.

'You never told me you had another brother, Sherlock', John realized, as he absent-mindedly rolled a glass of amber-coloured liquid.

The fireplace was lit at 221B and the warm comfortable light emanating threw flecks of rainbow colours crossing the crystal glass on its way to John's hand. The same hand that had scratches and hurt numbly even now, at the end of the evening, when the things that had passed were all but neatly tucked away on the registry of the day's events. John shivered before he could help himself, accompanying his hand's faint tremor. So maybe not so neatly stored yet. The day had been too demanding, John's life had been at stake and he still couldn't wrap his head around what had happened. Hence the drink that Sherlock measured in a carefully disguised scientific appreciation. Sherlock couldn't miss that John's sister was an alcoholic, probably he felt the need to analyse the process in the other of the Watson's siblings. The process of deconstruction and slow decay, the detachment from real life into an alternative reality. No, Harry searched the evasion and plentiful solitude that only alcohol, she thought, could offer her. John had hoped, in a recess of his mind, for only an abandoned minute, to get drunk. Soon he had realized he didn't want to get drunk. He wanted to fast forward until the present time matched his mindset, but it'd never happen unless he was fully engaged and allowed himself to go through the steps. Now the whisky was disgustingly warming in his hand, and he just held the glass there to watch those crystal induced colours from the light refraction. It provided him with a sense of innocence, a belief in the simple meaningless of the universe, one that John was desperately trying to let trickle through him to his core but didn't quite make it there. Too much pain, violence, it was all over now, but part of his mind was still in reverse.

John looked up, realizing Sherlock hadn't responded about his brother. The consulting detective had his clear green eyes set on John, as if waiting for his mind to roll back to the starting point before answering: 'I also didn't quite tell you about Mycroft, he insinuated himself.'

'Yeah, with security cameras and kidnappings. You Holmes brothers know how to enjoy a grand entrance.'

Sherlock smiled sideways but deflected: 'Actually, I have no idea why you'd say that.' John smiled back but lost the easy opportunity and they fell back into silence.

'John', Sherlock started in a low persuasive tone of voice. Maybe he had grown tired of waiting. John's breathing heightened its pace at once.

'No.'

The detective lost some of his temper. 'Fine, we'll talk about my brother - instead of you having been kidnapped, held hostage and finally released by Mycroft's elite army team after I found out your location just', he glanced at his wrist watch, 'forty-five minutes ago. Or how you've refused an ambulance on site, insisted to be released from any medical care before any paramedic even came near you, and asked me to come here to Baker Street before "driving home later". Or how you're still wearing your jacket, that has someone else's blood stain on it. Or even how you've come to find out that Mycroft and I have a brother.'

John shot him a dark look, heavy on anger and hurt. He was done talking.

Finally Sherlock conceded to get up and reach for his violin. The warm smooth wooden surface under his fingertips helped Sherlock feel calmer, and hopefully the music could help ground both rescuer and rescued from the day's events.

-.-

Disclamer: I own none of the characters or their previous feats.

Introductory A/N: I have no justification. Let me start by saying that I have no good justification.

"You know what happened to the other one." I'm accepting the leap that it refers to an older brother that ACD never mentioned, as is somewhat a popular belief.

I was playing with the idea of creating a Sherrinford Holmes – the lost brother – before S4 clears the mystery (hopefully), but kept wondering if Sherlock is aware of him why would he have hidden him from John, why would Mycroft have him as a secret if he were alive. Family fallout seemed too petty. Prolonged illness that had isolated him seemed far-fetched since the eighteen hundreds. I just couldn't find a nice Sherrinford. Then it came to how was he perceived by someone other than a Holmes. Was he really dark? What would a Holmes (from Sherlock to Mycroft) consider dark?

So, there you go - if this is your cup of tea - 2 days in the lives of SH and JW, and 21 chapters (short, around 500 words length each) and an unofficial version of Sherrinford Holmes. (Actually 22 chapters, I mislabeled once and now I have one too many for my inside joke. Meh.) -csf