Sherlock and I are enjoying the peace of early morning, the time before we receive any calls demanding we were needed at a crime scene, when a number of police officers arrive at 221B and start trying to break down the door of the flat. When I hear the noise I rush out of the kitchen, a peice of toast still clutched in my hand, to find Sherlock engrossed in his paper and looking as though he can't hear the shouting and loud crashes coming from outside. I stare at him for a moment, wondering how he can be so calm, before rolling my eyes. Despite how long I have known him I don't think I will ever truely understand the detective. Then I turn my attention towards the door and hesistantly walk towards it, half expecting it to burst open at any moment. Half way to the door I pause and turn back towards Sherlock, wanting to see some hint of reaction in him. I am disappointed though because his face is still calm and he continues to read the paper. I shake my head. "How the hell can you be so calm Sherlock? Can't you hear the people trying to batter down our door?" I demand, already knowing I probably won't get a reaction. I am right because all Sherlock does is to briefly glance up at me. I see a worried frown flash across his face and abruptly realise that he isn't as calm as he would have me believe.
Outside the door the shouting has stopped and through the wood I hear a single voice instructing everyone to be quiet while he address the suspects. Hang on, suspects? That can't be right can it? Maybe I misheard or... I glare over at Sherlock who smiles back but I am sure he had something to do with it. This wouldn't be the first time Lestrade has sent his officers round on a dawn raid because Sherlock annoyed him. Hopefully what ever he did wasn't too bad and the officers will leave quickly so Sherlock and I can enjoy the rest of our Sunday. Outside the door there is still silence and I walk a few paces forward, curious to find out what it going on. The next moment there is a quiet knock, causing me to jump back a few steps before I can catch myself. Thankfully Sherlock didn't see that or you can sure I would never hear the end of it. I still don't answer the door though and stand there staring at it, wondering if opening the door is really the best option any more.
Behind me I hear a rustle of paper as Sherlock folds up his paper and lays it to one side. "Well," He asks. "Aren't you going to answer that?" He asks, his deep voice still laced with sleep.
Acting on autopilot I walk over and unlock the door. The moment the lock clicks the door is torn from my hands and violently crashes back against the wall. From the corner of my eye I am aware of Sherlock half rising from his seat with a startled expression on his face. I think he is just as surprised as I am when Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older brother, bursts into the room with a frantic look on his face. "Sherlock! Please tell me you were no where near Scotland Yard last night. For gods sake tell me you weren't the one who did it!" Mycroft pleads, his usually calm voice hysterical.
Naturally, like any normal person in such a situation, I am taken aback by what Mycroft is saying. Obviously something momentous has happened or he wouldn't have come here first thing on a wednesday morning. I look over at Sherlock to see what his reaction to the intrusion is and find him looking as surprised as I am. "I'm sorry Mycroft, what is it I'm supposed to have done?" Sherlock asks, tipping his head on one side and frowning at his brother.
Mycroft takes a deep breath and swallows a few times as though he is trying to prepare himself for what he is going to say next. "I am sorry to burst in on you like this little brother but there was an incident at Scotland Yard last night." He pauses and closes his eyes. When he opens them again he wears a pained expression. "An incident in which you were implicated by an eyewitness report." His voice begins to shake uncontrollably. Several of the police officers from outside rush forward but Mycroft waves them off and collapses down into an armchair opposite Sherlock.
Unable to believe what I am hearing I stare at the older Holmes brother and shake my head. Surely he can't seriously be suggesting what I think he is? Slowly I walk forward until I am standing beside me and he is forced to look up if he wants to look into my face. "What do you mean Mycroft? What happened last night?" Mycroft raises his gaze to mine but then hastily looks away. A feeling of icy dread washes through me. I knew it; something terrible has happened.
With a sigh Mycroft buries his head in his hands. "According to his statement you two broke into Scotland Yard last night and brutally attacked Lestrade before leaving him for dead. Personally I'm not sure if I believe it but the police officers with me want to search your flat so you can definatly be ruled out." He says in a low, despondant sounding voice. The poor guy sounds like he has the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.
For a long neither Sherlock or I am able to find anything to say in reply, both of us deeply shocked by what we have just heard. It is odd but I feel like the earth has tilted beneath me and thrown everything I thought off course. Events like this didn't happen to people like us. For god's sake we solved this sort of case all the time where someone was attacked or killed by an unknown assailent. This last thought freezes me to the spot and sends a shiver down my spine. "Was Greg badly hurt?" I ask, my voice sounding a little strangled. Dear god, let him be alright. If anything, god forbid, should have happened to him because some previous criminal had decided to get revenge on Sherlock I would never forgive myself.
