Fortysomething REPROMPT
anonymous
January 21 2011, 17:30:23 UTC
Saw this in the last part and I don't know if it's been reposted or indeed filled (if it's been filled please give me a link :D)
- Just watched Fortysomething for the first time and I am in LOVE. It's fantastic and Rory (Benedict Cumberpatch's character) is adorable in his new age guy, sensitive, Too-nice-for-this-world sort of way.
Anyway - my prompt is that Holmes and Mycroft are actually members of the Slippery family, whether they be sons, adopted cousins, I don't care. I just want them both (and John of course) to come home for Christmas and utter madness to ensue.
Come on - you all know you want to see Hugh Laurie as Daddy!Holmes, you know it. Plus - John probably thinks he would be super intelligent, like Sherlock and Mycroft and he is a doctor after all. I think it would be funny to see them meet and have John realise that Paul definetely is not the brains of the Slippery outfit. (and we love him for it)
In summary - your average Christmas with Sherlock's family - warped into an obscure crossover -
And - I has a video to inspire all you talented little writers (or artists if you're interested) out there :
Re: Fortysomething REPROMPTscap3goatJanuary 21 2011, 19:54:31 UTC
Okay, because it's been a while since I've seen it... but is there any mention of whether Paul or Estelle took the other's last name when they got married? Because I obviously have not the time to rewatch the series but there's always times for bunnies...
Re: Fortysomething REPROMPTscap3goatJanuary 23 2011, 05:20:54 UTC
Dammit, why do paper books not have a cntrl-f feature?!?!?!?
The story of my life. And some people are still confused why I love my .pdf version of the Holmes canon...
EDIT: Though my brain now informs me it is entirely in the realm of possibilities that Sherlock and Mycroft might have taken their mother's maiden name to avoid the unfortunate associations of the name "Slippery". And it would take a bit of changing canon facts to fit Sherlock in between Mycroft and Rory, age-wise... damn you, brain.
Re: Fortysomething REPROMPT
anonymous
January 30 2011, 07:46:49 UTC
I want this so much after just watching Fortysomething (on youtube). If it helps any writers, I'm thinking that a Holmes relative (grandparent/uncle/aunt/etc) could have been around to help raise Sherlock and Mycroft, which could at least partly explain why they're so different from the other Slippery kids.
Re: Fortysomething REPROMPTsudipalJanuary 31 2011, 02:32:57 UTC
I posted a different prompt for this crossover in the last section, but no one has filled it yet. Someone said they were in the middle of one, but they haven't posted it yet.
Anyway, if they are actually related, I would find it more believable that Estelle and Mommy!Holmes are sisters (though Benedict and Hugh have similar body types, I think through the mothers makes more sense unless it's Hugh as House, of course.) But any crossover of this type would be made of awesome! Please someone write one (or two)!
Fill - Double Dose, Part 1alindor1306February 14 2011, 06:24:50 UTC
Double Dose
Warning: This chapter refers 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?”
Fill - Double Dose, Part 1blindor1306February 14 2011, 06:29:18 UTC
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.
Fill - Double Dose, Part 1clindor1306February 14 2011, 06:30:38 UTC
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.
Fill - Double Dose, Part 2alindor1306February 14 2011, 18:33:46 UTC
A/N: Wow... this section was going to have a brief explanation of Rory not being like Sherlock... but then it went into a deep explanation of Sherlock's behaviour! Still, hope you like.
~~~~~~~
John sighed, stepping out of his bedroom and closing the door behind him.
“How is he?” Sherlock asked, turning from his position staring out of the window to face the doctor.
“He has a bit of a chest infection.” John told him. “Probably nothing to worry about. I'll write out a prescription for some antibiotics, and keep an eye on him, but he should be fine.”
“Ok.” Sherlock said. “Shall I take the prescription somewhere to collect it? We need milk anyway. And Rory only ever eats Cheerios for breakfast.”
John gaped. “Sherlock?” He said hesitantly. “Are you offering to go shopping?”
“Yes.” Sherlock hissed through clenched teeth. “You're the doctor, you should stay here. And if he wakes up, he might be... confused. Strange place. I've heard friendly faces help in situations such as these.”
“So surely you should be the one to stay, then.” John said reasonably. “I mean you're his brother. He'd never met me before tonight. Waking up in a strange bed with a strange man around would probably be even scarier. Surely you'd be best.”
