Just a heads up, I use "his father/mother" to emphasis that Harry doesn't belong because I don't agree with how her parents treat her. She deserves better parents.

Two days later, though neither boy had said on thing to the other, they spent a lot of time in study hall sitting next to each other and showering together. No more kissing or touching happened, they just spent time. Every now and then, they'd share a bit of information about themselves such as that John and Irene were over. Sherlock was a very hard person to get to say anything personal.

Early morning, John rose from the sounds of shouting. Loud, angry shouting coming from somewhere in the house. He shot out of bed, grabbing a shirt closest to him, and launched out of his room. His parents were in the kitchen, Harry and Clara standing before them. John was immediatly worried and confused.

Before either parent noticed him, he found out the problem.

"Your friend can't be here." His mother was saying.

"She is not allowed in this house!" His father boomed, punching the kitchen counter. Both girls jumped and Clara reached a hand out, grabbing Harry's. It only seemed to infuriate their father.

"You konw your dad doesn't agree with... her." His mother was trying to say, but she was so soft he could barely hear it over his father.

"If you want to be with her then you can go with her! But she is not allowed in this home!" His father screamed, smashing his arm across the counter top and knocking everything over. A few knives from the knife carrier clattered across the counter and onto the floor. Everyone jumped.

"I will go with her!" His sister cried out and that started an even louder fight.

John stayed back, hugging the wall. Every scenario he imagined in his head with him going into the room only seemed to make it worse. He wouldn't turn his back on Harry but if he stood up for her, his parents would become even more furious.

He listened to only a few more minutes before his father became completely furious and the two girls screamed and ran from the house. The front door shut with a very loud bang. John shot to his bedroom, determined not to be caught listening in for fear he'd have to give his own opinion on the matter and he didn't want to.

His parents stopped by shortly after, looking as if nothing had even happened, just to "make sure he was getting ready for school." John smiled at them, hoping he gave them the best sleepy face he could muster. They bought it, leaving him to his own and going to get ready for work. Both parents worked first shift which was just fine to both of their kids.

John got his things ready and at the last second, slipped into Harry's room. He grabbed as much clothes and personal things he could fit into her book bag as well as stuffing his own close to ripping. Without either parents the wiser, he slipped out for school, calling behind him to have a good day. He was let go with similar exclamations.

At school, John could barely focus. He couldn't stop trying to remember if Harry had ever mentioned where Clara lived. Thankfully, through, he was able to put it out of his mind for practice. He thinks that maybe he even did better than usual and his coach slapped him on the back.

He did what he usually had started to do, simply sat on one of the benches as the other boys showered. He forgot for the time being as to why he was waiting, only that he told coach he wanted a breather, make sure he got enough fresh air. Like every other day, everyone left him to breathe.

Slowly, he got into the locker room and undressed. A good chunk of the players were already gone when he got in and every one of them was out by the time he stepped into the steam of the hot water. Back to his own mind, he'd been thinking once more.

Harry was gone. She was kicked out and he had grabbed everything he could of hers to make her comfortable. She was gone. The thoughts of it all infuriated him so drastically that he punched the wall one single time and felt skin tear. It felt good when he saw the blood smear across his knuckles.

Everything had just gone down the drain and he couldn't stop it. Harry had come out to their parents. But why? They didn't know she was gay and could have gone on that way! Clara didn't even need to come inside ever. What had possessed Harry to do this? Not to mention, least of all, he'd seen Irene with yet another new boy in the halls. She hadn't even looked at him.

He rubbed a thumb over the knuckles creating more blood that dribbled and mixed with the water. He heard the soft patter of feet and didn't even have to turn around to know Sherlock would be with him soon. He tried hiding the blood but found that rubbing the wound only made it worse. By the time Sherlock came into the showers there was a dark stream coming from his knuckles.

Sherlock paused at the entrance, John turned to him. The blood was obvious. Sherlock walked over to John, careful to keep an eye on John's mood.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked softly, reaching a hand out to the bleeding fingers.

"Just frustrated. Really no big deal." Sherlock made no reaction to give John any idea he even heard him.

"Is it about Irene?" Sherlock asked and John clenched his fingers and ended up with Sherlock's fingers in his.

"Kind of." John felt a blush as Sherlock looked up and down his body.

"You haven't slept well for a few nights. But you're used to it."

"You're deducing again, aren't you?"

"Tell me why your day was so horrible that you had to hurt yourself?"

John licked his lips and shrugged but Sherlock stared into his eyes silently, deeply. Their fingers stayed together, the new blood that flowed mingled between their fingers, mixing with water and dripping down, swirling into the sewers.

"Harry was kicked out of the house this morning. Clara came inside. I don't know why. They got into a fight with our parents." John mumbled and Sherlock frowned.

"Okay." John felt tension coil in his muscles and Sherlock obviously could see it happening.

"I packed a bunch of her clothes and things in her bag and mine. I just don't remember if she ever told me where Clara lives. I can't go home without giving them to her." He tried pulling his hand back but Sherlock's grip tightened.

"I'll help you find her house." Pause. "I know someone who can help."

After a shower where they didn't touch again after Sherlock let John's hand go, the two boys got dressed and headed out the door.

"Harry is my sister. We're twins. She's the oldest by two minutes," John commented aloud as they were walking in relative silence down the street towards the middle of town. Sherlock didn't tell John who they were going to see or where, but he trusted the boy for some reason.

"Our parents aren't real thrilled about her life choices and they've always treated me like I'm a perfect angel. I used it to my advantage to help Harry stay away. They rarely noticed if she was gone all week. Or a whole month."

"Is that why you do football?"

