Before we get started, there are a few things you should know. This story is mainly a Holmes/Watson (John and Verner)fic. There will be a bit of Johnlock, really just in Sherlock's mind, and Mystrade. It will flip from between Sherlock, John, and Verner's point of view often. I won't go into all the details of the smut, if there even is any of that in here, more like hinting at it then actually writing it XD I'll most likely have dark themes in here because Verner isn't that stable(are any of the Holmes's?) so I'll put a warning at the beginning of that chapter for the darker parts. Any other information will be put at the end under Author's Notes. It's to answer any questions that chapter may have raised. Now that you know, enjoy^-^
John grimaced inwardly as he poured himself a cup of coffee that morning. He glanced at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye, noting how ridged the detective was in his seat at the kitchen table. The little sun light that filtered in through the front room window bounced harshly off of the microscope Sherlock held between his elegant fingers, illuminating the various body parts that lined the kitchen counters. John felt a swell of disgust rise up at the sight of them. How was he supposed to eat in a place that adorned the limbs of the dead, anyway?
"Why must you constantly ruin this place, Sherlock," John had yelled at Sherlock his very first week living at the flat. He knew better now, though, to not ask the question, seeing as it only elicited a minor wave from the detective and a promise of cleaning it up later. But later was a word the consulting detective must have deleted from his brain, John had learned.
Across the room, Sherlock was deep in thought, but not about eerie cleaning habits.
There was something missing, some crucial information on the missing child case he and John had been working the past week that he initially over looked the first time. A little boy had gone missing from his home in lower London about a week ago, though no one thought anything of it. His mother lived in a city about an hour away from the boy's home; the police stubbornly believing that she let her kid stay over the weekend, seeing as how their family was split from an awful divorce. That she answered the phone the next day and told them as much practically closed the case for good. But Sherlock knew better, after having worked the Carl Powers case; he knew that there was more behind the family's charade.
John strode over to the table, if a little cautiously, and took up a seat next to his flat mate. He set a blue chipped mug next to the microscope, with a little smile.
"How's it going so far?" He asked.
"I'm not getting anywhere." Sherlock admitted. "I thought it might've been the uncle, but his alibi is to tight; to perfectly crafted, like he wanted me to see through it."
"Is there anything I can do to help? Maybe go ask around to see if they spotted anyone attacking the boy?"
"That won't help," Sherlock waved dismissively. "No one was around him when it happened, of that I'm certain. Why don't you go and..."
John pursed his lips when Sherlock trailed off, not finishing what he had been about to say. "Go and... what, Sherlock?"
But the consulting detective wasn't paying attention anymore as he flipped excitedly through a blood slide under the microscope.
"Okay, I'll just sit on the sidelines again, while you solve the case. I mean, I'm not a proper genius or anything, so I get it," John sarcastically said as he shoved roughly away from the table.
He set aside his empty coffee mug as he shuffled towards the front door, glad to be able to concentrate on something, even if it was only letters. Bending towards the mail slot, John gathered the scattered envelopes into a neat little pile so he could sort through them easier.
"Bill...bill...bill...case sheet...bill. Do we ever get anything other than bloody bills?"
As if in spite, a gust of wind blew through the open window, successfully whipping the mail out of John's flustered hands.
"Oh!" He cried as he bent down to retrieve them from under Sherlock's arm chair. There was some yelling, and a lot of cursing coming from underneath the small recliner; so much that it sounded like something had eaten him whole. Though, a couple of seconds later, John Watson reappeared from underneath the chair, looking, if possible, even angrier than he had been when he first went under.
"SHERLOCK!" He yelled at the top of his lungs as he stocked off towards the kitchen. Sherlock glanced up, distracted, as a white, water logged envelope landed in front of him with a soft thud.
"What is that?" John asked, crossing his arms impatiently.
"It's an envelope, John."
"I know it's an envelope, Sherlock! I meant the letter inside."
"Listen," Sherlock began. "I can't be bother-"
"When were you going to tell me about your brother?" John cut in before Sherlock could dismiss him.
If Sherlock was surprised about the turn of conversation, he didn't show it. Instead, he rolled his eyes before he went back to scanning slides. "I didn't think it was important; not something that I'd waste my time on." He stated rather curtly.
"Not important? Not important!? Sherlock, you've got another brother that I didn't even know about until now, one that I had to find out through a moldy letter under your chair! Did you even read the letter?"
"Oh, dull, John. He's my half-brother and only wants more money for his drinking habit; not something that I'm going to help with."
"And how do you know this?"
"It's obvious," Sherlock replied halfheartedly. "The envelope is cheap, so is the pen he wrote with. He didn't have enough money to get anything better so he made do, probably writing it on cardboard. And then there's his handwriting."
"His handwriting?"
"If Verner takes pride in anything, it's his handwriting skills. He did a slap job at best, obviously under a strong alcoholic influence at the time. I can't deal with something so trivial when there's something so deliciously complicated in front of me."
"You're losing it, Sherlock."
"Excuse me?" Sherlock asked coldly as he looked up from the microscope.
"He wasn't drunk, and he's not asking for money." John held up the letter he had found inside the envelope
. "His mom recently died and he needs somewhere to stay while he tries to start a life of his own, apparently. He's flying down here. To live with us, Sherlock. It says that he's going to help pay the rent, too."
Before John could even look up from the letter, Sherlock pushed away from the table violently, causing his chair to fly back loudly as panic ceased his face. "When did he send that letter?" He asked frantically, grabbing onto John's shirt.
"Umm...last week, I think." John answered roughly as Sherlock shook him.
"Are you sure, John? You have to be absolutely certain."
"Why does it even matter, Sherlock? He's not going to kill us or anything."
"Oh, he's going to try." Sherlock muttered to himself.
"I don't get it, why are you so scared of him?" John asked as the detective let go, pacing angrily.
"Scared? Why would I be scared of Verner, John? He's a kid, a child; just got out of uni."
John opened his mouth only to shut it a second later in confusion. "What...I don't follow what you're saying. If he's just a kid then why are you so wound up about this?"
"He's not just a kid, John." Sherlock muttered, pacing faster. "He's an absolute evil genius. Everything he does is to spite me and my work. I can't have him coming here and risk the case!"
"Now now now, where are your manners, Shirley? Or did you delete those, too?" A deep voice asked, belonging to neither Sherlock nor John.
Author's Notes:
-That case that Sherlock is working on is a fake case; I invented it for the sake of the fic. You'll see why later.
-Sherlock may come across to you as a complete ass in this fic. I know, I had a hard time writing him as such:/ It's mainly due to the case and Verner just showing up out of nowhere. In my opinion, he had to have a different take with his half-brother because he acts totally, somewhat, different with Mycroft.
-And before any of you say anything, Sherlock Holmes did indeed have a half-brother named Verner. It's in the books so I'm telling the truth. And he was in fact a doctor who bought John's practice when John went into retirement. I just kind of reversed their ages is all.