.  Your other brother," Mrs. Holmes introduced.  Sherlock stood, and walked to the boy, extending a hand.

"A pleasure to finally meat you," Sherlock greeted.

"Nice to meet you too, William," Augustus responded.

John and Sherlock both noted his American accent.

"Augustus, the correct wording is 'a pleasure to meet you as well, William.'" Mrs. Holmes corrected.  "Ensure that you remember next time."

Augustus nodded.

"Yes, ma'am?" Mrs. Holmes prompted, giving a stern glare.

Augustus immediately corrected himself. "Yes, Ma'am."

John didn't understand why, but Sherlock seemed relieved at the treatment Augustus was receiving from Mrs. Holmes. 

John had thought it a little nit picky and excessive. 

Sherlock seemed to be thankful it was not worse.

Chapter 6: Greece and Worries

Summary:

Sherlock's mum and dad make an important announcement, Augustus finds a real human, and John just needs to use the loo.

Chapter Text

"Where might I find the restroom?" John asked, politely as he could.  He hated asking that question.  John wasn't sure why, but it had always bothered him.  It was awkward as ever.

"Up the hall, take the third right, then second left, and it will be on your right." Mrs. Holmes answered. "Augustus can show you."

"And ask what is taking so long while you're near the kitchen, would you, Augustus?" Mrs. Holmes added, once they were near the door.  "Thirty minutes is unacceptable for just tea."

"Yes, ma'am." August answered, nodding quickly.

"Good boy," Mrs. Holmes smiled just a little too sweetly to be real.

John followed the boy through the mansion.

"Right there," Augustus pointed. "Uh- Mr. - Dr. Watson - Sir?"

Augustus seemed to be at a loss as to how to address him.

"Just call me John," John smiled.  "I don't do formalities.  Not like this, anyway."

"Oh thank god," Augustus sighed. "I've finally found a human."

John chuckled, "You have, yeah."


"That was quite well timed, I should think.  Don't you agree, Byron?" Mrs. Holmes said.  "We'd like to speak to you in private anyway."

"I wasn't aware that Mycroft was included in 'private'?" Sherlock said, more willing to show a little resentment now that Augustus was gone.

"Shut up and listen to your mother," Mr. Holmes ordered. "This concerns the both of you."

Sherlock didn't push the topic, but he did speak once again. 

"What is this about then?"

"Your father and I are planning a holiday to Greece... We would like you to care for Augustus while we are gone," said Mrs. Holmes.

"I'd be happy to take him, Mother," Mycroft supplied.

"Ah ah ah!" Mrs. Holmes raised a finger. "I asked, William, not you.  You've already become well acquainted.  I'd like Augustus to know his other brother as well."

She turned to Sherlock.

"Mycroft has told us that Dr. Watson has been an excellent influence on you, and it has been 12 years, after all, William."

Sherlock waited to hear more, unsure of where she intended to go with this line of conversation.

"We're willing to give you one more chance to prove that you've changed.  That you've grown up, and aren't the... irresponsible freak of a thing you were before," Mrs. Holmes said.  "It's your last chance, William Sherlock Scott.  Don't mess it up. Prove to us all you're not a freak." 

Sherlock didn't speak for a moment, then cleared his throat.

"I'll have to confirm with the good doctor whether this is even a possibility, of course," Sherlock said, after finding his words.

"Then you'd best find your doctor, shan't you?" Mr. Holmes said, voice deceptively calm for the growl in it.

Sherlock recognized the tone, and flinched as the breath caught in his throat. 

"Y- yes, Sir.  Of course," Sherlock stumbled over his words, shoulder knocking against the wall as he quickly turned to find the door.


Sherlock walked down the hallway and rounded a corner, before something hit him in the chest.

He glanced down just as John glanced up and stepped out of such close quarters. 

"Sherlock?" John said, watching as Sherlock nodded distractedly and he gazed past John. "You alright? You eh - you seem a bit shaken up?"

"Fine, fine -"

"Should we be walking back then?"

"No, I came out to speak to you." 

John looks at Sherlock expectantly for a moment, then said, "Alright then..."

"What?"

"What was it you wanted to speak about?" John asked bluntly.

"Oh, yes, uh - "

"Are you sure you're alright?"

Sherlock sighed, rubbing his temples, "Fine, just distracted."

"Obviously," John rolled his eyes. "Now what are you on about?"

"Mum and Dad are going on holiday to Greece," Sherlock said. "They want August to stay with us while they're gone."

"August?" John asked, "I thought it was Augustus?"

"What sane person would name a child Augustus in this day and age?  No, chances are his name is August, and even that's if they aren't calling him by his middle name or haven't renamed him entirely."

"He's fourteen years old," John said. "Why would they rename him?"

"Because they can, John," Sherlock said. "Take away your name, take away your old life, everything about who you used to be."

"Did they change your name?" John asked softly, after a moment. 

"My last name, yes, of course, I can't remember whether they changed the others or not though," Sherlock said. "Now back to the original subject."

"What was it again?" John asked.

"Keeping watch of August while Mum and Dad are on vacation," Sherlock sighed exasperatedly.

"Right, right," John nodded. "I think it's a good idea.  If that's what you were wanting, my opinion, I mean."

