Baskerville Island~

For the One Who's love transcends Family and the Ocean~

Chapter One: The City of Brotherly Love~

The morning sun peered through the windows of Baker Street. It was in the middle of spring, and the windows were open ,and a warm ,clean wind blew through the flat, and ruffled John Watson's hair as he stepped out of the bathroom, dressed only in a pair of shorts, and his shower robe. Humming contentedly, feeling very well rested for once, he milled about the house,buzzing like a humming-bird in search of flowers, or more like a locust in search of things to devour, so hungry he was for the breakfast Mrs. Hudson was downstairs making.

He laughed as he heard the shower turn on, and Major Sholto, (who had moved into 221 C after Sherlock solved the case that proved he was not to blame for the deaths of the new recruits he lead into a fire-fight) clambered into the shower belting out "Eleanor Rigby" at the top of his lungs. John stopped walking when he heard a quiet agitated grunt coming from Sherlock's room. Curiously,he pushed the door open.

John smiled broadly, just to be able to lay eyes on him. Stood there remembering how he had actually met Sherlock during his study in a military academy, a couple of years before Afghanistan even. Remembering how he had lost all memory of Sherlock, who was then working for the Secret Intelligence Services as their "detective consulting", after he had supposedly been killed by Moriarty and the same Afghani drug lords, called the "Viper's Nest" that had also forcibly addicted him to a mix of different drugs. Remembering how he had lived with Sherlock for years here on Baker Street, up until the day that he actually did leap to his death from St. Bart's rooftop, and came back from clinical death 34 hours later, in one of the most bazaar cases of Lazarus Syndrome medically documented. Remembered how he had been reunited with him during the case that not only cleared Major Sholto's name, but also stopped the nefarious Sebastian Moran.

He lay in the present moment on top of his sheets, sleeping lightly, on the verge of waking, raven hair tousled by the morning wind breathing through his window, dressed in a white t-shirt ,that's thin fabric was sheer enough to see the highlight of the scars he had received when being tormented for John's safety, and a pair of black lounge pants, that had pushed up to his knees, revealing scars on his heels and lower legs as well.

Had grunted like that, and had twisted his brows together, being drawn ever so slightly up from his slumber by the drawling tones of Eleanor Rigby resonating off the shower, and the flat, and Baker Street below them.

John stared at him, jaw gone slack, amazed by how many things they had survived,and overcome by the reality of how much he loved this man. He was more family than his parents and sister. Closer than a brother, even.

He leaned against the door frame, with a gentle smile on his kind features ,watching "little brother" sleep, when his phone rang.

Speaking of sister...

"Hello, John."

"Harry? I've never known you to call before lunch?"

"Oh, I'm sober today. Actually going through painful detox...Don't get excited; it's not permanent."

John pinched the bridge of his nose. Even his patience had limits ,and his sister provoked the temper he was known for spiking ,like a fever, on some occasions.

"What do you want?" he asked, annoyed.

"Oh, nothing important! Just wanted to know if you still had the old phone Clara gave me before she became such a witch-and bloody well divorced me!"

John's head swam, unable to remember if Clara had divorced Harry, or if Harry had divorced Clara, not really caring to keep up with his sister's romantic life.

"Uh, yeah, I'm talking to you on it?"

"Great, John! That's just great. Ok, that's all I wanted to know...Cheers!"

She hung up in his head.

"That was...suspicious..." a baritone voice rattled from across the room.

John looked up to see Sherlock still lying as he had been, but now with one silver-green eye groggily peaking open.

John smiled at him again, "Good morning..." he said, voice low...and came and stood beside his bed.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered, trying to wake himself up, and then he stretched and yawned, his mouth opening three times its normal size, almost cat like the way he stretched out and then recoiled his long thin body,and twitched his nose. John chuckled at him, and he sat up, slapping his lips together, and shaking his head, wild raven curls springing back into storm-cloud like place. As if resuming some business he had paused for brief respite, he blinked, and with a curt nod he said:

"Most suspicious. She never calls you; you always call her. She called around 8:30, and if she ever did call, even for what she considered an "emergency " such as "Clara wants to get back together" or" I've run out of rum" sort of "emergency", she would never call before noon. The call was uncommonly brief; she usually rants to you for hours,which is why you never phone her. She asked about your phone, which you would have long ago wiped of any information she may have left on it. Conclusion, she has programmed something on it, that she meant for you, and not for a new owner, and she hoped that it hadn't been rubbished. A virus? Pictures to offend you? No, she hasn't had any reason to be that offended with you recently...But...a GPS locator..."

Sherlock reached and gently plucked the mobile phone from John's hands, pressing a few buttons on it. Sure enough, a GPS locator program lit up the screen.

"Oh my God, why would she program GPS to MY phone?" John growled, fists clenching.

Sherlock's face took on a dark look, the kind of dark look that John dreaded very much seeing on his face.

"You...think...it's...more than a prank ,don't you? You think she's gotten in deep with somebody this time, and is going to sell us out to them?"

Sherlock swallowed..."Would you put it past her?"

As much as John loved his sister, he didn't trust her. John trusted Sherlock almost as much as he loved him, which was saying very great deal. If he was suspicious, then there was probably a good reason for it.

"No...actually, no, she's done things like that before to me... blaming me for stuff, and Dad would take it all out on me, and Mum would really put me down, when Harry was the one that had "soiled their reputation"..."

Sherlock nodded, thoughtfully.

"What...do we do about it,...if she has?"

Sherlock sighed. Possible domestic betrayal was badgering for his attention, and he had only just woken up from the first time that he actually did sleep in days.

"Probably should be on the alert, inform the Major, and either find a way to wipe that program off your phone, or discard it and furnish you with a new one."

John smiled at him, and he met his gaze. If just for a moment, it didn't matter. Never mind his devious sister, always plotting a way to make him look bad. Never mind his abusive drunk parents who had enabled his sister's abusive, immoral, and sometimes criminal life-style.

The morning sun was shining down on him, and he could walk with head held high, proud to say that he lived in his" City of Brotherly Love" now, and was part of the Clan Baker Street.

He could hear the matron of their make-shift family calling to them from downstairs,

"Hey, wheehoo, Oi, BOYS! Breakfast and tea! Come fetch a plate!"

Sherlock and John laughed as they heard Major take a running leap off the edge of the settee, heading for the stairs.

Today John was loved, and that is all that mattered to him now. Whatever little puzzle his sister had cooked up for them, could wait until after burned crumpets, and Earl Grey boiling over.

Sherlock was up, slipping his blue dressing gown over slim shoulders, and disappeared down the stairs, in a flicker of blue fabric.

John bounded after him hoping the others would save him at least a PIECE of a crumpet!