AN: Once again I'd like to thank everyone who's been reviewing and putting this and my other fics on their favorites list or on alert! Especially, jack63kids, Pelahnar, sparklenotebook, Lono, varjaks, CompanionToMisterHolmes, lostmypen120, LilyAnthea, NiteQueen, SammyKatz, Birds on a Wire, mstie6, MollyHooperRules, and Farie Insignias.
I did have one reviewer and a couple PMs (and for the record, I am terrible about answering PMs) asking about my choice of using Sherrinford for the Swap!Sherlock. The reason behind it is one of the unanswered questions of Sir ACD's original stories and the Sherlockian games that come of it. At one point book!Sherlock talks about being related to country squires hinting that there might be a house and some money in his family. Since this is still Victorian times, the eldest son still inherits everything, but Mycroft works for the government. If he was due to inherit he'd be in the country, learning to run the estate instead. This has lead to fancanon in the book universe that there has to be a third Holmes brother, the first born, and canon holds that his first name is Sherrinford as Sir ACD had originally intended to name Sherlock that. (Just think, we could all be fangasming about Sherrinford on the BBC. Somehow I don't think it would have been as catchy.) Fan booklore also says that Sherlock's father is named Siger and his mother is named Violet. Just in case anyone wanted to know. It's not going to come up in this fic.
Fanlore for the books is a bit difficult as Sir ACD was a bit of a sloppy writer who didn't fact check himself. After all, according to Sir ACD there are two James Moriartys. The Professor who is our beloved villain and his younger brother who writes nasty letters saying that his brother isn't a villain like Holmes claims. Sir ACD also can't decide what Watson's first name is. He's called both John and James. (Maybe Watson is secretly another Moriarty brother?)
Okay, this author note is getting far too long. Sorry, but it turns out the Doctor is appearing in the next chapter. The chapter got too long and the characters felt like fighting still so it's more character development than anything else.
I hope you enjoy it anyway!
There had been two towncars waiting outside of Barts when they exited the building. Sherlock had immediately gone to the first one, John and Mycroft following, while Loo, Sally, Sherrinford, and Vernet went to the second car.
"Are you sure you don't want me to wait here?" Sherrinford asked from the open door as Loo scrambled inside. The woman gave him a dark looked and grabbed his wrist, hauling him inside after her. "I'm just not going to be much help is all," he continued to protest as Sally and Vernet also clambered in. He glanced back at the doors of the hospital. "Maybe I'd be more useful if I helped Molly get through all the autopsies faster?" Loo shot him a dark look as Vernet pointedly closed the towncar door. "I mean, I am a pathologist, not a police officer like Sally."
"Your aid is instrumental to me at this time," Loo snapped, turning her back to him to gaze out the window. "You annoy the other Sherlock. That is advantageous to me at this moment."
"Oh."
Loo was brooding, biting her lip as she glowered at the passing sights of London from the back of the black towncar they'd squeezed themselves into. She was taking up too much room and her elbow was digging into his side, but that Loo for you. On his other side was Sally, also frowning, but this time at her mobile as she texted rapidly to someone. Vernet was sitting on the back facing bench, umbrella sitting across his lap to take up the entire seat and staring at him intently.
Sherrinford sighed and tried to ignore his brother's piercing gaze. After all, it was stare #9, I am disappointed in you, you will never live up to the Holmes name, and your sheer existence is bringing shame to the family. So really, it was the way Vernet always looked at him. And their Mother wondered why he'd stopped coming to family dinner.
"So," he said, voice a little too loud in the small confines of the car. "Where exactly are you taking us, Vernet?"
"That's not Vernet, it's Mycroft," Loo said shortly, still looking outside the window.
"Oh, so we're allowed to call each other by our real names when we're alone?"
"No. That," she gestured vaguely to the man sitting across from them all, "is not your brother. It is the other Sherlock's brother. Really, I would have thought that the differences would be perfectly obvious to you being that you are supposedly siblings."
"Don't be a git about it," Sally said, her attention still focused on her phone. "Not everyone has your bizarre super power."
"But it's obvious!" Loo protested, sitting up straighter and looking at him beseechingly. "How can none of you see it?"
Vernet or Mycroft or whoever he was supposed to be was smirking at them all smugly, making no move to speak or to clear up the matter. Which was exactly what his brother would do in a situation like this. Eyeing him carefully, Sherrinford tried to spot anything wrong with his brother's appearance but came up empty. Vernet looked like Vernet always did. Then again, he hadn't been able to tell the difference between the two Mollys either. He felt his face heated up at the memory.