“John.” Sherlock said seriously, staring intently at his flatmate. “I'm a sociopath. His girlfriend has cheated on him with his younger brother and then thrown him out of his flat to live on the streets. That's the kind of thing people get emotional about. I know from experience that I'm bad at these situations. Eventually I will say something very Not Good. That he's an idiot for moving in with a girl who'd already slept with his brother. That he's an idiot for moving into a flat solely in her name. That he's an idiot for sleeping on the streets in winter with nothing but jeans, a t-shirt and a hoody to keep him warm. Or maybe that, in a way, he's nearly as morally questionable as they are for being willing to swap girlfriends with his brother again and again. So tell me, John, which of these observations do you think Rory will appreciate the most?”
John stared. “You do have a brain-to-mouth-filter!” He commented, shocked. “If you know what you're saying is not good, why do you still say it?”
“Sociopaths are capable of love.” Sherlock informed him dryly. “Granted we love in a very selfish, all-consuming way, but we can still love. There are times when I genuinely don't know that something is unacceptable, but when I do know that I'm thinking something not good, I say what I'm thinking and what I have observed because I don't care about the people I'm saying it to. There are few people I love, but I won't say what I know to be bad to those few because it causes me discomfort to see them hurting, even if they are hurting because of something I can't understand.”
John hesitated, absorbing this rare insight into the way Sherlock's mind works. “When were you diagnosed as a sociopath?” He asked, cringing visibly. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.
Sherlock thought for a moment, clearly weighing his options up in his mind. “When I was twenty.” He finally said, smiling to himself.
”Twenty?” John repeated, his eyebrows raised. “That's a bit late for diagnosing a personality disorder.”
“I saw a lot of child psychologists.” Sherlock told him with a sigh. “All incompetent. All bending facts to suit theories rather than theories to suit facts. They were unable to see anything but a child with Asperger's. It wasn't until Mycroft was in a position to find me competent psychologists that I was diagnosed with both.”
Fill - Double Dose, Part 2blindor1306February 14 2011, 18:35:35 UTC
John stared, thinking deeply. “Why are you telling me all of this now?”
“It's important that you know all of the facts.” Sherlock stated simply. “You need to know that Rory is nothing like me. He shouldn't have that stigma attached to him. Rory is normal. No sociopathy. No Asperger's. A normal man with a very abnormal twin brother. Don't expect him to be a freak.”
“I don't.” John said honestly. “And I don't think of you as a freak either.”
Sherlock smiled. “Good.” He said, walking over to take the prescription from John. “Now, whatever you do don't drink the apple juice. There's a tongue in the carton. I'm testing the absorption of glucose after death.”
John started, glancing from Sherlock to the fridge and back again in alarm.
“Who are they?” He asked, just as Sherlock went to leave the flat. “The people you wouldn't want to see hurt?”
Sherlock hesitated again, seeming to stare straight through John's skull and deep into his brain. “My mother, Rory, Edwin, Mycroft and... well... you.”
*
John looked up from the TV (Jeremy Kyle - it just wasn't the same anymore without Sherlock predicting the results of the lie detectors with 100% accuracy) to see Rory shuffling through the door, John's duvet wrapped tightly around his shoulders.
“Where's clever-clogs?” He asked, walking past John and into the kitchen.
“Tesco.” John replied, standing up and joining Rory in the kitchen. “You need anything?”
“M'thirsty.” Rory mumbled, opening the fridge and looking inside.
“Well don't drink the apple juice.” John advised with a grin. “There's a tongue in it, apparently. A human tongue.”
“A tongue?” Rory repeated, smirking. “Christ, he gets worse instead of better. At least living with Edwin the worst you're going to find in the fridge is raspberry flavoured lube in a jam jar.”
“God, I wish I could find lube in the fridge, rather than body parts.” John laughed.
“Yeah, it wasn't bad.” Rory told him. “I'd spread it on my toast and eaten half a slice before Edwin told me what it was.”
John laughed, loud. “How old is Edwin?”
“Twenty-five, now.” Rory commented, sniffing cautiously at a bottle of cranberry juice. “Finally starting to grow up and stop winding everyone up for shits and giggles.”
“God.” John sighed. “It's hard to imagine Sherlock with younger brothers. The cranberry's fine, by the way. Sherlock knows the results of experimenting on my cranberry juice will be his death.”
Rory snorted, nodding his thanks and pouring some juice into a mug from the cupboard. “Don't go feeling sorry for Edwin.” He said reproachfully. “He was such a little twerp. Especially to Sherlock.”
