A Whole World Between

Chapter 2

"How can you have the X-Gene and not be a mutant?"

"Really John? You've asked the same question at least ten times now. You do realise that you could have been better utilising this entire time by studying the files Mycroft gave us?"

Now that his friend had mentioned it, John had to admit that he barely glanced at the pages. He really should start memorising the damn thing cover to cover, considering the fact that they would soon be on their way to meet the operative, whom Mycroft somehow had bestowed with mutant powers. But Sherlock being in possession of the X-Gene had shocked the good doctor to the core. The Holmes brothers had managed to turn his world upside-down, once again. Before this evening the world was a simple place for John. If you had the X-Gene, you were a mutant and if you didn't have it, you were simply not one. See, simple, precise, logical. But now you could have the gene and not be a mutant, and more importantly even if you didn't have the bleeding gene, you can still get superhuman powers. Even better, you can have them customised to your needs.

To say it as Sherlock would; conclusion, pure pandemonium.

His head was killing him and they hadn't even left Baker Street yet.

"Oh try to relax John. Your face looks like it's about to explode." He said while straightening up from his iconic leather chair. "As I have said repeatedly to you since we left my brother's place, yes, I do have the notorious X-Gene, which is the basic marker between being mutant or otherwise. But, no, I do not neither have I ever had any powers whatsoever. It was simply an oversight by mother nature, where though the gene is clearly detectable in me when tested for, but there are no powers to actually make me a mutant. Which is precisely what makes me the perfect asset to infiltrate Moriarty's realm of terror. I am not a mutant, but they wont suspect anything because I do in fact have the gene." The consulting detective let go a sigh of great accomplishment and sunk back in his seat to enter his mind palace once again, as if he had just successfully explained Newton's Law of Universal Gravitation to a toddler. "And also the fact that I am the only one with the intellectual capacity to do so." To a toddler in ancient Sumerian, that is.

John decided to simply let go of the matter of what is and isn't inside Sherlock's DNA, if only to drown out the smugness. He turned his attention towards the thick dossiers laying on the small table between the two friends in the living room of their shared flat. He really ought to read them. He picked up his bundle, while Sherlock had already dismantled every last piece of paper and had them strung or stuck, depending on what was important and which area on the rapidly shrinking wallpaper was still clear enough to hold something. Sherlock was in absolute case-mode, where he chased every tiny bit of information with his trademark frantic yet focused energy. All the while seemingly buzzing with electricity, he observed and absorbed everything until he was ready to step into his mind palace, to determine what was to be retained and what could be deleted forever as irrelevant.

He still remembers the first time meeting Sherlock, just a few months before the Waves hit, and being warned by him about how he doesn't speak on some days and on others just plays the violin. At first he dismissed them as exaggerations, like how someone might tweak their resumes. But not Sherlock, he has always been literal.

"Oh for the love of god, John. Just start reading the damn thing. Although it would hardly make a difference since you won't be doing much. My brother is sending you solely as a glorified babysitter for me. Why, I don't know. They are mutants, not drug dealers."

Too annoyingly literal sometimes.

"Funny how you say that they aren't drug dealers, but don't say that you aren't an addict any more." He said with a smirk, feeling rather proud to come up with something like that. "And that is exactly why I need to go with you." His remarks only earned him hard cold glare from his flatmate that would have put any ice glacier to shame. Which promptly made John grab the files in front of him. He had only flipped the first page when he said, "It's just that I don't think I've come across such a case where a person has the X-Gene and not only doesn't he manifest any powers but also that he is the only one in family to have it in the first place. While not necessarily passing from parent to offspring, it it knows to skip alternate generations."

Sherlock probably decided his best friend really had nothing useful to say and turned back to his own files, since John really seemed like he wasn't going to be reading his. Not that he blamed him since no doubt Mycroft didn't want to scare them too badly and risk them rejecting the mission, so heavy censor was employed by big brother.

However John Watson really was the only best friend that Sherlock Holmes had, which is why he easily noticed that Sherlock turned away rather quickly. Too quickly. The epiphany made him drop the file to his lap, from where it glided down his legs and landed on the floor. "Oh my god. You're not the only mutant in your family. Or at least not the only one with X-Gene. Am I right?"

"Yes." came the reply from behind the file.

John sensed his jaw dropping as far as it could go. He knew it must have since he realised that his tongue was rapidly drying out after coming in contact with the air, but he couldn't be completely sure, as his whole body had pretty much went numb. How many secrets were the Holmes brothers going to drop on him? Did Mycroft want to kill him with hi-

"Wait. Before we go any further. It's not Mycroft, is it? I mean, it just can't be. He has pretty much taken up the mantle of defending the human race from the mutants, so he really can't be one. Right? Of course right. But this certainly fits his obsessive need to control everything. I mean if he was a mutant, chances are that he is secretly controlling the mutants as well and-"

"And what, John?" Sherlock's file too joined its counterpart on the floor, when its reader flung it aside in exasperation. "Are you really suggesting that my brother is somehow the hidden power behind both factions in this yet another pointless war? While truly having an obsessive need to have power over everything with a pulse as well as having a formidable intellect, I highly doubt even Mycroft would be able to play for both teams in such a manner. So no, my eldest brother is not a mutant. It was the other one, the dead one that was the mutant. Coffee?" With that he got up and headed to the kitchen to begin, not preparing the coffee, but banging the rarely used pots and pans that he could find. This was one of his oldest gambits, create enough noise and Mrs. Hudson would appear with freshly brewed dark liquid for all three of them.

