A/N: It's weeeeeeeeeekend! And we all know what that means. (grins with excitement) BUT, first things first…

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart and soul, for all the reviews and love this story has received! I'm seriously baffled here. You… are… AMAZING! (HUGS)

Awkay, because stalling is a nasty habit… Let's ROCK! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

A British Inquisition

/ At the age of eight Sherlock didn't sleep any better than he would as an adult. That's why it was no miracle that he woke up to the bizarre noises on that October morning. He frowned, instantly coming to a conclusion that it wasn't his alarm clock that alerted him. It was, however, six thirty on a school morning and he couldn't hear Mycroft's voice.

His brother never slept past five thirty on school mornings.

That fact alarmed Sherlock much further than the noises he heard. Shushed, quite obviously panicked words. Hurried steps. Stiffled sobs. He was out of the bed so fast that it made him feel a little dizzy and on his way to investigate.

Sherlock never made it all the way to Mycroft's room before Mr. Holmes was blocking his path. Why were there tears in the man's eyes? "Don't go there, okay? Let's go back to your room."

Panic swell in Sherlock's chest until he felt like he was about to burst. He swallowed convulsively, his far too mature eyes seeking and seeing more than they should've. "What did you do to him?" he cried out. In a different state of mind he might've been embarrassed by the despair that filled his tone. As it was he didn't even notice. He took a defiant step forward, only to be stopped by a pair of firm yet tender arms. "Let go of me! What did you do to Mycroft? I want to see my brother!"

Mr. Holmes swallowed thickly, looking right at him although it didn't seem to be easy. "Mycroft… He's unwell right now. But help is on the way." The man pulled him into a embrace. "He'll be okay, Sherlock. I promise. It'll be okay."

Sherlock felt like he was suffocating and the tight hug didn't improve the sensation. Tears filled his eyes and began to roll before he could stop it. He was, after all, only eight, confused and terrified out of his mind.

This wasn't the parent whose comfort he wanted. But he needed this embrace so badly that he couldn't refuse it. And so Sherlock buried his face into his adoptive father's shoulder to hide his shame and trembled to the core of his being from soundless sobs.

It was all a bit blurry from there. When the paramedics came Mr. Holmes made sure that Sherlock didn't get anywhere near close enough to see what was going on. It filled the child with fury and he howled out his rage. Couldn't they understand that he needed to see? That he had to know? That he needed to make sure…?

It was late afternoon before Mr. Holmes deemed him calm enough to be taken to see Mycroft. It was a state of mind Sherlock only reached with gritting his teeth and counting prime numbers in his head. The hospital was horrible and reeked far too much of death to the child. He wanted to get out but he wasn't planning on leaving his brother behind.

Sherlock didn't know what he expected. But when the door of Mycroft's hospital room opened the first thing he saw was their adoptive mother, who was wiping away tears and shaking uncontrollably. Then he noticed the grim faced doctor who couldn't be past his early thirties. "… recommend a different therapist… specialized in…"

And then, of course, Sherlock saw Mycroft. His brother was very pale but as hard as the younger one's frantic eyes searched he couldn't spot any wounds or other injuries. The boy on the bed… was just Mycroft, the one he'd grown used to seeing. It was a huge relief but also confused him even further. Why was a hospital needed? Very cautiously, especially considering how intently he'd insisted on visiting, Sherlock took a couple of steps forward. "Are you ill?" It was the only logical explanation.

His voice managed to startle the three of them. Very quickly and with a unsteady hand their adoptive mother wiped away the last of her tears. The doctor cleared his throat and shifted with clearly visible discomfort. Mycroft looked away, appearing oddly embarrassed. As though being ill would've been something to be ashamed of.

Mr. Holmes gulped loudly. The man's eyes shone with moisture and the man blinked quickly. "Why don't we, uh… talk outside?"

The adults left and for a moment irritation flared in Sherlock's mind. He didn't need to be coddled, especially when it came to his brother! But at the moment he had far more important matters to focus on.

For a moment neither of the brothers was quite sure what to do. Then, even more slowly than he entered, Sherlock approached and took what he considered his rightful place on Mycroft's bedside. The bigger boy shifted, giving him room without a thought. Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. "Are you alright?" He knew that the answer was obvious. But he wanted to hear and believe the lie, desperately.