“Why?” John asked, sitting down at the kitchen table and pulling a chair out for Rory and his duvet to join him.
“He's seven years younger than us.” Rory said. “By the time he was old enough to really understand about Sherlock's problems, we were already sixteen, seventeen, so he didn't see that much of him. Sherlock went to Cambridge at sixteen, so when he came back in the holidays, Edwin was entering those nasty everything's-a-joke-or-wind-up-opportunity pre-teen years. He used to really take the piss. Daniel and I used to act as sort of buffers, stepping in when it went beyond brotherly banter.”
“Daniel?” John asked, before he could stop himself.
“Yeah.” Rory sighed, stifling a cough. “He's a proper bastard, but he's always been protective of Sherlock. A kid in his class when he was twelve made a comment about his 'spaz brother', and Daniel was suspended for two weeks for breaking his nose. The thing about Daniel being a nasty little shit is he knows when other people are being nasty little shits as well. It's like the nasty little shit version of gaydar.”
John snorted, shaking his head in amusement. “We should introduce him to Anderson some time. They'll either kill each other on sight or start dry-humping right in the middle of the crime scene.”
Fill - Double Dose, Part 2clindor1306February 14 2011, 18:37:11 UTC
“Please don't mention Anderson again, John.” Sherlock's voice rang out as he stepped into the kitchen and dropped two bags of shopping onto the table. “Rory's sick enough already.”
“You've been gone a while.” John commented, opening the shopping bags and sliding the box of Cheerios in Rory's direction.
“Ran into Mycroft.” Sherlock replied with a grimace. “You will be pleased to know Lucy will be starting her new job as an administrative assistant in some government office or another tomorrow morning, and Ben will be starting work in the kitchens. They are currently residing in a police safe house maintained by Mycroft.”
“Lucy?” Rory asked, staring at his brother.
“Not Lucy Proek.” Sherlock said. “Lucy and Ben are - were - two of my homeless friends who kept an eye on you while you were on the streets. They realised how much danger you could be in so watched over you until I found you.”
“Why the hell does Mycroft have a safe house?” Rory asked, looking horrified.
“He keeps it for me.” Sherlock said simply, placing the apple juice in the fridge and pulling a permanent marker from his pocket to mark the one with the tongue with a large X. “He used to lock me in it in an attempt to get me clean.”
“Awww.” Rory cooed mockingly, standing up and flinging an arm around Sherlock's shoulders. “Aren't you special. He keeps a special little anti-drug den just for you. You know, in Mycroft-world, that's practically a declaration of undying love.”
Sherlock glared, pushing Rory's arm off him with a look of extreme discomfort. “Take your pills and go back to bed.” He said. “Before you turn us all into gibbering idiots.”
Rory smirked, rooting through the carrier bags to find the little packet of pills. He quickly read the instructions and took two, before, with a cheeky wave, he picked up his duvet, and walked out of the kitchen and back to bed.
Fill - Double Dose, Part 3alindor1306February 17 2011, 22:00:51 UTC
WARNING: REFERENCES TO A BLOODY MURDER IN THIS PART
A week later, Rory's chest infection had all but passed, and Sherlock was rapidly approaching dangerous levels of boredom. John had taken to carrying his gun with him at all times to avoid further damage to the flat's walls, and, that morning, after Sherlock had disturbingly hinted at a developing interest in experimenting upon identical twins, he had firmly ordered his flatmate to go the Barts' morgue and find something dead to play with.
So, John now found himself sitting in his armchair, with Rory occupying Sherlock's usual spot lying on the sofa, watching Doctor Who reruns on BBC3.
“Why don't they just blink one eye at a time?” Rory mused, as the sounds of heavy, rushed footsteps on the stairs echoed into the room.
“Not so good from a plot point of view.” John commented dryly, turning to face Sherlock as he ran through the door.
“Case!” Sherlock exclaimed happily, bouncing into the centre of the room and standing right in front of the television. “Grab your coats!”
“What, both of us?” John asked incredulously. “You want Rory to come?”
“Well I can't leave him here alone!” Sherlock said, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Sorry, why can't I be left alone?” Rory asked, sitting up and looking affronted. “I'm not going to wreck the flat.”
“John has the gun.” Sherlock stated. “John is coming with me. Hence, you're coming with me as well. Now, get your coat. God only knows what Anderson's doing to the crime scene while we sit here chatting.” Rory nodded, and he and John stood up to quickly pull their coats on, while Sherlock impatiently stood and watched.