"Greg was stabbed in the stomach." Mycroft explains in a hoarse voice. "When he was found this morning those first on the scene honestly thought he was dead there was so much blood..." His voice trails away to nothing. Without warning he leaps from the chair, rushes across to Sherlock and grips his brother's hands tightly in his own. "Please tell me that you had nothing to do with it brother." He pleads. I have never seen either Holmes brother loose control before, though Sherlock has come close on a previous case, and I have to admit that I am finding it unsettling.
I go to reply, to reassure Mycroft that we were at another crime scene across London but Sherlock motions for me to stay quiet. Knowing he probably has a plan I do not say another word and simply watch as Sherlock stares intently at Mycroft. "Have you considered the possibility that it could be him?" Sherlock murmurs, his voice barely audible. I am only able to hear him because I am standing so close.
Mycroft's head snaps up so I am able to see the alarm which is written on his face. "No it can't be, why on earth would he return now?" He cries in a voice loud enough to make several of the police officers searching in the flat look over at us with frowns on their faces. "I thought after what happened last time that he wouldn't dare show his face again." Mycroft continues, shaking his head.
Sherlock places a comforting hand on Mycroft's shoulder. I turn my back, not wanting to intrude on the brother's private moment. However instead of discreetly distancing myself from them I manage to stumble into the path of one of the police officers. "Sorry." I say when he glares at me. Whoops, maybe it would be better if I wait outside until I am needed. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure that neither of the Holmes Brother's want me for anything I grab my coat and head towards the outside world. Maybe I will go for a short walk to clear my head. Behind me I hear footsteps echoing on the stairs but I am not overly worried. Obviously one of the police officers is following me downstairs. As a result of this conclusion I don't pay them any more attention. Humming quietly under my breath I walk out onto the street...and straight into the path of a small person, knocking them to the ground. "Oh god, I'm so sorry." I exclaim, holding out my hand to help them up.
N-n-no worries John Watson. No harm done." The person stutters in reply in a thick American accent. He ignores my hand which I, personally, think is rather rude.
I have started to walk away when a sudden thought strikes me. Oh crap I recognise that voice...but it can't possibly be him can it? A wave of alarm floods through me. If it is him then things are about to get a hell of a lot more complicated. Despite my best efforts to keep them still my hands are shaking when I glance up. Yes, it's him alright. A violent shudder runs through me as I gaze upon the face which is so eerily similiar to my own. My fists clench. What the hell is he doing here? I go to take a step towards him but an arm circles around my neck, cutting off my air supply. Instantly my thoughts go to survival and I open my mouth to cry out. Before I can a hand is slapped across my mouth. Panic flares through me. No, no this can't be happening! I try to bite the hand but the person holding me simply painfully yanks my head to one side until I can feel the bones in my neck start to protest against the strain.
"If you insist on struggling John Watson you are only going to get hurt." hisses a deep voice in my ear. Despite the menacing tone I swear I know that voice. A sliver of ice runs down my spine as realisation dawns and the arm around my throat tightens painfully, causing dark spots to dance in my vision. "Well Lester." The deep voice snaps. "Open the back of the van and get going. You know how protective Sherlock Holmes can be about his friends."
Dimly through the pounding in my head I hear the sound of doors being flung open before I am bodily dragged forward by the arm around my neck. I attempt to fight, to cling on to the person holding me but it does not work. Moments later I am being bundled into the back of a white van. The lnading knocks the breath from me and my head strikes the flooor hard, almost knocking me unconscious. Dazed I glance up to try and see who my kidnappers are but against the bright light of the sun they are nothing but black silhouettes. Then the van's back doors are slammed shut and I am left in darkness.
Back in 221B Sherlock placed a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder as he desperatly tried to think of something to say. Out of the corner of his eye Sherlock was aware of John leaving the room but he was too busy trying to ease Mycroft's distress to really spend time worrying about him. "Obviously last time we didn't warn him off well enough." He said with a serious expression on his face. "Anyway it might not even be him."