"Of course." Mycroft stretched, appearing tired all of a sudden. "They'll realize it soon and have me discharged."

Sherlock nodded. "Good. This place is boring." He lay down, his eyes focusing on a darker spot of the ceiling. It looked like a spider. "Tell me a story." Sure, it was childish. But he needed the distraction.

Mycroft chuckled. It sounded comfortingly honest. "Aren't you a bit old for those?" The boy, however, relented quickly. "Fine. The pirate one again?"

Three days later, while Mycroft was still in the hospital, Sherlock's adoptive parents took him to a animal shelter and they adopted a dog that became named Redbeard. /

/ In the meantime Spencer, who was barely even four years old, woke up from a horrible nightmare to his own scream. He sat up, panting with his whole body covered in cold sweat. "MOMMY!"

But no one answered. In fact, the whole house sounded empty. The only noises he heard came from the backyard. Spencer's eyes widened and a brand new wave of terror flowed through him when it began to sink in.

The shouts… The smell of smoke… What…?

His mother's voice was the one that carried to his ears first. " … William's blanket!" She sounded furious and desperate. Spencer, of course, couldn't understand either emotion but their force terrified him. "You can't burn William's blanket!"

"Let go of that fantasy, Diana." His father's voice was a lot quieter but for some reason it scared Spencer even more than his mother's. "Those boys don't exist in our lives anymore. Just… Just let go of them already."

Spencer was too young to recognize the sound of a slap. Small mercies. "Never, ever talk about my sons like that! You never fought for them but I'm not letting you steal them from me!"

Spencer was upset, scared and miserable. But how was he supposed to seek comfort from those two adults when the vicious words kept flowing on and on? So he curled to his side with tears running down his cheeks and lay very still, with the shouting as his only lullaby. /

There was a hilariously serious look on John's face while he stared at Mary's stomach, one hand pressed tenderly against the swell. "I have to go and babysit your git of a goddad. But I promise that I'll be here right on time to meet you. Even the British Government wouldn't be able to keep me away." The baby responded with shifting under his hand. The doctor chuckled. "Oi, have a little faith in me!"

Mary laughed as well. "If it's any consolation, I don't think it's you she's doubting. Sometimes things just… don't go according to the plan with Sherlock involved."

John rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. "Oh, I know. Vividly." Nonetheless he kissed her round belly to seal his promise. Captain John Watson didn't back down on promises. He then focused on Mary who was looking back at him with almost sad eyes. "Still, I will be back on time."

Mary kissed his head just before he began to stand. "I know that you'll try", she consoled him. There was a frown on her face. "So Sherlock and Mycroft didn't give you any information?"

John shook his head. Somehow that very bit was the most nerve-wrecking part of all. "Not a thing, except for the location." He frowned. "I'm probably going to need my gun."

Mary's eyebrow arched with suspicion. Some mirth danced on her face. "You're not going to use it on those two, are you?"

"I haven't decided yet", John admitted dryly and sighed heavily. He definitely didn't want to leave his wife when she might give birth any day. But Sherlock needed him.

Sometimes John got a very, very unpleasant feeling that there were three people in their marriadge.

Through the window they saw a very familiar sleek black car stopping right outside. John sighed again, trying to mentally prepare himself for whatever was to come. Yet somehow he got a feeling that he'd never quite manage that.

With a kiss to both Mary and their unborn daughter John took his bag, then headed outside. With entirely too much experience he climbed into the vehicle, fully expecting to see Anthea waiting. He blinked twice upon discovering Mycroft himself instead.

Only a few moments earlier John had a full rant prepared for the moment when he'd lay his eyes on the older Holmes. It died immediately into his throat when he took a good look at the man's face. Deducing in ways that had nothing to do with the Holmes logic. Suddenly it occurred to him that perhaps Mycroft didn't ask him along only for Sherlock's sake. In the government official's world he might just be the closest thing to a friend. "Are you alright?"

For a second, just a single one, surprise was visible in Mycroft's eyes. The older brother's usual emotionless mask didn't slip into place as effortlessly as the man probably hoped. "Yes. Of course." That tone was more than enough to direct the conversation elsewhere. "Sherlock… needed a moment. He'll be waiting for us by the airstrip."