Loo's eyes narrowed at him and she turned away, disgust on her face. "The wedding band is the most obvious difference," she said, voice going rapid as she stared intently at Vernet/Mycroft. "It's too small for his finger and there is no indentation indicating previous ring wearing. This leads me to believe that this version of Mycroft is not, nor ever has been, married. He obviously took Vernet's wedding band in an attempt to trick us into thinking that he was your brother and to see if I was truly capable of spotting the difference. He is also approximately five pounds heavier than your brother, likely due to his not having a wife in his life to force him to stick to his diet. His clothes are cleaner, carefully pressed, and his shoes have no scuff marks on them. No children. Also, this Mycroft is gay, a stark difference from your brother. Notice that he has not once tried to unscrupulously stare at my, nor Sally's, breasts a marked departure from his usual behavior."
Sherrinford sputtered loudly as Sally's attention snapped up from her phone to glare at the suddenly uncomfortable looking Mycroft. "He does what now?" Sally demanded.
"Stares at your breasts," Loo supplied helpfully. "All the time. I'm surprised you haven't noticed. He's quite blatant about it, pretending that we're talking to him naked."
"My brother's married," Sherrinford snapped, turning towards Loo. "He's even admitted that Sasha is the best thing that's ever happened to him and he has three children." He shot a glare towards Mycroft. "And he's staring at you and Sally and other women, imagining you naked?"
"Don't be too concerned about it," Loo said soothingly, patting his hand. "From what I've been able to deduce from the brief span I spent in his home – when I was stealing back your violin for you, remember? – your brother and his wife enjoy a happy and mutual polyamorous relationship. Most likely with-"
"New rule," he interrupted quickly, holding up a hand and feeling his blush start to travel down his neck. Loo scowled at him, crossing her arms and slouching down into her seat. She hated when he or Sally came up with rules, though she always followed them. By his calculations this was going to be rule number seven. "No deducing anything about my brother's sex life out loud when I'm present, okay?"
"Fine," Loo growled. "Now, as I was saying, this Mycroft is gay and possesses a female assistant – note the faint smell of perfume – most likely to keep him from getting in trouble with the male ones. He is also slightly thinner up top due to the stress of running the British government with none of the relaxation your brother finds in activities I am no longer allowed to speak of. Thus, this is not your brother Vernet, but Mycroft."
This seemed to be enough to finally prompt Mycroft to speak. "Excellent work, Miss. Hooper. I am pleased to find that you live up to Vernet's esteem so well. I look forward to seeing you and Sherlock work together."
Loo rolled her eyes and went back to staring out the window. "Your Sherlock is a git and I despise him utterly. We will not be working together any time in the near future. I will speak to this Doctor of yours, determine the reasons for this strange happening with Sally and Sherrinford, and then happily never see any of you ever again." She looked back to Mycroft out of the corner of her eye. "Do we have an understanding, Mr. Holmes?"
Mycroft chuckled slightly and leaned back into his seat. "You and Sherlock are so much the same. It's uncanny."
"We're not the same."
"You're exactly the same," Sally said with a sigh, putting her phone away. "Get over it. If it makes you feel any better Sherlock's probably hating and insulting you at this moment as well."
SH-MH-SH-MH-SH
Sherlock stared out of the window of the town car, glaring at the passing scenes of London as his knee vibrated like a hummingbird. "Did you see him, John? Simple and simpering and so normal."
John rolled his eyes and looked to Mycroft who was ignoring them completely to text on his phone instead. Great. So he was on his own then to deal with Sherlock Holmes, the toddler having a tantrum. "I saw him Sherlock. I was there."
"Unable to deduce a single thing. Confusing Molly Hooper and that-that thing that just happens to look like her."
"Sherlock, I can't even tell the difference between Loo and Molly. They're identical. Hell, you're a haircut and a tie away from looking like Sherrinford."
If Sherlock could kill with a look, John would have been really impressively dead at that moment. "I am nothing like that sad replica," he growled under his breathe. "The dissimilarities between us are plentiful and obvious. Everyone should be able to see them. Molly Hooper should have been able to see them."
John held up a hand sensing Sherlock was about to go into another rant. "Okay, whatever problem you suddenly have with Molly has got to stop. You and Sherrinford look identical, Sherlock. Molly's had a crush on you forever. It's not her fault that your nice twin showed up and she took advantage of the situation for a bit of a snog."
Sherlock suddenly found something outside the window intensely interesting. "Molly Hooper does not have feelings for me," he said, gazing at whatever was so fascinating.
Mycroft snorted loudly as John rolled his eyes. "Please, Sherlock. What were you just saying about things that were obvious? Molly's been in love with you since before we met. It was obvious from the first time I saw the way she looked at you."
"It's true, Sherlock," Mycroft said, smiling smugly. He didn't even bother to look up from his phone. "The girl is quite taken with you, the poor soul."
"Oh do shut up, Vernet," Sherlock snapped. "You simply took off a wedding ring and handed it over to my brother and thought I wouldn't notice? Please. The very least you could have done was ogle John to at least attempt to deceive me."