On their way out of the flat, Sherlock turned round and pointed at Rory. “Make sure you buy some hair dye when we've solved this - you've got nearly as much root as hair.”
*
The crime scene, it turned out, was at the Dorchester Hotel. Getting out of the cab and walking into the hotel lobby, John turned round to address Sherlock.
“Do they know Rory's coming?” He asked, watching as the detective pressed the button to call the lift. “Police don't generally like just anybody wandering onto crime scenes.”
“He's with me.” Sherlock replied as the lift opened and he stepped inside, pressing the button for the fourth floor. “They'll let him in because I want them to. Lestrade needs me too much to refuse something I want.”
John nodded, smirking at Rory and rolling his eyes.
“Good to know you haven't let your ego get too big.” Rory commented dryly.
*
Rory was staring at all of the activity going on around him as they walked up the corridor towards the hotel room in which the murder had taken place.
“Oh Christ.” Donovan exclaimed as she saw Sherlock approaching. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Same as usual, Sally.” Sherlock said with a smirk. “Lestrade seemed to think you need me.” He lifted the crime scene tape and stepped under, holding it up for John to follow, before glaring up the corridor at his brother, who had stopped to look at one of the paintings lining the walls. “Rory!”
“Hold on.” Donovan objected. “This is a crime scene. You can't just bring anyone in here, freak.”
Rory whirled round, stomping up the corridor and coming to a halt in front of the Sergeant.
“Freak?” He repeated, looking angry. “Did you call him a freak?”
“Leave it, Rory.” Sherlock said with a warning look.
Sally looked horrified. “Oh god.” She said. “There's two of you.”
“Excellent deduction, Sergeant Donovan.” Sherlock smirked. “Although a quick glance at my file at Scotland Yard would have informed you that I have a twin. All immediate family members are listed for emergency contacts - including my brothers.”
“Brothers?” Donovan repeated, drawing a hiss of irritation from Sherlock. “How many of you are there?”
“Five.” Sherlock responded. “Now, if you don't mind, that corpse isn't getting any fresher. John, Rory, come on!”
Fill - Double Dose, Part 3blindor1306February 17 2011, 22:05:02 UTC
The scene was one of the worst John had seen since meeting Sherlock. A dark-haired man was lying face-up on the bed, his chest cut open, blood soaking the sheets underneath him. The smell of blood instantly brought up images of hot medical tents in John's mind, soldiers bleeding beneath his hands.
Rory let out a groan as soon as he entered the room. “Fucking hell, Sherlock.” He groaned. “You could have warned me.”
“About what?” Sherlock asked, pausing in his examination of the body to look at his brother.
“About what?” Rory cried with a horrified look on his face. “There's a bloody mutilated corpse on the bed! Christ, were you always this disgusting?”
“Has been as long as I've known him.” Lestrade said, appearing with Anderson in the doorway behind Rory and stepping around him. “Sorry, who are - oh bloody hell.”
“Rory, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade.” Sherlock said as he pulled a pair of latex gloves onto his hands. “Lestrade, my brother Rory.”
“He's -“
“If you state the obvious, Lestrade, I will lose my patience entirely.” Sherlock interrupted. He looked up at Lestrade, and gave a huff of irritation when he spotted Anderson behind him. “Did you have to bring him with you? His stupidity could infect my poor brother.”
“You're turning crime scenes into family outings now?” Anderson commented with a look of disgust. “He's not a psychopath as well, is he?”
“Hey!” Rory spoke up, looking angry again. “Less of the -“
“I said leave it, Rory!” Sherlock snapped. “Now all of you be quiet. Don't talk to me. Anderson, don't talk at all.”
Sherlock started examining the body, peering closely at the gaping wound in the man's torso. Rory nudged John gently and nodded his head towards the door.
“What's up?” John asked once they were outside the room and Rory had closed the door.
“They call him Freak.” Rory commented, looking irritated.
“Yeah.” John sighed. “Have done the whole time I've known him. That's just Sally's name for him.”
“It bothers him.” Rory said simply.
“What?” John asked. “I don't think -“
“Believe me, I know my brother.” Rory told him. “He looked at the floor when she called him Freak, and again when he called him a psychopath. It bothered him.”
John felt a coil of shame twisting in his stomach. “I didn't think anything really bothered Sherlock.” He said quietly.
“It's hard to tell with him.” Rory told him. “I only notice because I know him so well. I was there at school with him, and at home. I'd see him pull that face every day. All he ever heard at school was 'Freak' and 'Psycho' and 'Monster'. Hell, even Edwin got that face out of him sometimes.”
