A/N: So I recently discovered the idea of a third Holmes brother. I fell in love and ran away with it. Hope you enjoy!
John should have been more suspicious when he came home one afternoon to find the front door to 221B Baker Street unlocked. As it was, he merely assumed Sherlock had forgotten to lock it (as was quite common for the detective) and made his way into the flat to be greeted by the familiar sounds of someone banging about in the kitchen.
"Sherlock?" John called as he shrugged of his jacket and tossed it onto the nearest chair. When he received no reply he took the few steps to the kitchen, freezing at the sight in front of him. It looked like someone had started World War III in the kitchen, and there was a man standing right in the middle of it, hunched over the counter as he carefully dripped acid onto what looked suspiciously like one of Sherlock's scarves. For a second John thought it actually was just Sherlock but it couldn't have been unless his flat mate had dyed his hair and somehow made himself ten years younger since John had left for work that morning.
"What the hell are you doing to my kitchen?" John shouted at the man-well, more of a boy really, he couldn't be far out of his teens. The stranger glanced at John, startling the doctor with piercing, icy, blue eyes, almost identical to Sherlock's though a few shades darker.
"You must be Doctor John Watson," the boy said, turning his attention back to the experiment in front of him. "Thought My was making you up."
"Who's My?" John asked, bewildered.
"It's my nickname for Mycroft," the boy smirked. "He hates it."
"You know Mycroft?" John raised an eyebrow.
"Oh no, of course not," the boy snorted, rolling his eyes. "I mean, it's not like I lived with him for fourteen years of my life or anything."
"Who are you?" John demanded.
"You haven't worked it out yet?" the boy glanced at him again. "Can't see why Sherlock keeps you around."
"I do have a gun, you know," John pointed out.
"You mean this gun?" the boy asked innocently, pulling John's Browning from the waistband of his trousers and tossing it onto the table. "Don't worry, I made sure it wasn't loaded," the teen reassured John, noticing his slight look of horror at how casually he was handling the weapon.
"Any chance you'll tell me who you are now?" John managed after taking a moment to calm down.
"Sherrinford Holmes, at your service," the boy replied with an over exaggerated bow.
"Sherrinford?" John repeated incredulously, his brain simultaneously groaning, Oh, God, not another one.
"Yep," Sherrinford replied, turning back to his experiment, cursing slightly at the fact that the acid had started to eat through the counter.
"No offense, but is there something wrong with your parents?" John asked.
"What do you mean?" Sherrinford asked as he flung open the cupboards, searching for something to neutralize the acid.
"Mycroft, Sherlock, Sherrinford. They couldn't have gone for something normal like Greg or Ian?"
"There's nothing wrong with my name," Sherrinford snapped almost automatically as he sprinkled something over the indent that had begun to develop in the counter, obviously well accustomed to people making fun of his name.
"Right," John said, not really wanting to argue with the person melting parts of his flat. "So how come Sherlock and Mycroft never mentioned you?"
"Sherlock's not exactly big on family," Sherrinford pointed out. "And Mycroft's too busy worrying about Sherlock to bother with me."
"So what are you doing here then?" John asked. "And why are you trying to destroy my flat?"
"It's an experiment," Sherrinford huffed, and John had to stifle a laugh at how much he sounded like Sherlock. "And I'm here because I'm hiding from Mycroft."
"I thought you said he doesn't bother with you."
"He does whenever I drop out of school."
"You do that often, then?"
"This is my third time dropping out of university this year," Sherrinford said, sounding rather proud.
"Hang on, you go to a university? How old are you?"
"Seventeen." Before John could express any amazement over that fact, he heard the door slam open.
"Sherrinford!" John recognized the voice easily as Sherlock's, his suspicion confirmed when the detective rushed into the kitchen a moment later, nearly knocking John over. "Oh, hello, John."
"Hello, Sherlock," John replied. "Anything you want to tell me?"
"What do you mean?" Sherlock frowned at him, momentarily distracted from his brother. John looked pointedly between Sherlock and Sherrinford. "Oh, right."
"Why didn't you tell me you had a brother?"
"I did, you know Mycroft."
"Sherlock, I never would have met Mycroft if he hadn't kidnapped me and asked me to spy on you." Sherrinford stifled a giggle at that. "And you know what I'm talking about."
"It must have slipped my mind."
"Your brother slipped your mind?" John raised an eyebrow.
"Half-brother," Sherlock corrected. "And it's not like he ever does anything interesting."
"He burned through the counter with acid."
"Really?" Sherlock's attention was back on his brother immediately. "What kind of acid?"
"Not now, Sherlock," John said firmly. Sherlock pouted and Sherrinford laughed, earning him a glare from the detective.
"So you've dropped out of school again," Sherlock observed casually, his attention back on Sherrinford. "And I assume you came here because you guessed Mycroft won't think to look for you here. Well, at least not immediately."
"Well, that and my boyfriend has temporarily banned me from his flat. I don't think he appreciated me using his computer to hack into the government databases," Sherrinford replied. Before John or Sherlock could respond to that, the door downstairs banged open again. Sherlock and Sherrinford gave identical grimaces at the sound of Mycroft ascending the stairs.
"Sherrinford," Mycroft called from the living room. John and Sherlock turned as Sherrinford brushed past them.
"My," Sherrinford said with a grin. "You're getting slow."
"I had important matters to attend to," Mycroft replied stiffly.
"Yeah whatever," Sherrinford scoffed, sprawling across the couch. "Keep telling yourself that."
"Yes, well, perhaps if someone hadn't crashed the entire police database as a distraction…" Mycroft trailed off as Sherrinford's grin grew wider. "So what do you want this time?" the politician inquired after taking a moment to compose himself.
"I would have thought it would patently be obvious by now," Sherrinford replied, glaring at Mycroft. The oldest Holmes glared right back at him.
"Do you really have to do this here?" Sherlock all but huffed. Mycroft and Sherrinford shot him identical glares.
"Who wants tea?" John asked suddenly, voice a little too loud as he spoke over the sudden tension between all three Holmes brothers, having come to the decision that there was entirely too much glaring going on.
"They're not staying," Sherlock growled at the same time Mycroft said, "Tea would be lovely." Sherrinford just offered John an odd sort of half-shrug half-nod. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, John went into the kitchen, sorting through the mess Sherrinford had made trying to find the tea (which turned out to be in the oven), as Sherlock and Mycroft resumed glaring at each other. Waiting for the kettle to boil, John returned to the living and perched on the arm of the couch.
"So," he said conversationally. "There are three of you then."
A/N: Well there that is.
So, love it? Hate it? Wish upon me a violent death by corndogs for writing it? Let me know!
-badgermushroom out! :d