Double Dose: Part 1/?
Title: Double Dose
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Family/Drama/Mild Humour
A/N: This just wouldn't leave me alone after seeing the prompt on the kink meme!! ( sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/5950.html) So... I give you Sherlock's other three brothers, mainly the brother referred to by society as a whole as 'The Normal One'.
Crossover with Fortysomething!!
Warning: This chapter refers VERY briefly to the deaths of children.
*
John sighed, hopping out of the cab and stretching while he waited for Sherlock to pay the driver. They had just wrapped up a chilling case, involving three murdered children, and, disturbingly, Sherlock had, disturbingly, found the whole affair thrilling. He had been in a state of intense excitement, before eventually deducing that the murderer was the youngest child's kindergarten teacher, who had murdered the three young girls in a fit of grief and jealousy stemming from the death of her own baby daughter a year earlier.
So, after running around manically for nearly five days, John and Sherlock had gone for a delicious Italian (Sherlock's first meal since the whole case had started), and John was now looking forward to sitting down in front of crap TV for an hour before falling into bed. Fate, though, appeared to have other ideas.
“Somebody's in the flat.” Sherlock commented, coming to stand next to John as the cab pulled away from the kerb. John looked up and, sure enough, saw that the light was on in the lounge.
“Maybe we left the light on.” He commented as Sherlock stepped forwards to unlock the front door.
“Nope.” Sherlock replied. “You switched the lights off before we left.”
John nodded, pulling his gun from the back of his jeans after closing the front door and following his flatmate up the stairs. After all, if anybody would notice somebody doing something as insignificant as flicking a switch, it would be Sherlock Holmes.
Together, Sherlock and John tiptoed towards the door to their flat. John held the gun carefully by his side, ready for in case Moriarty or some other murderer was waiting within their front room. After a brief glance at each other, Sherlock threw open the door, and he and John burst into the room, the gun raising to point at the man standing calmly in front of the fireplace.
Mycroft raised his eyebrow calmly, looking coolly at the pair who had just entered the room. “Is this how you usually greet guests?” He asked.
Sherlock glared, his eyes narrowing coldly at this brother. “Most guests don't simply let themselves into their hosts' empty flat.”
Mycroft ignored him, sitting down in John's usual chair and twirling his umbrella between his fingers. “I'm afraid we have a slight family emergency.” He said simply.
“I don't care.” Sherlock sighed, throwing himself down onto the sofa and closing his eyes.
“Your brother needs your help.” Mycroft told him, causing John to freeze on his way to the kitchen, his brows furrowing in confusion. Who referred to themselves as 'Your brother'?
Sherlock sighed again, sitting up and looking at Mycroft. “Be more specific.” He said coolly.
“Who would I realistically expect you to help?” Mycroft said with a cool smirk.
“Well I'd be more likely to help you than Daniel.” Sherlock commented with a snort. “And Edwin's probably too busy building a pornography empire to need help.”
“Sorry.” John interrupted, thrusting a cup of tea at Sherlock and placing Mycroft's gently on the table. “Who are Daniel and Edwin?”
“Our younger brothers.” Mycroft said simply. “But Daniel and Edwin are not the reason for my visit.”
“Although no doubt I'll still end up having to see them.” Sherlock muttered with disgust. “What's Rory done now?”
“Rory?” John asked, getting more and more confused by the second. He had always been under the impression that Mycroft and Sherlock were the only Holmes brothers. The idea of there being more was, quite frankly, terrifying.
“Another brother.” Sherlock muttered, before turning back to Mycroft. “Why would I want to help Rory anyway? Last time I saw him he walked out in the middle of the worst withdrawal because his useless brother was shagging his even more useless girlfriend.”
“He was willing to sit with you through the withdrawal, though.” Mycroft retorted. “Until Daniel surpassed even you in attention seeking stunts.”
Sherlock snarled, picking up his violin from its case and plucking a few strings tunelessly before dropping it onto the sofa next to him. “What's the emergency now?”
Mycroft smiled smugly, clearly sensing his victory. “Laura has, once again, cheated on Rory. Again, with Daniel. Unfortunately, the flat they were sharing was hers, and Rory has been sleeping on the streets for several nights.”
Sherlock sighed. “Where about?”
“He seems to be staying in the area of the Vauxhall Arches.” Mycroft relied, nodding as Sherlock cringed. “No doubt your homeless network would make short work of finding him.”
