"You can understand why I am having a hard time believing you, correct?" Sherlock asked. Despite his words his eyes didn't stray from the pictures.

"Completely understandable." Mycroft agreed. He leaned back in his seat. "In fact, I would not have believed it myself unless I had indisputable proof." He waved his hand at the photographs. "That is why I am here."

"To get information from the direct source?" Sherlock asked as he nimbly picked up one of the photos.

The image was very clear. It showed a younger John in the middle of performing a complex martial arts kick. Not something completely out of the ordinary.

Except that John looked to be about eight years old. At the most.

Most of the pictures that showed a preteen or younger John showed him performing a wide array of martial arts, from kicks to punches to using his complete body. Others showed him using, dismantling, and learning about what seemed to be all kinds of guns and weaponry. Others simply showed him attending lessons or lectures with other students, some close to his age while others were older.

However the pictures that showed his teenage years told a different story. There John was caught in the middle of fights with both parties bruised and bleeding. A knife covered in blood here, a bruised knuckle there. And most jarring of all were the countless ones where he had a gun and was obviously aiming at someone from afar.

In each picture his eyes were visible. Cold ice blue eyes that held no warmth or care that Sherlock was used to. Instead they were emotionless, unfeeling, ruthless eyes that he had seen countless times on his culprits.

The eyes of someone who murdered and enjoyed doing the act.

"You are certain, that there is no mistake?" Sherlock asked softly, his finger trailing along his lip.

"I had my best men check it over twice while I overlooked every step that they took." Mycroft said. "They are real."

Before Sherlock could say anything they heard very clearly as the front door opened and John's familiar voice as he walked on the phone to his sister.

"Yes, I am very proud of you." John said as he walked up the stairs. "Yes, I will meet with you for dinner this Friday. Promise."

He appeared at the top of the stairs now. He smiled at Sherlock and gave a polite nod towards Mycroft, failing to notice their gaze on him and the photographs on the table as he walked into the kitchen.

"Yes I am taking care of myself harry." John continued to talk. He opened the fridge and took something out. "Yes, three meals a day and at least eight hours of sleep."

They continued to talk and inquire about the other before they finally hanged up. John walked back into the living room with his cell phone in his pocket and a smile on face as he finally took off his jacket and hanged it on the door.

"Alright, it's been quite for a couple minutes too long. What did you boys fight about this time?" John asked as he finally turned to face Sherlock and Mycroft.

Neither brother answered. Mycroft was simply staring at John while Sherlock looked him up and down, searing for something.

John rolled his eyes and started forward. "Honestly, what's gotten into you tw-" he suddenly stopped as his eyes on the pictures. His smile disappeared as his face lost color.

In two brisk steps John reached the table. He grabbed a handful of pictures and looked at them one by one.

Almost automatically his body relaxed. The tension left his shoulders and he seemed to calm down. His eyes turned to a mixture of hardness and yet indifference. He glanced at the Holmes' and held up the pictures.

"What's this rubbish?" he asked in an almost believable voice.

"We were hoping that you would be able to tell us." Mycroft said. "Drop the act John Watson, playing ignorance does not suit you."

John shrugged as he threw the photographs back onto the table. "Have no idea what you're talking about." he said sliding his hands into his pockets.

"Perhaps these names will mean something to you then." Mycroft said taking a paper out from a folder on the desk and peering at it. "Jessica Stanton. Matthew Henessey. Daniel Langley. Alexander Smith. Amanda Jackson. Shall I go on?" he asked as John grew paler with each name.

"Never heard of those people in my life." John insisted.

"John." Sherlock said catching Johns wince at his voice. "It's quite easy to lie to my brother, neither one of us can stand him. However," he locked his gaze with Johns "lie to me then."

John swallowed the lump in his throat and closed his eyes. He gave a light groan as he fell back onto the couch.

"Not to you Sherlock, never to you." John whispered. His eyes looked pained when he opened them. "What do you want to know?"

"Are the pictures real?" Sherlock asked.

John didn't meet his gaze when he nodded.

"Who are you?"

"John Hamish Watson." John said immediately. "It's a real person; I never in my life took a false identity."

"Then tell me everything." Sherlock said as both he and Mycroft leaned back into their seats to get comfortable. "Start from the beginning and leave nothing out."

"And don't be boring?" John asked bitterly as he remembered Sherlock saying the exact words to their clients. "I'll tell, God knows I need to tell someone, however I'll tell on a couple of conditions."

He leaned towards Mycroft. "There is a lot of illegal actions that happened in my past, with a lot of different people getting involved. I want your word that none of those actions will be held against me or anyone else."

"You have my word." Mycroft agreed.

John now turned to Sherlock. "And from you Sherlock, just please don't look at me any differently than you did before."

Sherlock nodded.

"Right. Right." John said as he leaned back into his seat. "No interruptions, once I start I don't want to stop until the end." He licked his lips. "The beginning."

He suddenly gave a humorless laugh. "I suppose the beginning would be when I was five years old and I had killed my father."

I do not own Sherlock. Warnings will be placed on top of each chapter and there will be a reason for these warnings. Going to be rated M for safety because of violence.