*Bad blood*

by: WhiteGloves

A.N: I am also excited on where this goes! xD

Thank you for the advance support! All hail Sherlock fandom!

Thank you and enjoy!

Chapter 2: Nyet!

London remained bleak in the morning as a black sedan drove pass cabs and lorries before stopping at a traffic light on a pedestrian lane where a crowd of people crossed minding their business, unaware of the debacle about to unfold inside the tinted car.

"Stop giving me that stare, Doctor Watson because one— no, I'm not hiding another sibling and two— no, I don't make it a past time of keeping each siblings of mine in secret islands against their will." Mycroft said testily with pursed lips as he sat at the backseat of the car on their way towards his office. "If I had, you would not have Sherlock to endure. And behave, would you?" He threw a glance at the now smirking younger brother of his.

John pulled his eyes away, but couldn't help staring back at the men behind him. He had left Rosy with Mrs. Hudson for the day as he joined the Holmes brothers in this rather unusual case. He was by the passenger's seat in front, giving the British Government Head furtive looks though the rearview mirror while Sherlock sat beside his brother in silence wearing his adorned blue coat and scarf. Mycroft hadn't spoken ever since telling the driver where to go, answer a few more calls on his mobile and then frown at the doctor whom he caught watching him.

"I'm just saying it isn't the first time." The doctor said as the sedan made a turn, passing by Westminster with quite a heavy traffic despite it being only quarter to nine in the morning. "When I found out about Eurus it did struck me why I haven't met your other relatives. Aunt, uncles, cousins, you know. No one ever visits during Christmas."

"I assure you it has nothing to do with locking them up as much as letting them know Sherlock is your Christmas host."

Sherlock glared at him. "Yes, because you are also a delight company yourself. Hold tight there, John, if Mycroft starts handing out invitations then it's going to be a very frosty Christmas."

"At least my house is free from constant engulfment of fire." Mycroft retorted evenly.

"And living people." Sherlock pressed his lips, seeing John a smile through the mirror.

"I do not suffer fools and rudeness," the older Holmes muttered with an arch of eyebrow, "as well as cramped space. So remind me again why I allowed you inside my car?"

"I'm paying for it dearly!" Sherlock exclaimed, raising the umbrella he was holding on his right hand and then dropping it between them like stone. "Your artillery is not light, Mycroft."

Mycroft wiggled his eyebrows and chose to ignore him as he looked outside his window. Then pulling his gaze back in what appeared to be an occurring thought, he went on, "Instead of coming along in this obvious waste of time, why don't you start reading the files I sent to your email? It will help you with the mission abroad—"

"Apparently you don't speak English anymore—oh hey, let's try Russian—nyet!"

"Brothermine, it's an international crisis—"

"And having my brother's name being called out in national television isn't?" Sherlock asked sounding dramatically concerned that could fool none in the car, "Tell me has anything so remarkable like this happened ever since you took office? A criminal blurting out your full name in broad daylight claiming to be a blood relative—? I wonder how many of your people are terrified over this by now—how many security alerts have been raised—what are we now, in critical?" he caught his brother bearing an unconcerned expression.

"He's already in custody and we'll find out soon enough. Sherlock, can you honestly imagine that man to be anything threatening? You saw him. The only thing significant that happened to him was saying my name—"

Sherlock chuckled. "You're obviously playing the fool to get rid of me. Like anyone can just dig that name from the ground. If he's going to say a name, he should have just called mine—I'm more well known in that field—"

"Really, Sherlock this is beneath you. There is no reason to be jealous—" Mycroft scoffed.

"As if—like I needed more publicity with John and the Daily paper citing me every second of the day—"

"Okay, so if I speak to this fellow, I'll tell him he'll have another interview and have him call out your name."

"Very funny."

"Are you two done?" John said with a pained expression on his face through the rearview mirror while the Holmes brothers simultaneously looked up with daggers in their eyes though their faces remained impassive. It often amused John how the Holmes brothers banter like there was no tomorrow. Seriously, give them a topic and they could last half a day not moving on their chairs and find ways to make everything seem important just because they are the one who's saying it. But then again, it was what Sherlock was good at ever since the doctor started living with him—the unending retorts and last words. Where else would Sherlock learn that from? But it was about time to make the impasse as John nodded. "So who's this guy and what do we know about him?"