Sherlock suddenly stood up, staring intently at Mycroft. “Is he still dying his hair?”
“Yes.” Mycroft replied. “Auburn.”
“Good.” Sherlock muttered. “That should make him less conspicuous until I can find him.”
*
Half an hour later John found himself not, as he had hoped, drinking one last cup of tea before bed, but rather jumping out of a cab in Vauxhall, following Sherlock as he strolled up to a tired looking homeless woman in a shop doorway.
“Lucy.” Sherlock said, holding fifty pounds out to the woman. “I need help finding someone, but it needs to be discreet. Can't have the wrong people hearing about him.”
“Posh bloke?” Lucy said with a smile, taking the money. “Reddish hair. First time sleeping rough?”
“That's him.” Sherlock huffed, tensing. “Has he been noticed?”
“Nah.” Lucy replied, smiling again as Sherlock visibly relaxed. “It's a nice touch with the hair. Makes it less obvious. Me and Ben only noticed him 'cos I know you.”
“Where is he?” Sherlock asked, refraining from comment, even though John noticed him wince, and could practically seen the words 'Ben and I, not me and Ben' running through his head. “I need to get him somewhere safe before someone else notices him.”
“You're in luck.” Lucy said, pointing further up the road. “He's kipping outside Argos. Ben's keeping an eye on him tonight.”
Sherlock glanced in the direction Lucy had pointed, before looking back at her thoughtfully. “You've been looking out for him while you wait for me to turn up.”
Lucy nodded, smiling again. “He's been careful.” She said. “Keeping his hood up, hiding his face, nice and sensible. You've got enemies though, Mr Holmes. If the wrong person got one good look at his face, he'd be nothing but cannon fodder. Me and Ben take it in turns, one watching over him, one waiting here for you.”
Sherlock nodded, standing up and staring towards Argos again. “Thanks Lucy.” He said before walking away., motioning for John to follow.
“What's going on?” John asked, jogging slightly to keep up with Sherlock. “Why are they watching him?”
“Think about it.” Sherlock hissed, stepping closer to John so that even he could barely hear him. “Moriarty said he was going to burn the heart out of me. We do our best, keep his look as different from mine as possible, but there's only so much you can do with hair dye and different coloured clothes. Rory was the only brother I was ever really close to. We're polar opposites, but that worked well. He's a lot like you, actually.”
“Like me?” John asked, raising his eyebrows. It was hard to imagine a Holmes being anything like him.
“He's very much not a sociopath.” Sherlock explained. “Very moral. People always called him the normal one. Except for that one time he tried to hit Daniel with an axe.”
“An axe.” John repeated as Sherlock started walking again. “Okaaaay.”
As they got closer to Argos, the sound of desperate coughing echoed down the road, and John looked anxiously at Sherlock.
“Sherlock.” He said nervously. “It's January. If he's never slept rough before, I doubt he's wrapped up well enough for nights on the street in winter.”
Sherlock simply nodded, his eyebrows furrowing as he stepped slowly towards the source of the coughing.
There were two figures in the doorway, one crouching nervously, the other - the one with the vicious cough, curled up into himself, hood up and arms folded tightly across his chest, his brown hoody his only source of warmth.
“Ben.” Sherlock whispered, crouching down next to the pair. “Is this all he's got with him.”
The first man turned to look at Sherlock, nodding quietly. “He started getting sick the day before yesterday.” He said. “Me and Lucy were gonna take him to see someone if he wasn't better by tomorrow.”
Sherlock nodded, handing another fifty to Ben, before turning his attention to his brother.
“Rory?” He said. “What's wrong?”
Rory lifted his head slightly, peering at Sherlock from under his hood for a moment before answering.
“Smarmy little shit stole my girlfriend.” He said, before breaking into another fit of coughs. “Again.”
“Yes, yes, we all know what's wrong with Daniel.” Sherlock snapped, waving his hand impatiently. “I meant what's wrong with you. John, come look at him.”
John stepped forward to crouch down in front of Rory. He reached forwards, placing his hand on the other man's forehead, before going to push the hood back.
“Leave it!” Rory snarled, flinching away from John.
“Rory, he's fine.” Sherlock said. “This is John. My flatmate.”
Rory hesitated for a moment, before reaching up and pushing his hood back off his head.
John gasped, suddenly seeing why Rory's face was such a danger to both him and Sherlock. They were twins.