"No, I love it. It's why I'm so good with schoolwork, though. I don't want them to think I'm not as perfect as they want me to be otherwise they may miss her one night."

"You're a very loving brother."

"Compared to my life, she's got it real bad. So I try to help."

They continued on in silence, Sherlock brooding and John not tremendously willing to continue talking about his problems. He didn't really think he had it bad in life. He was a very privileged boy.

Walking down the street, John started to notice a dripping feeling. He looked at found water droplets on his arms. Sherlock was looking at him, water on him as well.

"Rain again." John mumbled and Sherlock nodded. Neither boy had an umbrella but Sherlock had his big coat. "How much closer until..." His question was cut off when a sleek, black car pulled up next to them and a man got out, holding the back door open. John heard Sherlock sigh deep and turn towards the car.

"We're seriously not going to just go with them?" John asked incredulously.

Without looking back at John, Sherlock crawled into the seat and said, "I know them. Hurry up, John, you're getting wet."

With pinched lips, John crawled into the car and was forced to sit flush against Sherlock's body. The big man who'd held the door open sat next to him and practically glared the whole five minute drive. Neither boy said a word though Sherlock looked like he'd just eaten something very unpleasant. John wondered if this was going to take very long.

As the car rolled to a stop in front of a large building John thought he recognized, but not enough to place from where, Sherlock shoved the door open and stepped out almost before the vehicle stopped. John stumbled out behind him, not willing to be alone with that man. Sherlock walked around the back of the car and started up the steps with a purpose. John attempted to look like he knew exactly what was going on.

Once inside the building, a slender man in a butler suit greeted Sherlock formally and Sherlock introduced John as, "Mr. Watson." The butler led the two boys to a study larger than John's living room, which he'd figured was extensive, and told them to kindly take a seat wherever they wished and Mr. Holmes would be out in a moment.

Sherlock plopped down with a sigh and John looked around, quiet nervous.

"Mr. Holmes? Is that your dad?"

"No, my father isn't apart of government."

"Government?" John gaped at Sherlock who waved a dismissive hand as he sulked on the couch, coat collar flipped up. Sherlock's eyes, flat of emotion, looked at John.

"Obviously. Don't you recognize the building? It's always on the news from what my blasted brother claims. I hate the news."

"Oh. What part of the government is he in?"

"He is the government."

Suddenly, a wide door opened and a fairly young, though older than the two boys, man walked in with a suit perfectly fitted to him and an umbrella. His dark hair would have been enough to prove his relation to Sherlock but he was also stiff and business-like with a face that could crack ice by a glance. Sherlock wasn't as bad, but John would bet anything that having this one in the family would make anyone go crazy.

The man walked up, eyeing John and then rounding a desk where he sat in a chair. John suddenly felt tiny and nervous so he sat down in the nearest chair. The man seemed pleased and then looked to Sherlock.

"I hold a minor place in the government," he said calmly but Sherlock made a face that didn't seem to fit his normal face-making parameters.

"You got us a ride the exact moment it started raining when neither of us had an umbrella and I didn't even text you to say we were coming. There's a lot more than 'minor' going on here, dear brother."

"Either way, William, I..."

"Sherlock."

"If you insist, Sherlock. I knew you were coming."

"Have you fallen to spying on me now?"

"Not at all. I've been spying on you for years." John's eyes widened and the looked to Sherlock who had seemingly taken the comment by stride, no emotion on his face. "Now, tell me why you are here. I have other things, more prying matters to attend."

"Yes, your royalness." Sherlock's voice was nearly dripping with visible sarcasm. This was the most vocally intriguing conversation John had seen Sherlock in. Maybe there was more to this blasted boy than a small comfort from teenage problems, John thought.

The elder brothers' face darkened at Sherlock's mocking voice but he said nothing, only waited patiently.

"We need to find someone. My sister," John blurted, seeing as how the two brothers were determined to stare each other down until eternity. The older looked at him without moving his head and Sherlock didn't even move an inch, staring at his older brother. "She, uh, she needs the clothes I have packed for her. She went to live with her girlfriend and I don't know her address."

"Okay, do you have a name?"

"Um. All I know is her first name. Clara. My sisters name is Harriet Watson, if it helps."

"Not really." The older brother looked away from John and stood. "I can try to help though I don't have much to go on. Wait here and try not to break anything. I hold meetings in here and my clients don't appreciate the broken objects you leave behind."

When he'd gone, the large door closed, John turned to Sherlock who was eyeballing a few breakable trinkets. He rose and tipped an empty but dirty tea cup off the desk, smashing into the floor and littering glass shards over a five foot space.

"Why did you do that?"

"It bothers him. No client of him ever gets a chance to see the inside of this room without half a dozen staff to clean between each visit. Besides, I wouldn't if he didn't tell me not to and he knows it."

John nodded even though it didn't make much sense. Why would the man tell his brother to make no mess even though he knew that simple request would spur him to do just that? John was beginning to get the handle that the Holmes' brothers were not so easily understood.

Sherlock stood at the side of the desk and rolled his shoulders. "Tell me if it shifts side to side. I want it to go straight." John opened his mouth to ask what exactly he was moving, but Sherlock just bent, braced himself against the desk, and shifted the whole thing less than an inch. He let out a small grunt before standing and examining the rug underneath for creases.

"It didn't move. Why did you do that?"

"He has OCD and will not notice until he's ran into the thing a few times or so. Makes for a good laugh." He then went and shifted a few other pieces of furniture until his phone buzzed and he looked at it. "Okay, let's go." Without another word, Sherlock left the room from a smaller pair of doors than those his brother had come and gone in. John hurried to keep up.

"Did he find her address?"

"Yes, there's a car in front waiting for us. The rains gotten worse."