"Woo Hoo." Their landlady appeared with a tray of steaming coffee, and the balance of the universe was restored. Because heaven help them all if Sherlock actually did anything remotely domestic, even something as plebeian as sustenance. "I really wish you wouldn't create such a ruckus, do think about the neighbours. Now I'm not your housekeeper, but since both of you boys have to leave so suddenly for this top secret mission in Ireland under Mycroft's strict orders, I'm going to do it just this once, alright?" She said, all the while puttering towards the kitchen table to put down the heavy tray. "Which reminds me, I've brought my last packet of chocolate digestives as well. I really was trying to be stingy with them, since there's no guarantee that they'll always be available in the rations. But you two will soon be on your way to fight those dreadful mutants in this silly tight-lipped undercover mission. So I thought you could do with something a bit more cheerful than just coffee."

"And how right you were, Mrs. Hudson." He said, as he was grabbing his cup and biscuit from her. "And don't worry about running out of anything. I have many anecdotes about the fears and humiliations from Mycroft's childhood to ensure that you'll never run out of anything. At your age you are obligated to indulge." After kissing his pseudo-mother on the cheek he moved towards the wall, to go through the information stuck on it once again. But Mrs. Hudson knew better. Sherlock only turned away to hide his presumably red cheeks. You see, things had become a bit too sentimental for him and the darling boy needed a breather. And Martha most certainly didn't mind.

All this while John sat in his chair, silent as the grave. Sherlock had another brother. A dead brother. A dead brother who was mutant. Why was he hearing about this only now? And wait a minute. Why did Mrs. Hudson-

"Why does Mrs. Hudson know about our confidential dangerous mission?"

Without turning around from the wall and without stopping chewing the baked good, Sherlock said, "Try to think it over. She knows because I told her. After all, if she didn't know where we were going, how else would she know what she has to pack in my bags for me?" John contemplated how hard would he have to hit Sherlock in the head with Billy the Skull, until the either one of the skull cracked. "It wouldn't be a fair match, John. do think about it. After all Billy died a long time ago and has been exposed to the elements all this while. I, on the other hand, have a healthy living skull. So even if you use extreme force, I'll still outlast him."

John didn't even bother asking how the consulting detective knew exactly what was on his mind, he knew better by now . Instead he got up and went into the kitchen to get his cup of coffee from Mrs. Hudson, because she really wasn't their bloody housekeeper. He was savouring what probably would be his last biscuit for a very long time. He turned towards their landlady, who was busy putting back all the abused utensils to rightful place and called after her to get her attention. He looked back towards the living room and was relieved to see that their conversation would have no eavesdroppers, since Sherlock was lying flat on the couch, safely ensconced in his mind palace.

"Did you know that Sherlock had another brother besides Mycroft?"

"Oh yes, Sherringford." This piqued John's curiosity even more, he wanter to know more, and not just because of the unusual trio of English names. "He never actually talked about him to me. I don't even think either him or Mycroft talk about him that much, to each other or anyone in fact. His death was a shock for both of them. I know about it because I was there when Sherlock got the news. It was during my husband's execution trial, you see. Throughout the entire case he was so cold and distant, and sure you had to be, I guess, since the things my husband did were not for the soft-hearted, mind you. But he was a whole new category of his own. I had myself half convinced that he was truly heartless. Almost swore that I would have nothing to do what him after it was all over, and suddenly he gets a call about his brother….. In one single moment, he became less him. Just whispered 'My brother's dead' when I asked him what was wrong. He sounded so broken. And most definitely not heartless, let me tell."

"When was all this?"

"Now let me think. Sometimes I feel like my memory is going down the same path as my hips. I'm sure all this happened slightly more than a year before he met you."

John did a quick calculation in head, "So probably a year, year and a half before the Waves hit?"

Mrs. Hudson could only nod, as at that moment a knock could be heard at the front door, and had to rush down to see who it was.

And whoever it was certainly interested Sherlock very much, as he came out of his mind palace and got up to greet their visitor. His smile grew, as they both could begin to make out the sound of feet climbing the stairs to 221B Baker Street.

"Sherlock, who is it?"

"Someone who worked very hard to compile all the information in the files that you have repeatedly failed to read throughout this evening." And then he saw his flatmate move towards door, to open for mutant that Mycroft 'cooked up' to use.