Mycroft glanced over at him with a disbelieving expression but didn't say anything. Instead he buried his head in his hands and cursed quietly to himself. Sherlock felt a wave of sadness for him. Poor Mycroft. Sherlock knew how much he cared for Lestrade and knew also how hard it must be for him to think that someone close to the two Holmes brothers could have hurt him. Removing his hand from Mycroft's shoulder Sherlock ran it through his black curls with a loud sigh. Even though he was better with emotions since being around John he still had no idea when it come to comforting people. Sitting back on his heels he looked around at the flat. By now many of the police officers had grown bored of searching and were leaning on the walls chatting to one another. One of them had wandered into the kitchen and begun to make cups of tea. Sherlock winced and hoped the officer didn't look in the fridge. A sudden though struck him and he turned his attention back to Mycroft. "Why aren't you at the hospital with Greg?" He asked, frowning at his brother.
Mycroft's eyes were swimming with tears when he looked up. "I went there earlier but they told me he was still in surgery and wouldn't be back on the ward for a while. I tried to wait but I couldn't keep still; I needed to be doing something." He said, reaching up to wipe away the tear dripping down his cheek. "The only place I could think to come was here. When I arrived I found the police officers preparing to break in and decided to tag along."
A faint smile crept onto Sherlock's face. That sounded like his brother. "Oh Mycroft." He murmured, lightly stroking his brother's cheek. To his suprise Mycroft flinched away from him and his eyes flicked from side to side as though he was searching for someone. Then he rounded on Sherlock, gripped his wrists tightly and pulled him towards him. "What's wrong?" Sherlock asked, a little startled by the frantic look in Mycroft's eyes.
"What if it is him? Last time it almost killed both of us facing him and yet he escaped without a single scratch." Mycroft replied, practically shouting and seemingly unaware of the frowns of the officers who were staring at him like he'd gone mad. "Sherlock, where's John?"
In reply Sherlock frowned at him as he tried to work out why John's current whereabouts would be so important to his brother. "He went out about five minutes ago to get some air. Why do you ask?" At first Mycroft did not reply and continued to stare at Sherlock intently like he was trying to mentally communicate with him. After several long seconds of that Sherlock suddenly made the connection. His eyes widened and a loud gasp escaped him. Oh god, how could he not have thought of it? If the third Holmes brother had returned to London then nobody was safe; especially not people close to Mycroft and Sherlock. A flutter of panic ran through Sherlock's veins and he pulled against Mycroft's grip, wanting to free himself so he could go outside and search for John. Obviously realising what his brother was trying to do Mycroft released him and nodded in understanding. "Thankyou." Sherlock murmured quietly as he rose to his feet. Taking a deep breath he began walking towards the door of the flat. Before he reached it however John himself walked through it. Relief flooded through Sherlock but it rapidly drained away when he noticed how his friend's hands were shaking. He held out his arms to grip John's shoulders and was surprised when insteaad of standing still and letting him John flinched away from him and stood staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. Sherlock swallowed. Maybe he had come across the third brother after all? Sherlock shook his head. No if that had happened John would be considerably more shaken than he was. Sherlock continued to frown at John for a moment, watching for any more little signs something was not quite right. He did not spot anything though and soon turned his attention back to Mycroft who was still sitting hunched over. "Brother, do you think Lestrade will be up to being questioned?" He asked, beginning to pace from one side of the room to the other with his hands clasped behind his back.
Glancing up momentarily Mycroft considerd his brother's question. "I don't know, I'll phone the hospital and ask." He replied, pulling his phone from his pocket. In one smooth movement he stood and made his way over to a corner for some privacy while he made the call.
Sherlock watched his brother walk away- noting the slump to Mycroft's shoulders and the way his eyes were dull and lifeless. He frowned. If he was not mistaken by what he was seeing it was apparant that Mycroft was very distressed by what had happened to Lestrade. Though he tried not to feel emotions himself because of how they got in the way of making a successful deduction Sherlock vowed to himself that once he had spoken to Lestrade he would try to comfort his brother. Which should be interesting considering he had never done such a thing before. Sherlock shook his head, he would worry about that later. Right now he needed to decide whether or not to tell John about the third Holmes brother. Though keeping him in the dark would protect him it might be better if he was prepared for what was to come... no for now until he knew for certain his other brother was back he would not tell John anything. Desicion made he turned to face John. "Where did you go off to John? Mycroft was worried when he noticed you were missing, especially considering the person who attacked Lestrade is still at large in the city."
A sheepish expression flashed across John's face and he swallowed nervously. "I-I'm sorry, I just needed some fresh air." He replied in a voice which was audibly shaking. "That isn't a crime is it?"