Part 2
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Family/Drama/Mild Humour
A/N: This just wouldn't leave me alone after seeing the prompt on the kink meme!! ( sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/5950.html) So... I give you Sherlock's other three brothers, mainly the brother referred to by society as a whole as 'The Normal One'.
Crossover with Fortysomething!!
Warning: This chapter refers VERY briefly to the deaths of children.
*
John sighed, hopping out of the cab and stretching while he waited for Sherlock to pay the driver. They had just wrapped up a chilling case, involving three murdered children, and, disturbingly, Sherlock had, disturbingly, found the whole affair thrilling. He had been in a state of intense excitement, before eventually deducing that the murderer was the youngest child's kindergarten teacher, who had murdered the three young girls in a fit of grief and jealousy stemming from the death of her own baby daughter a year earlier.
So, after running around manically for nearly five days, John and Sherlock had gone for a delicious Italian (Sherlock's first meal since the whole case had started), and John was now looking forward to sitting down in front of crap TV for an hour before falling into bed. Fate, though, appeared to have other ideas.
“Somebody's in the flat.” Sherlock commented, coming to stand next to John as the cab pulled away from the kerb. John looked up and, sure enough, saw that the light was on in the lounge.
“Maybe we left the light on.” He commented as Sherlock stepped forwards to unlock the front door.
“Nope.” Sherlock replied. “You switched the lights off before we left.”
John nodded, pulling his gun from the back of his jeans after closing the front door and following his flatmate up the stairs. After all, if anybody would notice somebody doing something as insignificant as flicking a switch, it would be Sherlock Holmes.
Together, Sherlock and John tiptoed towards the door to their flat. John held the gun carefully by his side, ready for in case Moriarty or some other murderer was waiting within their front room. After a brief glance at each other, Sherlock threw open the door, and he and John burst into the room, the gun raising to point at the man standing calmly in front of the fireplace.
Mycroft raised his eyebrow calmly, looking coolly at the pair who had just entered the room. “Is this how you usually greet guests?” He asked.
Sherlock glared, his eyes narrowing coldly at this brother. “Most guests don't simply let themselves into their hosts' empty flat.”
Mycroft ignored him, sitting down in John's usual chair and twirling his umbrella between his fingers. “I'm afraid we have a slight family emergency.” He said simply.
“I don't care.” Sherlock sighed, throwing himself down onto the sofa and closing his eyes.
“Your brother needs your help.” Mycroft told him, causing John to freeze on his way to the kitchen, his brows furrowing in confusion. Who referred to themselves as 'Your brother'?
Sherlock sighed again, sitting up and looking at Mycroft. “Be more specific.” He said coolly.
“Who would I realistically expect you to help?” Mycroft said with a cool smirk.
“Well I'd be more likely to help you than Daniel.” Sherlock commented with a snort. “And Edwin's probably too busy building a pornography empire to need help.”
“Sorry.” John interrupted, thrusting a cup of tea at Sherlock and placing Mycroft's gently on the table. “Who are Daniel and Edwin?”
“Our younger brothers.” Mycroft said simply. “But Daniel and Edwin are not the reason for my visit.”
“Although no doubt I'll still end up having to see them.” Sherlock muttered with disgust. “What's Rory done now?”
“Rory?” John asked, getting more and more confused by the second. He had always been under the impression that Mycroft and Sherlock were the only Holmes brothers. The idea of there being more was, quite frankly, terrifying.
“Another brother.” Sherlock muttered, before turning back to Mycroft. “Why would I want to help Rory anyway? Last time I saw him he walked out in the middle of the worst withdrawal because his useless brother was shagging his even more useless girlfriend.”
“He was willing to sit with you through the withdrawal, though.” Mycroft retorted. “Until Daniel surpassed even you in attention seeking stunts.”
Sherlock snarled, picking up his violin from its case and plucking a few strings tunelessly before dropping it onto the sofa next to him. “What's the emergency now?”
Mycroft smiled smugly, clearly sensing his victory. “Laura has, once again, cheated on Rory. Again, with Daniel. Unfortunately, the flat they were sharing was hers, and Rory has been sleeping on the streets for several nights.”
Sherlock sighed. “Where about?”
“He seems to be staying in the area of the Vauxhall Arches.” Mycroft relied, nodding as Sherlock cringed. “No doubt your homeless network would make short work of finding him.”