John nodded slowly, his head buzzing. What the hell was he getting himself into? "Right…" He took a deep breath and held it in for a long moment before unleashing it in a mighty puff of air. "So. Are you finally going to tell me where we're going?"

Mycroft looked at him. And although the man's face remained as unreadable as always there was something incredibly bare, almost haunted, in those eyes. "To my mother's funeral."

As day four after IT turned into a evening Spencer found himself growing agitated. It warmed his heart that his BAU-family had decided to keep him company. But he didn't like the fact that he was keeping them from their homes and work. Aaron Hotchner had been quick and firm to announce that they had more than enough holidays to spare. The team was obviously determined to make sure that Spencer would have all the support he needed. But as much as he adored his friends the constant attention and company were beginning to feel suffocating. He couldn't mourn properly with all of them watching, worrying, trying to get him to open up and, as much as they hated it and trusted him, looking for signs of cravings. They meant well but Spencer had always been a private person and he would've wanted to grieve alone.

Shooting the walls, unfortunately, wasn't an option. Nor was screaming at the top of his lungs. So Spencer did the third best thing.

He hid into the bathroom and made sure to lock the door, then drew a nice, warm bath. Such that made him relax, just a little bit, as soon as he slid into the water. Without much of conscious thought he allowed himself to sink under, let the warmth fold him to its embrace. The second he closed his eyes the memories began.

/ Through the water he saw his mother's face looming up above. There was a warm smile on her face when he surfaced. "Come here, you little killer whale. The water's already turning cold."

Spencer pouted with the skill of any six-year-old. He didn't want to, even if his teeth were chattering. "But mommy…!"

She grinned. "I'll tell you a secret." She leaned closer. "There's some hot chocolate with marshmallows downstairs. It might still be warm if you come out now."

Instantly Spencer crawled out, succeeding in splashing a large amount of water on his mother. She didn't mind. They were both giggling while she helped him towel himself and get dressed. /

Underneath the water Spencer squeezed his eyes as tightly shut as he could. Tears mixed effortlessly into the liquid around him. The only sign of the howl he finally unleashed were the bubbles rising towards the surface.

During the drive to the private, top secret airstrip John took in with sheer disbelief everything Mycroft was revealing. That the brothers had been taken away from a mentally unstable mother. That they hadn't heard from her since. And that they had a third brother.

For a second, two, John could only stare. "What?" escaped at last. Under different circumstances his tone might've sounded highly amusing.

Mycroft stared through the car's window, seemingly focused on the world flashing by although his eyes were clearly watching something else entirely. "When we caught the first signs of Moriarty I used some… contacts to erase all traces that might've led him to her trails. That was when I found out about her third child." The man swallowed like there'd been a bad taste in his mouth. "Until now I imagined that he hadn't grown up with her, either."

John was still shocked by this new bit of information. But his head was already whirring busily towards other bits. His eyebrow arched. "And you didn't look any further into it? Ever?" That didn't sound like Mycroft. The man was the definition of precision. But then the obvious answer occurred to him.

Perhaps that was the one thing Mycroft, a man who seemed to know everything, didn't want to know. It was one thing to be taken away from parents. It was another matter altogether to find out that someone else had been allowed to stay.

The silence in the car was heavy with both of them lingering deep in their thoughts. In the end John sighed before focusing on the other man once more. At that very moment he saw a lot of things a great deal more clearly. "I'm sorry, Mycroft." And he meant it, from the bottom of his heart.

Mycroft's face had moulded back into that infuriating, unreadable mask. The man folded his arms. "Not half as sorry as I am."

Nothing more needed to be said. As they reached the air strip John discovered that Mycroft had been right. Sherlock was already there, standing next to the awaiting jet like a picture of more or less helpless rage. A pair of razor sharp eyes nailed on Mycroft almost instantly. Did they appear a little bloodshot? "Feel free to blackmail me into coming along. But John has no part in any of this", the detective hissed.

John wasn't hurt by those biting words. Instead he took a step closer. "Sherlock, I'm…"

But the younger brother clearly wasn't in the mood to listen. Before another syllable fell through John's lips the man turned around sharply and marched into the jet, his coat billowing furiously behind him. The doctor sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. "He isn't going to make this easy, is he?"

"Of course he isn't." Mycroft steeled himself for a second, then began to move as well. "So, are you coming along?"