“God, I had no idea.” John sighed, staring at the ceiling.
The door to the room suddenly opened, and Sherlock appeared, his eyes darting between John and Rory for a moment, before he beckoned John into the room with a brief “Need you to look at the body.”
“What was that about?” Sherlock asked, watching as John examined the victim's open torso.
“Hmm?” John asked, glancing up at Sherlock and then over at Rory by the door. “Oh, he was asking about the things Donovan and Anderson call you.”
Sherlock huffed in irritation. “Typical.” He said. “He's got more morals than you have. I don't want any concern, thank you.”
“Doesn't mean you don't need it.” John commented, pulling back the victim's eyelids one at a time before standing up straight. “He was suffocated.” He said as he peeled off his latex gloves. “Chest was opened up after death, probably immediately or there wouldn't be as much blood, and the heart, lungs, kidneys and liver have all been removed.”
“Exactly.” Sherlock said, before turning to Lestrade. “The incision is perfectly neat, made with surgical precision, so you're looking for somebody with medical training. Either a doctor or a vet. Check all hotel staff to see if any of them have been or are currently at medical or veterinary school.”
“How do you know it's staff?” Lestrade asked, taking notes. “Could have been someone in the room with him.”
- Just watched Fortysomething for the first time and I am in LOVE. It's fantastic and Rory (Benedict Cumberpatch's character) is adorable in his new age guy, sensitive, Too-nice-for-this-world sort of way.
Anyway - my prompt is that Holmes and Mycroft are actually members of the Slippery family, whether they be sons, adopted cousins, I don't care. I just want them both (and John of course) to come home for Christmas and utter madness to ensue.
Come on - you all know you want to see Hugh Laurie as Daddy!Holmes, you know it. Plus - John probably thinks he would be super intelligent, like Sherlock and Mycroft and he is a doctor after all. I think it would be funny to see them meet and have John realise that Paul definetely is not the brains of the Slippery outfit. (and we love him for it)
In summary - your average Christmas with Sherlock's family - warped into an obscure crossover -
And - I has a video to inspire all you talented little writers (or artists if you're interested) out there :
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The story of my life. And some people are still confused why I love my .pdf version of the Holmes canon...
EDIT: Though my brain now informs me it is entirely in the realm of possibilities that Sherlock and Mycroft might have taken their mother's maiden name to avoid the unfortunate associations of the name "Slippery". And it would take a bit of changing canon facts to fit Sherlock in between Mycroft and Rory, age-wise... damn you, brain.
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xPOnWmci60o
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leaving now
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Anyway, if they are actually related, I would find it more believable that Estelle and Mommy!Holmes are sisters (though Benedict and Hugh have similar body types, I think through the mothers makes more sense unless it's Hugh as House, of course.) But any crossover of this type would be made of awesome! Please someone write one (or two)!
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Warning: This chapter refers 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?”
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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.
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“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.
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~~~~~~~
John sighed, stepping out of his bedroom and closing the door behind him.
“How is he?” Sherlock asked, turning from his position staring out of the window to face the doctor.
“He has a bit of a chest infection.” John told him. “Probably nothing to worry about. I'll write out a prescription for some antibiotics, and keep an eye on him, but he should be fine.”
“Ok.” Sherlock said. “Shall I take the prescription somewhere to collect it? We need milk anyway. And Rory only ever eats Cheerios for breakfast.”
John gaped. “Sherlock?” He said hesitantly. “Are you offering to go shopping?”
“Yes.” Sherlock hissed through clenched teeth. “You're the doctor, you should stay here. And if he wakes up, he might be... confused. Strange place. I've heard friendly faces help in situations such as these.”
“So surely you should be the one to stay, then.” John said reasonably. “I mean you're his brother. He'd never met me before tonight. Waking up in a strange bed with a strange man around would probably be even scarier. Surely you'd be best.”
“John.” Sherlock said seriously, staring intently at his flatmate. “I'm a sociopath. His girlfriend has cheated on him with his younger brother and then thrown him out of his flat to live on the streets. That's the kind of thing people get emotional about. I know from experience that I'm bad at these situations. Eventually I will say something very Not Good. That he's an idiot for moving in with a girl who'd already slept with his brother. That he's an idiot for moving into a flat solely in her name. That he's an idiot for sleeping on the streets in winter with nothing but jeans, a t-shirt and a hoody to keep him warm. Or maybe that, in a way, he's nearly as morally questionable as they are for being willing to swap girlfriends with his brother again and again. So tell me, John, which of these observations do you think Rory will appreciate the most?”