Sherlock suddenly stood up, staring intently at Mycroft. “Is he still dying his hair?”
“Yes.” Mycroft replied. “Auburn.”
“Good.” Sherlock muttered. “That should make him less conspicuous until I can find him.”
*
Half an hour later John found himself not, as he had hoped, drinking one last cup of tea before bed, but rather jumping out of a cab in Vauxhall, following Sherlock as he strolled up to a tired looking homeless woman in a shop doorway.
“Lucy.” Sherlock said, holding fifty pounds out to the woman. “I need help finding someone, but it needs to be discreet. Can't have the wrong people hearing about him.”
“Posh bloke?” Lucy said with a smile, taking the money. “Reddish hair. First time sleeping rough?”
“That's him.” Sherlock huffed, tensing. “Has he been noticed?”
“Nah.” Lucy replied, smiling again as Sherlock visibly relaxed. “It's a nice touch with the hair. Makes it less obvious. Me and Ben only noticed him 'cos I know you.”
“Where is he?” Sherlock asked, refraining from comment, even though John noticed him wince, and could practically seen the words 'Ben and I, not me and Ben' running through his head. “I need to get him somewhere safe before someone else notices him.”
“You're in luck.” Lucy said, pointing further up the road. “He's kipping outside Argos. Ben's keeping an eye on him tonight.”
Sherlock glanced in the direction Lucy had pointed, before looking back at her thoughtfully. “You've been looking out for him while you wait for me to turn up.”
Lucy nodded, smiling again. “He's been careful.” She said. “Keeping his hood up, hiding his face, nice and sensible. You've got enemies though, Mr Holmes. If the wrong person got one good look at his face, he'd be nothing but cannon fodder. Me and Ben take it in turns, one watching over him, one waiting here for you.”
Sherlock nodded, standing up and staring towards Argos again. “Thanks Lucy.” He said before walking away., motioning for John to follow.
“What's going on?” John asked, jogging slightly to keep up with Sherlock. “Why are they watching him?”
“Think about it.” Sherlock hissed, stepping closer to John so that even he could barely hear him. “Moriarty said he was going to burn the heart out of me. We do our best, keep his look as different from mine as possible, but there's only so much you can do with hair dye and different coloured clothes. Rory was the only brother I was ever really close to. We're polar opposites, but that worked well. He's a lot like you, actually.”
“Like me?” John asked, raising his eyebrows. It was hard to imagine a Holmes being anything like him.
“He's very much not a sociopath.” Sherlock explained. “Very moral. People always called him the normal one. Except for that one time he tried to hit Daniel with an axe.”
“An axe.” John repeated as Sherlock started walking again. “Okaaaay.”
As they got closer to Argos, the sound of desperate coughing echoed down the road, and John looked anxiously at Sherlock.
“Sherlock.” He said nervously. “It's January. If he's never slept rough before, I doubt he's wrapped up well enough for nights on the street in winter.”
Sherlock simply nodded, his eyebrows furrowing as he stepped slowly towards the source of the coughing.
There were two figures in the doorway, one crouching nervously, the other - the one with the vicious cough, curled up into himself, hood up and arms folded tightly across his chest, his brown hoody his only source of warmth.
“Ben.” Sherlock whispered, crouching down next to the pair. “Is this all he's got with him.”
The first man turned to look at Sherlock, nodding quietly. “He started getting sick the day before yesterday.” He said. “Me and Lucy were gonna take him to see someone if he wasn't better by tomorrow.”
Sherlock nodded, handing another fifty to Ben, before turning his attention to his brother.
“Rory?” He said. “What's wrong?”
Rory lifted his head slightly, peering at Sherlock from under his hood for a moment before answering.
“Smarmy little shit stole my girlfriend.” He said, before breaking into another fit of coughs. “Again.”
“Yes, yes, we all know what's wrong with Daniel.” Sherlock snapped, waving his hand impatiently. “I meant what's wrong with you. John, come look at him.”
John stepped forward to crouch down in front of Rory. He reached forwards, placing his hand on the other man's forehead, before going to push the hood back.
“Leave it!” Rory snarled, flinching away from John.
“Rory, he's fine.” Sherlock said. “This is John. My flatmate.”
Rory hesitated for a moment, before reaching up and pushing his hood back off his head.
John gasped, suddenly seeing why Rory's face was such a danger to both him and Sherlock. They were twins.
Part 2