Both the Holmes' brothers' eyes flashed.

"The proper question would be 'What we don't know about him'." Mycroft replied with a bored look. "He's a multi drop delivery driver, left handed and prefers sleeping on his left side with the window facing the west. No associated animal except those encountered on routine, no close family nearby but lives with a flat mate much as yourselves. Owns a handgun which will be investigated further. There's a leak on his bathroom by the mirror that needs fixing but since he's arrested, I don't think he can attend to that any time soon."

John stared. Then blinked at his flat mate. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock concurred, "If you only look at the black cap he was wearing at that time of the arrest, you'd notice the name of the delivery company much as the blue collar underneath his black jacket. Company uniform. The jacket does not belong to him and I would have said he grabbed it from someone homeless but since my brother said he has a flat mate then—" he made a full stop and turned to the older Holmes inquiringly, "Flat mate?"

"Shoes." Mycroft answered while he checked the traffic on his side of the window, "Someone else with the same size has been wearing it regularly. His day job as a delivery would have given him the uniformed shoes but obviously someone else has worn it so he was left to use this pair. He's comfortable with the shoes despite it being too large for him which means this other person has little concern of which to grab in the morning. Both has no family, obviously but this man needs to be neat as part of the requirement of being a delivery man ergo always in front of the mirror where his cap had been dulled on the same spot by the leakage."

"His color corresponds to the sunlight of the window side and posture of his body inclines much to the left side. Practically emotional dimension." Sherlock's eyes narrowed, "The handgun was a given considering there was an empty bulge on the side of the pocket of the jacket, that's why they considered him a terrorist. Was it during a delivery?"

"Yes, I've been told." Mycroft raised his chin, "But his disposition isn't my concern—"

"Yep, it's the fact that he let a slip of your name. How did that come to be?"

Though there wasn't any change on his expression, Mycroft's eyes flashed meaningfully, "We'll find out. But with this traffic I will soon lose interest."

"There's been an accident ahead sir," the driver letting his existence known didn't much draw attention to himself as the car began moving again, "We already took the route with less congestion. We'll be there in five minutes."

"So many accidents in London these days…" John whispered as the car glided to the right, "What are we doing with that, Mycroft?"

"What you are seeing is merely a percentage of the terrorism we have stopped in a year." The British Government Head said in a matter of fact tone, "There's bound to be a 0.1 percent at most to slip. And most of the time this is the terrorism done by the unexpected. The citizens."

"That's why my network has never been this large." Sherlock supplied in the silence, "Let citizens fight citizens. It's a civil war without anyone noticing. Except—"

"Us." Mycroft noted with a slight glance at his younger brother and John nodded with a sudden realization that neither were actually thinking of the obvious lie of the man claiming to be their brother. If anyone—and that means anyone at all would attempt to connect themselves to the Holmes brothers, then they at least must have some decency to figure out a man's background by simply staring at his shoelace. Without that John would never believe it even if they tell him the three of them have the same birthmarks in parts of their bodies he doesn't need to mention.

The car slid pass the traffic and Mycroft spoke again. "You really should mind the Russian business, Sherlock. The Americans are concerned over a citizen of theirs being accused of espionage. An obvious lie to exchange with their captured spy last month. The Russians are becoming aggressive—"

Sherlock's face lit up. "Do we have spies over there you need retrieving?"

"No one comes to mind but they have been under the Russian surveillance for some time now."

"Then pull them back before they make a mess, I'm not moving out of London—"

"You're the only one I can count on—a"

"And miss all this fun? Look— this isn't about you, Mycroft—it's about me having the possibility of having another brother." John pressed the urge to speak, ending in uncontrollable coughing. Mycroft's eyes fell on the doctor, before sighing and giving a narrowed look to his younger brother.

"Yes, the one you can drag around the corners of London, trespassing private properties and sending houses on fire without concern. Oh, my mistake, you have Doctor Watson for that. Sorry if I still could not join the Golden Trio in the near future."

"Happy to disappoint."

"Quite."

"Still not getting me off the hook the Russian business?"

"No."

"Really, you're the most exciting thing that happened to me, Mycroft. I'm sure you're going to be a very terrific big brother."