John stared. “You do have a brain-to-mouth-filter!” He commented, shocked. “If you know what you're saying is not good, why do you still say it?”
“Sociopaths are capable of love.” Sherlock informed him dryly. “Granted we love in a very selfish, all-consuming way, but we can still love. There are times when I genuinely don't know that something is unacceptable, but when I do know that I'm thinking something not good, I say what I'm thinking and what I have observed because I don't care about the people I'm saying it to. There are few people I love, but I won't say what I know to be bad to those few because it causes me discomfort to see them hurting, even if they are hurting because of something I can't understand.”
John hesitated, absorbing this rare insight into the way Sherlock's mind works. “When were you diagnosed as a sociopath?” He asked, cringing visibly. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.
Sherlock thought for a moment, clearly weighing his options up in his mind. “When I was twenty.” He finally said, smiling to himself.
”Twenty?” John repeated, his eyebrows raised. “That's a bit late for diagnosing a personality disorder.”
“I saw a lot of child psychologists.” Sherlock told him with a sigh. “All incompetent. All bending facts to suit theories rather than theories to suit facts. They were unable to see anything but a child with Asperger's. It wasn't until Mycroft was in a position to find me competent psychologists that I was diagnosed with both.”
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“It's important that you know all of the facts.” Sherlock stated simply. “You need to know that Rory is nothing like me. He shouldn't have that stigma attached to him. Rory is normal. No sociopathy. No Asperger's. A normal man with a very abnormal twin brother. Don't expect him to be a freak.”
“I don't.” John said honestly. “And I don't think of you as a freak either.”
Sherlock smiled. “Good.” He said, walking over to take the prescription from John. “Now, whatever you do don't drink the apple juice. There's a tongue in the carton. I'm testing the absorption of glucose after death.”
John started, glancing from Sherlock to the fridge and back again in alarm.
“Who are they?” He asked, just as Sherlock went to leave the flat. “The people you wouldn't want to see hurt?”
Sherlock hesitated again, seeming to stare straight through John's skull and deep into his brain. “My mother, Rory, Edwin, Mycroft and... well... you.”
*
John looked up from the TV (Jeremy Kyle - it just wasn't the same anymore without Sherlock predicting the results of the lie detectors with 100% accuracy) to see Rory shuffling through the door, John's duvet wrapped tightly around his shoulders.
“Where's clever-clogs?” He asked, walking past John and into the kitchen.
“Tesco.” John replied, standing up and joining Rory in the kitchen. “You need anything?”
“M'thirsty.” Rory mumbled, opening the fridge and looking inside.
“Well don't drink the apple juice.” John advised with a grin. “There's a tongue in it, apparently. A human tongue.”
“A tongue?” Rory repeated, smirking. “Christ, he gets worse instead of better. At least living with Edwin the worst you're going to find in the fridge is raspberry flavoured lube in a jam jar.”
“God, I wish I could find lube in the fridge, rather than body parts.” John laughed.
“Yeah, it wasn't bad.” Rory told him. “I'd spread it on my toast and eaten half a slice before Edwin told me what it was.”
John laughed, loud. “How old is Edwin?”
“Twenty-five, now.” Rory commented, sniffing cautiously at a bottle of cranberry juice. “Finally starting to grow up and stop winding everyone up for shits and giggles.”
“God.” John sighed. “It's hard to imagine Sherlock with younger brothers. The cranberry's fine, by the way. Sherlock knows the results of experimenting on my cranberry juice will be his death.”
Rory snorted, nodding his thanks and pouring some juice into a mug from the cupboard. “Don't go feeling sorry for Edwin.” He said reproachfully. “He was such a little twerp. Especially to Sherlock.”
“Why?” John asked, sitting down at the kitchen table and pulling a chair out for Rory and his duvet to join him.
“He's seven years younger than us.” Rory said. “By the time he was old enough to really understand about Sherlock's problems, we were already sixteen, seventeen, so he didn't see that much of him. Sherlock went to Cambridge at sixteen, so when he came back in the holidays, Edwin was entering those nasty everything's-a-joke-or-wind-up-opportunity pre-teen years. He used to really take the piss. Daniel and I used to act as sort of buffers, stepping in when it went beyond brotherly banter.”
“Daniel?” John asked, before he could stop himself.
