Over the next year not one of the yarders touched or talked about the piano during the time they came to his flat. Well at least no in front of the Consulting detective anyway. Everyone having enough sense and respect not to talk or question the man about his dead brother, that died serving for queen and county.

One day that all changed though, Greg and Sherlock had been on their way to Baker Street so that the silver haired man could pick up the cold case files he had asked Sherlock to look over and see if he could solve any of them.

Upon approach they both spotted the nondescript black car that they both knew belong to Mycroft. Greg heard Sherlock mutter under his breath about what the fat git wanted this time. The DI couldn't help the small smile of amusement at that, long used to the way the two brothers bickered. When they came to the door through Sherlock froze, ales trade didn't know why at first, he thought that maybe something was wrong and automatically stiffens looking for signs of danger but then he heard it.

Music, music was coming from 221b, to be more specific piano music was coming from the flat. It wasn't recorded music played through a radio, it was the piano. Someone was playing Sherlock's brother's piano.

At first neither of them moved just listening to the music, not really processing what was happening. Then Sherlock broke out of it racing up the seventeen steps so fast that he was at the flat before Greg even thought to follow. The consulting detectives face for once showing what he felt and what he felt was obviously full fledge anger projecting his thoughts clearly. How dare Mycroft even think of playing his piano.

When he did actually gather himself enough and followed, the scene he found was not the one he had though he would see upon entering 221b. Mycroft bloody iceman Homes was smiling, in all his years Greg has never once seen that. A condescending smirk, or a small twinkle of amusement in the man's eyes, yes. But never a actually smile, the smile was directed at the man sitting calmly playing through the rest of the song at the piano.

Said man, was a blonde with tanned skin. He wore black jeans and a pair of regular military grade boots accompanied by a dark red fluffy looking jumper sleeves pulled up to the crook of his elbows so the fabric wouldn't get in the way while playing. Greg didn't know who the man was and couldn't tell much about him either, considering all he could see was the back of him.

Sherlock meanwhile had frozen again, just inside the door. His expression unreadable but he was also looking at the man at the piano. Slowly his gaze shifted to Mycroft. "What...how...?" Lestrade would have laughed at Sherlock looking so lost for once, but he didn't because he sensed the seriousness of the situation at hand.

Upon hearing Sherlock's voice, then man suddenly stopped playing and turned around, when the man eyes landed on Sherlock his face split into a wide warm smile and stood up. The blond walked towards Sherlock and pulled him into a hug. Greg was fully aware that his jaw had dropped, not because the man had hugged Sherlock but because Sherlock didn't push the man away; Instead he slowly wrapped his hands around the shorter man and clung tight like he was reassuring himself that what he saw was real.

The shorter man was the one to pull away and step back. Sherlock seemed to have regained the ability to construct full sentences again. "What happened? Where have you been?" His tone bordered on accusing.

A multitude of emotions flashed a crossed the man's face, pain, sadness, anger and many others. Greg found the best way to describe the emotion that the short blonde finally settled on, would be haunted. "That's a long story Sherlock, and one I'm not fully prepared to talk about at the moment. Let's just say the mission went for a lot longer than intended, and it was a lot more complicated than originally thought."

"Why didn't you tell us you were still ali-" Sherlock cut himself, head snapping up to look at his brother, still standing next to the music stand, where he has been watching the stranger play the piano. "Did you know he was alive?"

"No brother mine, I had no idea." Mycroft's face twitched just a little indicating his displeasure at not knowing something and having to admit it to his younger brother. "John only contacted me two days ago."

John? Lestrade thought to himself, it sounded familiar. Where had he heard that name mentioned before? Before he could think more on it he was interrupted but Sherlock's indignant voice. "You've known for two days and your only just telling me now?"

John looked a little sheepish at this. "That's not Mycroft's fault, I wanted to surprise you and I only just arrived back in London today. I came here strait from the airport." Sherlock turned his gaze back to John, he stared at him intensely, obviously deducing all sorts of things about the man stood in front of him. After a minute Sherlock spoke, "You were shot. Twice. As well as many other minor injuries judging by all the new scars on our arms." he stated it as a fact rather than a question, sure in his deduction.

"Yes, shot once in the shoulder and a graze on my leg." after that there was just silence, which is when Lestrade decided to interrupt because he was still confused about who this man was. The two brothers obviously knew who he was but hadn't seen him I a while.

"So, who exactly are you?" John turned to me, obviously glad for the distraction from the awkward conversation. "Capitan John Watson-Holmes."

"Holmes?"

"Yes, I'm their half-brother" John said gesturing to the other Holmes in the room.


Wrote this years ago and found it recently, thought i would post it because i don't know if i will write anymore of it in the future.