To John's surprise, they were not brought to Mycroft's usual office. The sedan drove straight towards one of those Metropolitan Law Firm commercial buildings with a large parking lot beneath. Then said parking lot had another entrance underground for another parking lot. Coming out of the car, John followed the brothers to a black, metallic door with cctv camera on both sides. Totally inconspicuous. Mycroft quietly took out an ID card, slid it on the panel at the side which automatically had the metal doors opening.

Darkness still met their eyes. Then emerging from the shadows, they were met by two large men in black suits who lead them in this glass door that needed Mycroft's right hand printing before it opened to this white winded corridor onto another contained space with bright lights—and then everything just spread before John. Apparently, it was one of those secret offices with large number of agents in dark suit walking around carrying documents and mobiles phones, otherwise in front of slim monitors gawking over the whole city and boasting with large monitors hanging over traffic, the streets even airports.

Mycroft's own underground. John decided in awe.

As they walked around the long corridors with busy men and women all making way as Mycroft headed the party, John couldn't help leaning to Sherlock.

"I've never been here before."

"Consider yourself lucky, you wouldn't have come out of here for three months after they're done probing you."

The doctor gave his friend a funny look. "You've never been either, have you?"

"It's located precisely underneath a section I would never dare come close to." Sherlock said proudly. "Lawyers. I hate lawyers. But then I come to hate everyone anyways. A bunch of careerists only there to read you your rights and getting paid for it plus the advantage of twisting words to their benefit. I believe I've rehearsed that to you before."

"Yeah, but not going to a place your brother disappears to, that's unlike you at all. Security that tight?"

"Been caught five times." Sherlock threw the back of his brother's head a narrowed look. They were both then lead to the left side of a much darker area. The corridor was only lit with dim lamps, Mycroft seemingly knowing where he was going until they reach another door. Opening it, they discovered a holding area—much like one of those small, gray rooms with a one-way mirror. There were two agents there facilitating the control area. As Mycroft headed for the glasses with the two behind him, their eyes fell on the other side of the mirror into the interrogation room. There sat by himself on a metal table a tall, slim man with blond hair and head bowed, still wearing his dark jacket with wrists on handcuffs, his fingers clutched together.

John observed him with arms crossing unconsciously to his chest, eyes narrowing at the man. Blond wasn't particularly too Mycroft or any Holmes at all, but then, as the brothers had noted it was not important who the man was but of how he came to possess the name of one of the most veiled individual in the world.

Mycroft gave the unknown man a cold stare, before turning to the dark haired agent beside him who walked in carrying a black folder in his hand. Sherlock stood by the glasses too, his interest piquing at what others could not see from his angle.

"No." the younger Holmes muttered but with only John to hear him.

"Brief me." The older Holmes said as he took the folder and scanned it with pressed lips.

"Charlie Kemp, 30 living in Tower Hamlets, East London. Family background from East Harrow. Two known vices of nicotine and drinking, been caught for jaywalking twice and several parking tickets. Currently employed as package delivery driver in Yodel and living with his flat mate in one of those Council Flats 7/4 floor. Family of five siblings, all native of said province with authentic certifications of birth. No irregularities on records that could prove his claim, Mr. Holmes. He's also given hints of the obtrusive lie."

Mycroft inhaled air in discontent as he browsed through the end of the folder, eyes quick as he unconsciously memorized everything. "We may have to send him abroad after this. Never mind the broadcast, it will die down eventually as long as the reporters who will follow-up are misled. You know the routine." He shut the folder with a snap and looked up professionally, "So pray, tell, what of my name? How did he come to know of it?"

The agent hesitated this time, earning a quick look from John and from Sherlock who glanced up at the silence that followed the exchange. Mycroft's expression went from indifference to stern.

"What is it? You know I don't like being made to wait—speak."

"The information he disclosed is still under investigation, Mr. Holmes. He had only just confessed everything not five minutes ago under pressure and we are in the process of confirming it." The man's eyes travelled from the British Government Head, to the man inside the interrogation room, and then back to his leader, "He said he heard the name from his flat mate, sir. The one who's supposed to be your real brother."

John's mouth dropped open while the Holmes brothers stared at the agent like he had grown two heads but still disbelieving it. Mycroft handed him the file looking very grim.

