CHAPTER 2. DEDUCTIONS AND CHALLANGES
Doctor Holmes found himself standing in an alley, definitely London, what part was still a question. Switching the GPS on his phone he found himself near Baker Street. Somehow this version of Baker Street was off, he couldn't quiet explain it. After all he had flatshared during UNI with John, and several years after until the ex army Captain met Mary and the two were married. Sherlock frowned, recalling how he'd introduced the two almost by accident.
Mary had loved John and treated Sherlock like a brother. The woman had a sunny disposition so painfully optimistic like John. This is why it nearly killed Sherlock to see her in the state she was in. Mourning a man that would never come home, a father that would never raise his children and a friend that would never lecture Sherlock on manners and edict.
"Oi! Sherlock? What the hell-Where is your coat!" Before Sherlock could reply the familiar blond was pulling him towards 221B, the door wasn't the same bright blue but it was home. "It's not exactly warm weather during the spring; seriously I don't know what you're thinking." John was carrying several bags of groceries.
"Let me help you." Sherlock barely managed his voice.
"That's it, you are definitely ill. You never offer to carry things." John shook his head disapprovingly, pushing the door open the directed Sherlock to go up the stairs first. Sherlock did as he was told, taking in the familiar but strange surroundings.
He took his keys out but John pushed open the door giving him another odd look. "It's not locked. Sherlock go sit down and I'll make you some tea." John quickly made his way across the flat.
This Sherlock wondered about the other Sherlock, obviously he and John were close. The scientist tried to search the room for anything that would give him a hint at just who he was in this reality.
He heard rustling around in the kitchen the sound of a kettle, yes John was fond of his tea.
When the retired Army Captain returned however he wasn't holding a mug of steaming tea but his Browning.
"Alright. Out with it. Who the hell are you?"
"John?" Sherlock tried to take a step forward.
"No, you stay right where you are. Hands up now."
"John what's your problem? Have you hit your head?" Sherlock could read the cold blue eyes. The man had always kept his Browning on hand. His hands were remarkably steady and of course his aim would be perfect.
"Stop! Don't talk. " John neared checking Sherlock's dark suit pockets, he found the mobile but said nothing just tossing it on the chair behind him. "Now, you can talk. Tell me why the hell you look like this. And what have you done to the real Sherlock? If he's in any way harmed God help me you'll wish I only shot you dead."
"John, I am Sherlock. Look at me. We've known each other for years. I know you have a sister, Harry."
"Anyone could have that information."
"You like honey in your tea. Jam on your toast. And on nights you can't sleep you like to watch crap telly. However when you're home ill you'll watch a Doctor Who marathon. The ninth doctor was your favorite. You liked his style. And his companion. You thought the tenth doctor was a bit too pretty and the eleventh too whimsical." John clicked the safety to off.
"Fine, you were an army Captain, until you took a hit to the shoulder. You dream about the war it's what keeps you up. You're excellent at chemistry although you let me do all the scientific explaining. You hate to kill and would rather shoot to injure or knock the assailant out. Your father was an abusive drunk and when Harry turned eighteen she came to collect you. Your mother died of cancer before you were three, so you don't remember her." Sherlock hoped that this back story was similar to his John's.
"Fine, so you know a bit about me. Except you're wrong. My sister is a drunk and she never came back for me. I'll say it again, who the hell are you?"
Sherlock wondered just how skilled this John was with a weapon. He calculated the set of disarming moves that his John Watson had taught him.
"John! Lestrade is an absolute idiot! He's truly out done himself-" Doctor Holmes flinched as a figure in a dark coat and blue scarf swept past him. So this was who he was, a man in a Bellstaff coat and disheveled curls? Well no wonder John didn't believe he was who he said. He probably knew right away, clever as always. And once more Sherlock underestimated his dearest friend.
"Sherlock." John kept his gun trained on the imposter.
