Title: How Sherlock Saved the World (Again)

Rating: will be R

Warnings: contains slash (of the explicit variety)

This is a fill for the Sherlock kinkmeme. Prompt: There's another brother Holmes: Snape

This is my first published (and un-betaed) fic so be gentle with me. Enjoy!

"My god…"

"What is it, Holmes?"

Holmes didn't answer. He seemed frozen to the spot, his eyes fixed on something farther along down the street. After a moment, the detective lurched forward, breaking into a swift trot. Watson's brows came together in an expression of exasperation. He allowed himself a moment of frustrated grumbling before he moved to follow. Weaving through the teeming masses of London's city streets was no easy feat. It took him nearly five minutes to catch up with Holmes. The detective had planted himself outside of a haberdashery and was peering discretely through one of the building's dusty windows.

"Who are we following, Holmes?"

"My dear Watson, who said we were following anyone?"

"Well, unless we're pursuing some manner of small flying creature or there's something about this window display that you find particularly alluring, I am wont to assume that we are, indeed, following someone."

"Watson, your powers of observation are growing keener by the day. You are correct. I was in the process of- but wait! Quickly, now! Over here behind this crate!"

And with that Watson found himself unceremoniously being pushed behind a rather large box filled with freshly cut wooden beams. The smell of pine was promptly overwhelmed by the scent of Holmes's tobacco as the detective pressed himself into Watson's side. It took a moment for the good doctor to recover from the effect his friend's proximity was having on his libido. By the time he managed to steer his thoughts away from the charming way Holmes's hair curled about his ears, the detective had once more picked up the chase. Watson huffed and went after his companion.

"Really, Holmes, you might as well tell me who the devil we're trying to catch if you insist on dragging me all over London!"

Holmes finally slowed his pace and darted into the doorway of a local inn. Watson came up behind him, trying to follow the other man's line of sight. The guesswork was eliminated as Holmes lifted his finger, pointing out a rather tall figure standing near a fountain in the middle of the courtyard that they were currently abutting. The man (for even though the figure had longish hair, worn tied at the nape of his neck, the frame was distinctly masculine) was dressed entirely in black, from his sleek new top hat to his carefully shined sable-tip boots. He was also quite tall, easily dwarfing the majority of the people around him. When the fellow turned his face, Watson was greeted with the view of a sharp profile - all nose, with thin lips, and dark, penetrating eyes. The effect was rather imposing. Holmes's voice shook Watson out of his thoughts.

"That, my dear Watson, is Severus Snape i.e. Severus Holmes, my long lost brother."

Before Watson could formulate a reply to that rather astonishing statement, Holmes was once more on the move. They crossed the courtyard speedily, Watson noting that Holmes's gate had taken on that particular lilt it acquired whenever the detective was excited or irritated. When they were within three paces of their target, Holmes stopped and planted himself with his hands clasped behind his back. He let out a low tsking sound under his breath.

"A rather more exposed locale than is prudent, wouldn't you say, my dear brother?"

Almost more quickly than his eye could register the movement, Watson saw the tall figure swivel to face them, his hand flicking towards the inner pocket of his jacket. Holmes reacted instantly, shifting his weight into a more defensive stance and raising his left hand in an abortive gesture born more of instinct than of any real aggression. It took a split second before recognition softened the other man's face. Watson saw him relax somewhat, but the hand never left his coat pocket.

"Sherlock. I should have known." The man's voice was of a rich, menacing timber. It put Watson instantly on guard. But Holmes's face broke into a small smile, his body relaxing minutely. The stranger stared down at the detective for a moment and then said, in a rather abrupt fashion:

"What was our mother's name?"

"Eileen," Holmes answered promptly.

"What is my favorite color?"

"Green."

"What was the name of that infernal stuffed duck you used to carry around with you?"

Holmes paused for a moment, a light blush spreading across his high cheekbones. He pursed his lips slightly before answering.

"Reginald."

A pause and then Holmes raised his arm, holding it horizontal to the ground, palm facing away from him. The gesture seemed to satisfy something in the other man. He proceeded to mirror the motion, clasping Holmes's forearm with one large, long-fingered hand. Watson was instantly reminded of Roman centurions. He'd never seen such an action outside of his history books. The moment was broken by the sound of a young voice.

"Professor?"

Watson looked around and was startled to find a small bespectacled youth standing behind their tall companion. Holmes ended the brief embrace and cocked his head slightly to observe the boy in question. There was nothing at all remarkable about him except for his intensely green eyes which stared out from under an unruly mop of black hair.

"A moment, Potter," the older man addressed the boy. And, then, to Holmes: "Let us find a more suitable location for our….reunion, shall we?"

"But of course, my dear fellow," Holmes replied, and led the way towards a waiting hansom. "You wouldn't mind continuing our interview in the comfort," he indicated Watson with a tilt of his head, "of our home, would you? The doctor and I would love to have you."

The man who Watson gathered to be Holmes's brother shot him a quick, assessing glance, full of speculation and, was that…interest? After a moment he nodded minutely.

"Excellent," Holmes intoned, and they were off.