“Yeah.” Rory sighed, stifling a cough. “He's a proper bastard, but he's always been protective of Sherlock. A kid in his class when he was twelve made a comment about his 'spaz brother', and Daniel was suspended for two weeks for breaking his nose. The thing about Daniel being a nasty little shit is he knows when other people are being nasty little shits as well. It's like the nasty little shit version of gaydar.”
John snorted, shaking his head in amusement. “We should introduce him to Anderson some time. They'll either kill each other on sight or start dry-humping right in the middle of the crime scene.”
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“You've been gone a while.” John commented, opening the shopping bags and sliding the box of Cheerios in Rory's direction.
“Ran into Mycroft.” Sherlock replied with a grimace. “You will be pleased to know Lucy will be starting her new job as an administrative assistant in some government office or another tomorrow morning, and Ben will be starting work in the kitchens. They are currently residing in a police safe house maintained by Mycroft.”
“Lucy?” Rory asked, staring at his brother.
“Not Lucy Proek.” Sherlock said. “Lucy and Ben are - were - two of my homeless friends who kept an eye on you while you were on the streets. They realised how much danger you could be in so watched over you until I found you.”
“Why the hell does Mycroft have a safe house?” Rory asked, looking horrified.
“He keeps it for me.” Sherlock said simply, placing the apple juice in the fridge and pulling a permanent marker from his pocket to mark the one with the tongue with a large X. “He used to lock me in it in an attempt to get me clean.”
“Awww.” Rory cooed mockingly, standing up and flinging an arm around Sherlock's shoulders. “Aren't you special. He keeps a special little anti-drug den just for you. You know, in Mycroft-world, that's practically a declaration of undying love.”
Sherlock glared, pushing Rory's arm off him with a look of extreme discomfort. “Take your pills and go back to bed.” He said. “Before you turn us all into gibbering idiots.”
Rory smirked, rooting through the carrier bags to find the little packet of pills. He quickly read the instructions and took two, before, with a cheeky wave, he picked up his duvet, and walked out of the kitchen and back to bed.
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A week later, Rory's chest infection had all but passed, and Sherlock was rapidly approaching dangerous levels of boredom. John had taken to carrying his gun with him at all times to avoid further damage to the flat's walls, and, that morning, after Sherlock had disturbingly hinted at a developing interest in experimenting upon identical twins, he had firmly ordered his flatmate to go the Barts' morgue and find something dead to play with.
So, John now found himself sitting in his armchair, with Rory occupying Sherlock's usual spot lying on the sofa, watching Doctor Who reruns on BBC3.
“Why don't they just blink one eye at a time?” Rory mused, as the sounds of heavy, rushed footsteps on the stairs echoed into the room.
“Not so good from a plot point of view.” John commented dryly, turning to face Sherlock as he ran through the door.
“Case!” Sherlock exclaimed happily, bouncing into the centre of the room and standing right in front of the television. “Grab your coats!”
“What, both of us?” John asked incredulously. “You want Rory to come?”
“Well I can't leave him here alone!” Sherlock said, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Sorry, why can't I be left alone?” Rory asked, sitting up and looking affronted. “I'm not going to wreck the flat.”
“John has the gun.” Sherlock stated. “John is coming with me. Hence, you're coming with me as well. Now, get your coat. God only knows what Anderson's doing to the crime scene while we sit here chatting.” Rory nodded, and he and John stood up to quickly pull their coats on, while Sherlock impatiently stood and watched.
On their way out of the flat, Sherlock turned round and pointed at Rory. “Make sure you buy some hair dye when we've solved this - you've got nearly as much root as hair.”
*
The crime scene, it turned out, was at the Dorchester Hotel. Getting out of the cab and walking into the hotel lobby, John turned round to address Sherlock.
“Do they know Rory's coming?” He asked, watching as the detective pressed the button to call the lift. “Police don't generally like just anybody wandering onto crime scenes.”
“He's with me.” Sherlock replied as the lift opened and he stepped inside, pressing the button for the fourth floor. “They'll let him in because I want them to. Lestrade needs me too much to refuse something I want.”
John nodded, smirking at Rory and rolling his eyes.
“Good to know you haven't let your ego get too big.” Rory commented dryly.
*
Rory was staring at all of the activity going on around him as they walked up the corridor towards the hotel room in which the murder had taken place.
