No one belongs to me besides the unfamiliar. Characters belongs to BBC and Sir Conan Doyle.
Also, think of Tom Hiddleston as the third brother to give you a better image.
It was at one in the morning when another crime was solved and all the police had to do was arrest the man. Too tired to hardly think after the crime, John Watson headed to a cab that his best friend, Sherlock Holmes, hailed and patted him weakly on the shoulder. "You go home, mate," he said with tired eyes and a lazy smile. "I'm going home to Mary."
The consulting detective looked at him with uncertain eyes as him taken aback from his words. "Are you sure? You look like you're going to pass on the way there."
He waved his hand. "I'm sure." All he wanted to do was shove Sherlock in the cab so he could go get his own, go home, then flop in bed with his wife and sleep. "Now get in the bloody cab," he lightly ordered with tired eyes and the kindest smile he could make. He was fine during the case, but after it was solved, his brain was absolutely done and just wanted to go home.
Sherlock gave a small nod. "Good-night, John." Then climbed in the cab.
"Night," he muttered as the door closed and the taxi pulled away. He stood around, waiting for another cab to show up, but instead, a black car pulled up.
The passenger window rolled down. "Need a lift?" A smooth voice asked.
John got eye-level with the driver and made out that he had a narrow face, short curly hair, and light-colored eyes from the lights of the car's glowing nobs and whatnot on the dash. It looked to be that he was also wearing a black suit. The doctor shook his head. "Waiting for a cab, thanks."
"You may want to get in, Mr. Watson." His voice grew colder.
John's tired mind grew shaper at the sound of his own name as his eyes narrowed at the strange man. "Who are you?"
"I'll explain and no, I'm not here to kidnap or kill you."
Feeling that something was to be trusted about this man's words, he silently opened the back door and climbed in. After he closed the door and buckled up, he looked at the driver, only seeing the side of his narrow jawline. "Who are you?" He repeated as the car began to pull away from the curb. "If Mycroft wanted to see me, he could've waited until morning." He forced himself not to yawn, remembering how tired he was.
"What makes you think that this is Mycroft's doing?" The driver asked in a low and smooth voice as his light-colored eyes glanced at him through the rearview mirror.
John took a breath as he was becoming more aware, not taking his eyes off the strange driver. "You have a similar style of picking me up." He paused, then realized of another alternative. "If you say you work for Moriarty…"
He gave small shrug as his eyes returned to the road. "You could say that."
The doctor placed a hand on his forehead as he rested his elbow on the door. "Oh, God," he muttered.
Jim Moriarty- thought to be dead for three years- turned up to be actually alive six months ago, back to create havoc, mayhem, and death wherever he goes. Sherlock, Mycroft, and John himself have been trying to track the consulting criminal down since he returned, but is harder than ever to track down. Now here is the doctor was… Getting picked up by one of the criminal's men.
"Well, not exactly," the driver stated, catching the passenger's attention.
John looked at him with wonder as he raised his head. "What do you mean not exactly?"
"They haven't mentioned me, have they?" He glanced back at the mirror, then to the street.
"They who?"
"The Holmes Brothers."
John looked at him in utter confusion as he pursed out his lips, waiting for an answer.
The driver glanced back at him as if waiting for him to answer.
"You are…" John pulled back his head slightly as he was thinking of what Mycroft and Sherlock would say about a man who is "not exactly" working for Moriarty. "A driver for Mycroft who acts like Moriarty's men, so you are a double agent?" He tried with that guess. Knowing Mycroft Holmes, the elder brother of the detective, he would have the doctor picked up in a black car like this. It did make sense.
The driver got a smile out of that guess. "That was actually pretty good. You could say that I'm a double agent," then his voice dropped, "but I would not say it out loud or to other people."
"Then who are you?" John aced, not taking his eyes off the strange man.
He saw the man's jaw open as if to speak, then softly announced, "I'm the third Holmes brother."
Will update soon.