Okay something was not right. Sherlock had known John for years and knew he would never apologise for anything. He also knew that John would never, ever stutter. Either he had received a massive, personality altering shock or this was not John Watson standing before him. Fixing him with an intense glare Sherlock began to slowly stalk around John in order to see how he would react. Because he was already suspiscious he was therefore not surprised when instead of staring back at him just as fiercely John flinched and lowered his gaze, a faint bluch creeping up his cheeks. It was at that moment Sherlock remembered something Mycroft had told him earlier about two people attacking Lestrade, one of them looking like him and the other looking like...Sherlock swore loudly and clenched his fists. There was the overwelming possibility the person standing in the flat at that moment might not be John Watson. "Who are you?" He asked, his voice rising as he lost control of his emotions. Several of the nearby police officers glanced over at the pair with an equal mix of confusion and concern for they all knew Sherlock's reputation; he never lost control unless something incredibly bad had happened.
John...'No', Sherlock thought as he ground his teeth together, 'This person could never be John Watson.' The lookalike stared at him with wide eyes and slowly backed away towards the door. Noticing the movement two offciers moved to intercept him. The lookalike eyes flicked from side to side as he desperatly searched for another escape route. When he was unable to spot one he reluctantly raised his gaze to Sherlock's who had already guessed the lookalike would try again to persude him that he really was John. "What do you mean Sherlock? I'm John Watson." He protested, his tone pleading and a little frantic.
A chill ran down Sherlock's spine and he inhaled sharply. If the lookalike was here pretending to be John then that must mean...Sherlock let out a cry and sank to his knees. Oh god, if Khan Holmes had John... Sherlock shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. If he started to think like that he would most likely stumble head first into whatever little game Khan had thought up this time. Taking several deep breaths to calm himself Sherlock forced himself to stand. By now every eye in the room was turned to Sherlock and the lookalike- including Mycroft who had long since finished his telephone conversation with the hospital. When he brother had fallen to his knees he had almost rushed forward but had just about managed to restrain himself with the thought that Sherlock disliked people showing affection towards him (John was the only exception to this rule). Instead he watched and waited as Sherlock turned to the police officer closest to him, held out his hand and said "Could I borrow your handcuffs?"
Like Mycroft the police officer did a double take, frowning at the detective and trying to work out if he is simply trying to be funny. Sherlock's steady gaze told him otherwise and he handed over the handcuffs without another word. Sherlock did not speak either and quickly turned his attention back towards the imposter who was growing steadily more alarmed at how the encounter was going. Inside Sherlock a slow burning anger began to build and unlike the other times he had felt it he allowed it to grow, figuring he could maybe use it to his advantage later on.
"P-p-please Sherlock, it's me. Why won't you believe me?" The Lookalike stuttered fearfully, his eyes wide and staring as he desperatly tried to find a way out of the situation he had gotten himself into. Khan had warned him the detective could be protective of John but neither of them could possibly have guessed how quickly Sherlock had worked out he was an imposter. He swallowed. If he managed to escape this somehow he was going to find Khan and tell he did not want anything to do with the other Holmes brothers. It was simply too dangerous.
Sherlock regarded the imposter without emotion as he fastened the handcuffs securely around his wrists, shaking them to make sure they were tight enough. "There are a number of reasons why I don't believe you. The first is that the real John would never plead or stutter. Another reason is the simple fact that you appear terrified of everything and everyone around you, a state of being not possible after having served in a war-zone. The third and final reason why I do not believe you is because you are a pitiful, pale imitation of a great man who just so happens to be my best friend. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" Sherlock paused for a moment, considering what he was going to say next carefully. The anger inside him continued to grow and was beginning to show itself via the tremours running down his arms and the unpleasant dark glint shining from his ocean blue eyes. "Where is John by the way?" He asked, struggling to keep his voice steady. The lookalike flinched when he heard the barely concealed rage. Annoyed at how the imposter was still refusing to speak Sherlock gave voice to a frustrated growl before he reached out and grabbed the lookalike wrist in a grip tight enough for him to whimper quietly under his breath. "Who the hell are you anyway?"
The lookalike shook beneath Sherlock's fierce glare and swallowed loudly. Events were not turning out the way he had hoped they would. "My name is Lester Nygaard and I-I'm sorry but I can't tell you John Watson's whereabouts. He made me swear not to tell you anything under pain of a horrible, incredibly painful death." Lester squeaked as he tried to free his wrist from what was quickly becoming a vice like grip.