“Oh Christ.” Donovan exclaimed as she saw Sherlock approaching. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Same as usual, Sally.” Sherlock said with a smirk. “Lestrade seemed to think you need me.” He lifted the crime scene tape and stepped under, holding it up for John to follow, before glaring up the corridor at his brother, who had stopped to look at one of the paintings lining the walls. “Rory!”
“Hold on.” Donovan objected. “This is a crime scene. You can't just bring anyone in here, freak.”
Rory whirled round, stomping up the corridor and coming to a halt in front of the Sergeant.
“Freak?” He repeated, looking angry. “Did you call him a freak?”
“Leave it, Rory.” Sherlock said with a warning look.
Sally looked horrified. “Oh god.” She said. “There's two of you.”
“Excellent deduction, Sergeant Donovan.” Sherlock smirked. “Although a quick glance at my file at Scotland Yard would have informed you that I have a twin. All immediate family members are listed for emergency contacts - including my brothers.”
“Brothers?” Donovan repeated, drawing a hiss of irritation from Sherlock. “How many of you are there?”
“Five.” Sherlock responded. “Now, if you don't mind, that corpse isn't getting any fresher. John, Rory, come on!”
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Rory let out a groan as soon as he entered the room. “Fucking hell, Sherlock.” He groaned. “You could have warned me.”
“About what?” Sherlock asked, pausing in his examination of the body to look at his brother.
“About what?” Rory cried with a horrified look on his face. “There's a bloody mutilated corpse on the bed! Christ, were you always this disgusting?”
“Has been as long as I've known him.” Lestrade said, appearing with Anderson in the doorway behind Rory and stepping around him. “Sorry, who are - oh bloody hell.”
“Rory, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade.” Sherlock said as he pulled a pair of latex gloves onto his hands. “Lestrade, my brother Rory.”
“He's -“
“If you state the obvious, Lestrade, I will lose my patience entirely.” Sherlock interrupted. He looked up at Lestrade, and gave a huff of irritation when he spotted Anderson behind him. “Did you have to bring him with you? His stupidity could infect my poor brother.”
“You're turning crime scenes into family outings now?” Anderson commented with a look of disgust. “He's not a psychopath as well, is he?”
“Hey!” Rory spoke up, looking angry again. “Less of the -“
“I said leave it, Rory!” Sherlock snapped. “Now all of you be quiet. Don't talk to me. Anderson, don't talk at all.”
Sherlock started examining the body, peering closely at the gaping wound in the man's torso. Rory nudged John gently and nodded his head towards the door.
“What's up?” John asked once they were outside the room and Rory had closed the door.
“They call him Freak.” Rory commented, looking irritated.
“Yeah.” John sighed. “Have done the whole time I've known him. That's just Sally's name for him.”
“It bothers him.” Rory said simply.
“What?” John asked. “I don't think -“
“Believe me, I know my brother.” Rory told him. “He looked at the floor when she called him Freak, and again when he called him a psychopath. It bothered him.”
John felt a coil of shame twisting in his stomach. “I didn't think anything really bothered Sherlock.” He said quietly.
“It's hard to tell with him.” Rory told him. “I only notice because I know him so well. I was there at school with him, and at home. I'd see him pull that face every day. All he ever heard at school was 'Freak' and 'Psycho' and 'Monster'. Hell, even Edwin got that face out of him sometimes.”
“God, I had no idea.” John sighed, staring at the ceiling.
The door to the room suddenly opened, and Sherlock appeared, his eyes darting between John and Rory for a moment, before he beckoned John into the room with a brief “Need you to look at the body.”
“What was that about?” Sherlock asked, watching as John examined the victim's open torso.
“Hmm?” John asked, glancing up at Sherlock and then over at Rory by the door. “Oh, he was asking about the things Donovan and Anderson call you.”
Sherlock huffed in irritation. “Typical.” He said. “He's got more morals than you have. I don't want any concern, thank you.”
“Doesn't mean you don't need it.” John commented, pulling back the victim's eyelids one at a time before standing up straight. “He was suffocated.” He said as he peeled off his latex gloves. “Chest was opened up after death, probably immediately or there wouldn't be as much blood, and the heart, lungs, kidneys and liver have all been removed.”
“Exactly.” Sherlock said, before turning to Lestrade. “The incision is perfectly neat, made with surgical precision, so you're looking for somebody with medical training. Either a doctor or a vet. Check all hotel staff to see if any of them have been or are currently at medical or veterinary school.”
“How do you know it's staff?” Lestrade asked, taking notes. “Could have been someone in the room with him.”
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