"Can you believe he actually questioned my deductions over something that Anderson found on the scene? It was insulting." Sherlock wasn't paying his flat mate any attention, instead he sighed heavily. "Well case is solved John how about Thai tonight –Oh." Sherlock froze, he neared the man in a black suit, almost similar to the one he was wearing, a black suit and purple shirt, his hair was straight and cut neatly. His eyes were staring back at him in a similar deductive expression.
"John put your weapon down. He's a cousin." Doctor Holmes realized suddenly that that Sherlock was lying, but he would play along.
"He said he was you." The Army Captain sighed exasperated.
"Did he now?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed over the pale man with gray eyes.
"It was a joke. I didn't think your friend here would take it so seriously. " Doctor Holmes continued to watch his double with a morbid fascination.
"John is a man of action." Sherlock smiled thinly, studying the way this strangers eyes shot over Doctor Watson. There was a heavy sadness in them, and other emotions that bothered Sherlock. This man was here for John, and the consulting detective would find out why. First he would need for John to leave.
"John this is my cousin Sherringford." John lowered his weapon.
"Did you know he was stopping by?"
"Ugh, didn't I mention it this morning over toast?"
"Sherlock! I was working this morning before you got up and you had toast four days ago."
"John that's not my fault you never listen to me." The blond was moving away shaking his head. Both Holmes' watched how this John unloaded the weapon and put the bullets in a table's drawer and disappeared with the gun, grumbling about idiot flat mates.
This made the Doctor's heart tighten, and he couldn't help the fact his eyes followed John's movements until he disappeared up the stairs to his room. Neither Holmes flinched when the door slammed.
"Same temper." Doctor Holmes smiled.
"Now," Sherlock removed his coat and scarf he sat down in his chair, hands steepled under his chin and eyes cold and narrowed once more on Doctor Holmes. "I suspect you are from another timeline or what not. Judging by your appalling watch and I'm guessing that is your mobile on my table. What I want to know is why have you come here for John?"
"What-"
"Don't try to trick me we both know how I operate. Assuming you have the same deductive skills."
"I do." Doctor Holmes reached for his mobile refusing to meet the gray eyes, his own gray eyes. It was almost like staring into a mirror. Almost.
"You haven't answered my question." Sherlock leaned forward. "If you are here in any way to harm my Doctor-"
"He's a Doctor?" Doctor Holmes was amused. "What kind?"
"He was an army surgeon until he was shot in the shoulder an injury that ended his soldiering career and enough nerve damage he will never operate again. However he still is a fine GP. The best."
"Yes. Indeed. I just-well." Doctor Holmes glanced at his mobile.
"I don't like to repeat myself Mr. Holmes."
"Doctor Holmes." Sherlock's eyebrow raised. "I'm a scientist."
"Predictable."
"And you're right I'm here for your Doctor. I came to bring him back with me."
"This will be a problem." Sherlock leaned forward his voice cold and firm.
"I will give him the choice at the right moment."
"He would never-"
"What would you do if you were faced with death Sherlock Holmes? If you were offered a get out of jail free card. Then an instant family, a thriving career-life. What would you choose, better yet what would he chose?" Dr. Holmes pointed upstairs.
"You are making no sense. How could you-" Sherlock frowned then realization hit so suddenly. "He's dead. Your John Watson is dead. And now you've come to take mine." A statement and not a question, when no reply came, Sherlock Holmes consulting detective, leaned forward in his chair with a dark scowl on his face. "Well you are a bit optimistic."
"He's already dead Sherlock. I'm only giving him a way out." These words had the curly haired Holmes on his feet immediately.
"Explain!" He demanded.
"No. It is the way of things. I'll only have to wait-"
"I'll be sure to have the Government pick you up for questioning before that were to happen."
"Really you are threatening me with Mycroft! Of all people. Hilarious."
"Tell me." Sherlock held the other Holmes' gray eyes captive; a pleading in his own battled the sadness and pity in the other's.
"Look." The Doctor's shoulders dropping, his face pale, he took the mobile and handed it to the consulting detective after opening a file. "I was going to show him this to convince him. But i guess I'll show you. Then you tell me if you are willing to keep him from this choice."