"Stop being dramatic, Mr. Phelps—you have been watching too much BBC drama. You know that's preposterous. I even once have a person claiming to be my other half and thought nothing of it—like I wouldn't know." Said the older Holmes with much indignity, "Whatever is the case, we cannot let this pass. Find out more about these people, leave no stone unturned. I would not be bothered again unless I see accurate results, not assumptions and claims. We will not be putting drama before my feet—I so very hate the unnecessary drama—"

But whatever he said midway was forgotten when John turned his attention to the interrogation room and loudly gasped. Mycroft turned to him, followed his eyes and saw that Sherlock had entered the other room and was now sitting in front of the blonde man with every bit of his expression visibly interested in the subject.

"What's that idiot doing now?" Mycroft snapped, both hands on his waist again, walking closer to the glasses.

"Leaving no stone unturned." John murmured as he stepped closer on the glasses while the conversation cracked on the speakers around them.

"Charlie Kemp?" Sherlock began sounding serious, "I am Sherlock Holmes."

Kemp studied the consulting detective from head to toe, looking nervous for he was someone who did not expect to be brought in a military like place where his eyes had to be blind folded and then interrogated many times. And now he was even sitting with a national detective! If he thought he was going to be killed, right now he felt like the next person to see him would be the guards of the Queen. But then seeing the famous face raised his hopes up—this man was supposed to be a hero, wasn't he? Though—he himself was on the other side of the law. It made him very nervous.

"You… that bloke detective? Holmes?" his face fell, "Oh... so you're related to this Mycroft Holmes?"

"Great." Hissed Mycroft in exasperation as he turned to his agent, "Prepare the jet to Brazil. Someone's not returning home."

"Sherlock?" John suggested, eyes fixed on his flat mate and Kemp.

"Sherlock." Mycroft never uttered the word with much contempt. "We never expose our relationship to known criminal classes, that idiot."

"Look, I never meant to say those rubbish—" Charlie's voice broke urgently as he leaned forward while Sherlock watched him closely, "I just heard this Mycroft Holmes works in the government with connections, alright? I didn't think I was getting meself into much trouble! I didn't do anything, I'm not a terrorist! I needed help, I was panicking, okay?"

Sherlock's eyes slightly turned towards the mirror and John understood the exchanged that happened between the brothers as he also saw Mycroft stood still, the frown on his face deepening by the minute. Because then whoever these people were—they know Mycroft Holmes was connected to the government. That meant the older Holmes was also being followed. It hadn't occurred to John how the business was getting serious till then.

"How did he know that name?" the younger Holmes then pressed, eyes transfixed at the man as he watched for signs of someone telling the truth—or what they believe to be the truth.

"He's never mention him a lot, really," Kemp said, oblivious to the weight of his information, "It was only one time— when I asked him if he had any relatives in London he said he's got a big brother working in the government and that's it, mate. I never thought anything of it because he doesn't say much. He did say they never get along, so I never put my nose there long. I just remembered this Holmes' name because I got accused wrongly—and he's well connected, alright? I didn't mean the trouble, geez."

Sherlock still looked absolutely expressionless that seemed to unnerve Kemp more. Mycroft crossed his arms this time as he now considered his younger brother's interrogation quite effective. John stood there, hanging for all their words.

"You said your flat mate is claiming to be related to us?" Sherlock went on the speaker in deep voice, "How—?"

Kemp blinked several times, "I told you he never mentions it. But blimey— he never mentions being related to you. He never said anything about another brother only that weird named big brother. If you want to know more then go ask him yerself— the only time he did, he said his dead mother made an exchange when they were wee bit babies or something in the hospital ages ago. I wouldn't know the rest—mate, I didn't mean to cause him trouble but his brother's name is causing me loads."

Mycroft's jaw was squared and it didn't look like he was dismissing the information this time. There was a veil of something curious in the glint behind his eyes while Sherlock looked so fascinated that John just stared from the consulting detective to the British Government Head.

"Name?" his flat mate then asked, as if the wonder of the unknown man's name has just come to him. "What is your flat mate's name?"

A beat. Then Kemp exclaimed—

"It's him, isn't it? Adams! Seth Adams!"

-To Be Continued-

an: always enjoyed the banter too xD thank you!