John blinked at Sherlock. "Mycroft ogles me?"
"I shall take that under suggestion," Vernet said smoothly, tucking his phone into his inside suit coat pocket. "If I may give you a piece of advice though? Do be more careful with Doctor Hooper's feelings. The girl controls your access to St. Bartholomew's and I shudder to think how taxing you would become to Mycroft if she gained the courage to ban you from there."
Frowning tightly Sherlock looked from John to Vernet and back again. "Why are you both under the impression that I am upset with Molly Hooper?"
"Well," John started, "first of all you keep calling her 'Molly Hooper.' You only use full names when you're really annoyed with a person."
"Secondly," Vernet continued, "we were present when you belittled and insulted her to the point of tears."
"Not good, Sherlock," John sighed. "Not good at all. When we get back the first thing you're going to do is apologize. If she'll even listen to you."
"Belittle and insult? I did no such thing."
John sighed deeply. "Sherlock, why do you think she ran out of the room in tears?"
"She didn't," Sherlock said firmly. "She was merely hurrying in order to catch up with her work. This morning's distractions made her terribly behind."
John sighed again and rubbed at his temple. "Sherlock, think. I mean really think. Use your human emotions for once."
Sherlock glared at his flatmate, but with a sigh accessed the part of his mind palace that dealt with recent, currently uncategorized memories. He thought back to the morgue, everyone fetching their coats or other belongings in order to follow Mycroft and Vernet to meet with this supposed Doctor. Loo, blasted woman, had snapped for Sherrinford to get his coat as she insisted – for reasons that escaped Sherlock, the man was mostly useless – that he was coming with them.
At that, Molly had looked up at him. Her face was slightly red – likely due to leftover mortification at being tricked by the imposter Sherrinford – as she smiled up at him weakly. "Should I be getting my coat too?" she had asked him.
He'd snorted. That was fine, Molly had told a joke. "Hardly," he'd replied and true perhaps his voice had been a little severe, but the stress of suddenly having two Mycrofts had been getting to him. "If you think it is possible that you could ever be of any aid to me." See, he had told a joke back. Molly was greatly helpful to him, surely she knew that. "It would be better for you to return to work and do the job you are paid for rather than get involved in matters too great for you to comprehend." And there, he had complimented her. Molly's skills in preforming autopsies and comprehension of the causes of death were far greater than that of case solving. Surely she knew that was what he had meant?
She must have understood his meaning as Molly had immediately left, muttering something about getting back to work. Perhaps her voice had been a bit choked up, but then she had a bit of a shock that morning what with the other Molly and a second Sherlock. It was bound to affect her somehow.
No, there was no reason for Molly to be upset with him. Though perhaps if he did look at the issue from John's point of view…
If, perhaps, Molly had not been making a joke.
If he had responded to her serious query with joking sarcasm.
If she had not detected the compliment to her work.
If the harshness of her voice as she exited the room was due to tears at his words rather than the stress of the day.
"Hell," he cursed loudly, fishing his mobile out of his jacket pocket.
"And he finally gets it," John said, leaning back into his seat.
"You'll have to text your apology to Miss. Hooper at a later time, Sherlock," Vernet said as the towncar slowed than slid to a stop. "We're here."
SH-MH-SH-MH-SH
Molly sniffled loudly, pressing a tissue to her dripping eyes. "Stop it," she hissed to herself under her breathe. "Just stop it. He's not worth it."
She always hated talking to herself to help with her problems. It seemed so strange, so crazy. Yet, forcing her voice to sound firm and giving herself orders did seem to help. Besides, there wasn't anyone in the morgue to overhear her anyway. There were only the dead and they weren't about to complain or tattle on her.
Taking a deep calming breathe she squared her shoulders and willed her tears to stop. "You just keep telling yourself you have to get over him and you will. This is just the last straw, isn't that right Molly? You'll get over him and meet a nice bloke who'll treat you right and not make you cry and you'll just be so happy you'll forget all about Sherlock bloody Holmes and his stupid cheekbones and his smiles and his stupid bloody blue eyes and-" She cut herself off with a sob that shook her shoulders.
"Oh Mols," a deep male voice sighed from somewhere behind her. "Don't you know that talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity?"
Molly jumped, her face going bright red in embarrassment as she turned around. It was bad enough to be caught crying at work, but talking to herself as well? She opened her mouth to apologize only for the words to freeze in her throat as she took in the figure that was standing there.
The ghost smirked at her, his eyes twinkling mischievously in the bright light of the morgue. "Been awhile, hasn't it Mols?" Shoving his hands in his pockets he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at her. "How about you and me go out to the Fox?"
"Jim," she gasped, taking a step back.
If anything, Jim Moriarty's smile widened as he started to cross the room towards her. "I should warn you that I'm not hungry right now. So how about it? Dinner at the Fox?"
Molly screamed.