Sherlock ground his teeth together and clenched his fists to prevent himself from from wrapping his hands around Lester's throat and squeesing the life from him. Behind him he was aware of someone moving to stand beside him. "For gods sake, tell me who you are working for!" Sherlock shouted. Despite his show of rage the imposter still continued to shake his head, refusing to answer the question. Sherlock snarled under his breath. Maybe he needed to be more persuasive. He raised his hand, intending to strike Lester across the face, but Mycroft reached out and caught his brother's arm.
"Don't let your anger turn you into our brother. I can't deal right now with another Holmes going off the rails and Lester isn't worth loosing yourself over. You need to remain in control if you stand any chance of finding John." He said as he gazed up at Sherlock with an out of character grim expression on his face. "Anyway", He continued, changing the subject of what he was just saying completely. "The hospital informed me that Greg is awake and is well enough to answer questions coherently if you still wish to visit him Sherlock."
For a moment Mycroft feared that his younger brother was already lost but then to his relief Sherlock slowly lowered his arm and took a step back away from the imposter. "Thankyou Mycroft, I don't know what came over me." Sherlock said with a deep sigh as he massaged his forehead where he could feel a rather nasty headache starting to throb. "Yes, I still want to visit Lestrade." Though his voice still sounded a little formal and stilted he seemed otherwise okay and Mycroft knew that, for now at least, he had nothing to worry about. "What are we going to do with Mr Nygaard because I would rather not hand him over to the police just yet. I haven't finished questioning him."
Mycroft considered this for a moment before coming up with a solution. "Until we know where John is Mr Nygaard is staying with us. After all I'm sure Greg will be interested to meet one of the people who tried to kill him." He said darkly, glaring at Lester with a fierce expression. Sherlock cleared his throat pointedly and Mycroft gave him a weary smile. Neither of the Holmes brothers could afford to loose their temper.
Upon hearing this Lester Nygaard fell to his knees before the two Holmes brothers with a loud cry of despair. "Please don't take me with you. Khan said if he saw me anywhere near that place he would kill me!" He wailed loudly. "Besides it wasn't me who stabbed him." He continued in his strong American twang.
A look of disgust came over Sherlock's face. How could Khan have ever thought he would mistake him for John? It was as though his brother considered his intellect far superior to the consulting detective's. Sherlock supposed he should not really be suprised because ever since childhood Khan had always believed himself to be better. Shaking his head to dislodge such thoughts Sherlock turns his attention to Mycroft to see how he is taking this. Mycroft's face is pale and his hands are noticebly shaking. When he notices Sherlock staring at him he gives me a wobbly smile before collapsing back into an armchair and burying his head in his hands, overwelmed by the confirmation that Khan is definatly behind this. He felt a jolt of sympathy for Mycroft and all he had had to suffer under Khan's hands. The emotion is fleeting however and is soon replaced by anger. Sherlock clenched his fists; if Khan had hurt John in any way he would pay, no matter what the cost would be. Pausing briefly to lay a comforting hand on Mycroft's shoulder he turned his full attention to Lester who was still kneeling on the floor. The corner of Sherlock's mouth curls up into a sneer. "Stop being so pathetic and get up- we're leaving for the hospital. If you are unwilling to stand I swear to god I will drag you the entire way." He snarled, his eyes flashing.
Across the room Mycroft stood but otherwise didn't say anything. Lester continued to snivel quietly to himself as he scrambled to his feet and stood before Sherlock, swaying slightly on his feet. Sherlock watched him intently for a moment. Hmm, he had the feeling Lestrade would be interested to meet one of the people who had tried to kill him. It was a shame that he would not get to see Lestrade's reaction but Sherlock needed to start his search if he stood a hope of finding John still alive. Clearing his throat Sherlock turned to address his brother. "Mycroft you'll have to go to the hospital alone because I can not simply wait for Khan to decide to get in touch with us. I have to find John." He said, grabbing his coat and pulling it on. He paused when Mycroft reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Be careful Sherlock, you know how dangerous our brother can be when he is cornered. If you find yourself in trouble call me okay?" He asked. A frown settled on his face when Sherlock did not reply. "Okay?" He repeated.
In reply Sherlock only nodded before he and his brother parted, with Mycroft ushering Lester Nygaard into the back of a black London cab and Sherlock rushing off in a mad, and almost certaintly futile attempt to find Khan Holmes before anything happened to John. A shiver ran down Sherlock's spine. Dear god he hoped he would not be too late.
Work in progress