Sherlock's older brother grimaced at him threateningly. "Will you please just hear me out?"
"And why would I do that?" The detective made certain to stress the ridiculousness of such an idea. "20 years is a long time, brother mine."
"Come now, Sherlock…" The elder refused to give in, one hand shoving itself into a sleek trouser pocket. "Do you prefer Mycroft, now?"
"He's a rubbish big brother," Sherlock sighed, finally opening his eyes, letting his lips twitch into a slight smile. "But so are you."
"What did I do? He sold my secrets and left me in one of his basements. Not my fault, Sherlock. Mycroft is a nuisance."
"That's what Mummy says," the younger replied- suddenly sitting upright, back as rigid as a nail. "Wait... Wait, Holbrook. Repeat, please." Holbrook frowned, used to his brother's antics from their childhood.
"He sold my secrets and left me in one of his basements. Not my fault." To Sherlock's surprise, Holbrook didn't truly sound bitter.
"Why no bitterness?" The detective muttered to himself, placing his hands in the familiar thinking position, steepled before his eyes. "20 years, presumably difficult… but not bitter." Holbrook knew that expression, and was expecting the sudden twist of Sherlock's head. He was not, however, anticipating the loathing that filled his younger brother's icy eyes.
"Did you plan it?" To John's watching gaze, Sherlock seemed instantly different, not the man he knew, but a child noticing his elder brothers' deceit. "Were you in it together?" Holbrook sighed, seeing the curly-haired, fearful-but-brilliant Sherlock of twenty years prior.
"You know the answer to that," the man replied, as he rubbed his nose in discomfort. And, as he expected, the ticking bomb that was his brother exploded.
"Leave, dear Holbrook. Or I'll call the Prime Minister and let him know what the elder Holmes brothers have been up to." Sherlock was close to Holbrook in milliseconds, before John even noticed what was happening. Realizing that he hadn't said anything in a rather long time, John finally lowered his brows to tell Sherlock off, but could only watch as the latter stepped into Holbrook's personal space.
"Sherlock!" Finally gaining the strength of mind to say something, John called his friend's name warningly.
"John, you don't know how long I've been waiting for this man," Sherlock answered, standing mere inches from his brother.
"Twenty years, yeah?" John raised his brows yet again. "I don't understand, Sherlock."
"As much as I hate to quote Magnusson, he's right…" Sherlock grimaced, flat-faced. "You really ought to put that on a t-shirt."
"Shut it," John muttered. "Your brother?"
"Hello again," Holbrook grinned, genuinely, it seemed. "Pleasure to meet you, John. I've heard ever so much about you." With that, Sherlock seemed to lose it again. With little patience, he copied the move he had pulled on Mycroft months earlier. Twisting his brother's arm behind his back, the detective nearly snarled with frustration. To his interest, Holbrook showed no sign of pain, unlike Mycroft. Perhaps he had been right all along: the British Government was truly slipping. And no amount of exercise would keep him from Sherlock's grasp when they met next. For the youngest Holmes was filled with righteous anger for the lies of the past, and Sherlock Holmes never gave up on a case- especially not his own.
"Stay out of my life, brother dear… we may be neighbours- for now. But that doesn't mean you're forgiven." John sighed, recognizing the familiar pattern. Sherlock's melodramatic antics could be exhausting, but this time it almost seemed like the consulting detective had no control over his anger. Unusual.
"Well enough," Holbrook smiled tightly, much like Mycroft. "I'll catch you later, then. Perhaps after you've eaten some of the biscuits I left with your friend." Sherlock glanced at John, frowning. Hesitantly, the doctor nodded, meeting Sherlock's eyes with caution, then glancing back to Holbrook. "And in case you were wondering, John- I'm the middle one." Nodding at John over Sherlock's shoulder, and giving his brother one last, searching look, Holbrook departed; behind him, John could only stare. How alike the Holmes brothers were! And how stubborn they all could be.