"I'll just mess him up even worse than they are," Sherlock protests. "What if he's ordinary?"

"No, you won't," John assured him. "Plus, even if he is, I'll be there to help you, and Molly.  Yeah, this will be good.  You can get to know him, assess the problem, and hopefully get something figured out for the long run.  Yeah, this is great.  Ideal, really."

"I don't want him getting sucked in to my work, John," Sherlock said. "We get ourselves near killed every week.  I don't want him becoming a target."

"So we'll protect him," John shrugged.  "Plus, not like he'll be any safer at Mycroft's.  There are people trying to assassinate him every other day."

"That's true, I suppose," Sherlock muttered. " But still..." 

Chapter 7: Dinner, Kindness, and Unknown Details

Summary:

Sherlock and John receive quite the shock when learning the details of Mr and Mrs Holmes holiday.

Sherlock speaks with the maid.

Chapter Text

"Good.  Right, now then, let's go back in there and tell them our conclusion.  We'll need to find out some specifics, of course," John said.

Sherlock sighed and nodded.

They walked back into the room to see Mr. and Mrs. Holmes sitting there waiting. 

After a moment of Sherlock just standing there, John nudged him.

Sherlock cleared his throat.

"We'd be delighted to watch Augustus while you're on holiday," Sherlock said. "But there are a few matters of which need attended.  How long will you be away?"

Mrs. Holmes looked over at her husband, "Well, we're not quite certain of course, you know how holidays are, plans always change, but right now we plan on returning in about five weeks."

Five weeks.

John had been thinking, one, perhaps two, but five?!  Who on earth had the money to go on a five week holiday?

Oh, yes.  The Holmes family.

"And when shall we retrieve him?" Sherlock asked, sailing past the shock much more smoothly than John.

John supposed he must be used to it by now. 

"Oh, it shouldn't take him too long to be ready," Mrs. Holmes said. "Even less, if you assist him.  He's in your old room.  He would probably be able to leave by tonight with your help."

"Tonight?" John choked on his own tongue. 

"Well, yes, he won't need to bring much, just some clothes and his school books..." Mrs. Holmes paused. "You will make sure that he continues his lessons, won't you? He's not terribly fond of them, but he doesn't seem to need much help either, just a gentle reminder will do.  I'd hate to get back and find that he was behind on them."

"That would be a tragedy..."

John shifted uncomfortably.  The innocent comment had more the tone of a threat than a passing word.  Sherlock stiffened beside him, posture changing to appear unnaturally straight.

"Yes, of course we will," Sherlock said. "Won't we, John?"

John nodded blankly for a moment before finding his words, "Yes, of course."

Mrs. Holmes smiled.  It was a sickly looking thing.

"Now that that's all taken care of, shall we progress to the dining room? Dinner should be about ready.  Augustus will be able to find us easily enough," Mrs. Holmes said.  "After that, you will help him pack to leave."

"Leave?" came Augustus' voice.  He appeared in the doorway. "Where am I going?"

"Augustus, darling, you're going to stay with your brother while your father and I go on holiday," Mrs. Holmes said. "Don't you think that will be fun?"

Augustus looked over at Sherlock, stared at him a moment, then back to his mother. He opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated.

"Sure," August caught himself. "I'm sure it will, I mean."

"Good," Mrs. Holmes clapped her hands delightedly. "Now, we must be off to the dining room.  Can't have the food getting cold!"

She led the way out of the room and down to the dining room, which could more accurately be called the dining hall.  There was a table much too large for just the six of them there. Mr. Holmes took his place at the head, and John sat to his right.  He was proud of himself or knowing this tidbit of knowledge, even if he had learned it in a movie.

Mrs. Holmes sat to her husband's left, and Mycroft sat himself next to John, seat second from the right.  Augustus took second left, and Sherlock sat third chair to the right. 

Shortly, a maid carrying in two trays of tea came in, frantically setting the cups on the table and pouring the tea into them.

"Now you bring the tea! Supper is nearly ready, we don't need it now!" Mrs. Holmes chastised her. 

"My apologies, madam," the maid hurried to say. "The kitchen was out of tea and I had to-"

"Just take it away," Mrs. Holmes sighed.

The maid nodded and quickly stacked the dishes on her tray once again.  She left through the kitchen doors.  

"Excuse me for a moment," Sherlock said, quietly slipping from behind his chair with a grace that, while not all together unseen from Sherlock, had gone primarily unnoticed before.

John hadn't consciously considered it before, but Sherlock was rather coordinated.  He wasn't a clumsy man, and while he did occasionally knock over one of his beakers during an experiment, John had never witnessed him spill the tea in his cup, no matter how full it was made.

Turning slightly to the side, John could see Sherlock walk in through the kitchen doors.


Sherlock walked swiftly to catch up to the maid.  She was by the oven when he caugh ther arm.  She jumped at the touch.

"Thank you," Sherlock said quietly. "I know there was nothing you could do about the timing.  Just know that, on my part anyway, your efforts are appreciated."

The maid watched as Sherlock knelt and pulled the heavy skillet from the cubbord that the maid had been struggling with.  

"You don't have to - " She protested.

"Nonsense."

He set it atop the stove. 

"Thank you..."

"My pleasure."