It was almost terrifying how clearly John knew that there was only one answer in his head. "Yes, of course." He couldn't help wondering just what he was getting himself into.

To the rest of the BAU-team it felt incredibly weird and uncomfortable to be in the house where Spencer spent his childhood. They had no idea why the young genius' father had chosen to maintain ownership over it. Had the man honestly been hoping that Diana might come back home one day? Or that Spencer would? They could get very well why Diana couldn't and Spencer wouldn't.

Despite being full of warm colors the house felt hollow, somehow. And not only because it'd been mostly uninhabited for far too many years. Now, having heard about Spencer's two brothers, they understood to some extend what that missing part was.

Aside those letters and cards that Diana had written, which had been found hidden under her bed in her hospital room, there wasn't a trace of the lost boys. No photographs, toys, clothes or artwork. It was like every sign of their existence had been erased. It was no wonder that Spencer had never suspected a thing.

"I just… I don't understand it", Penelope admitted while fixing a mug of coffee for Spencer. "The boys… They had a father, too. Why didn't William raise them alone?"

Derek stiffled a yawn while taking another sip of water. It'd been a very exhausting four days for all of them. "We're talking about the same guy who left a ten-year-old alone with a schizophrenic mother." They both looked towards the room's doorway when Alex Blake walked in with a sad look on her face. "How's he doing?" Derek inquired instantly.

Alex's expression spoke everything necessary. "Hanging in there. He just washed up." She looked around. "Where are the others?"

"Rossi's grocery shopping. He said something about us all needing some real food. Hotch and JJ are calling home." Derek drummed restlessly with his fingers, looking up when the floorboards above him sighed softly. They all knew that Spencer's old room was right there. "Maybe I should go and talk with him."

Penelope placed a calming hand on his shoulder. "Just… Give him a moment. I think we've been smothering him a bit."

With some amusement Alex took in the sight of the seventy-eight cookies that Penelope had already baked as stress relief. She took one of them, letting to homey taste calm her fried nerves. "So… His brothers are on their way here?" The whole thought seemed surreal and they could only imagine what it felt like to Spencer. It was like straight out of a soap opera.

The other two nodded. "I wonder what they look like", Alex admitted, gulping down the last of the cookie. "Do you think they'll be anything like Reid?"

Penelope's eyes flashed with what seemed close to excitement. "Well, I've been doing some Googling." She moved towards her laptop, which had been forgotten to the kitchen table in the middle of all the hassle. With fast fingers she typed some search words. "I wasn't able to find any pictures of Mycroft. But this… is Sherlock. I ran into his name a while ago."

Curious, the others leaned forward to catch a glimpse. A grin made its way to Alex's face. "Well, how about that…"

Penelope grinned as well and fixed her glasses. "Yeah. I can see the family resemblance too, now."

Derek rolled his eyes although one corner of his lips twitched. He then looked at the picture as well, at the man they'd meet very soon. He listened to Penelope's explanation with only half an ear. "He's helped the police solve a few crimes. He's a private detective or something like that."

"A consulting detective, actually. The only one in the world. I invented the job."

Startled, they spun around to see two men standing close to the doorway. Both of them had solemn looks on their faces. It didn't take the IQ of a genius to figure out who they were.

Soon enough a third, smaller man barged in, followed closely by Aaron. "Are you two insane?" the stranger exclaimed. "Breaking and entry is a crime! Did you know that?" It wasn't until then the man seemed to notice the rest of them and shifted with discomfort. "I'm, uh… Sorry. I'm Dr. John Watson."

Penelope nodded. Despite the circumstances her eyes shone, just a little bit. "I know. I've been following your blog for a while, now."

A round of introductions followed, which didn't lessen the tension lingering in the room at all. Nor did the steps that appeared to the scene with a audible amount of hesitation. And all of a sudden Spencer was the centre of very much unwanted attention. With his hair wet, face pale and wearing a much too big shirt the man appeared even younger and a lot more fragile than usual.

Time itself seemed to freeze while the brothers stared at each other. Deducing and profiling. A flood of memories, old scars and bitterness spinning madly in the space separating them.

In the end Spencer took a deep breath and balled his fists. Like someone preparing for a battle. "So. You came for the funeral."

Sherlock's eyes flashed hazardously. "I don't know what Mycroft lied to you but I don't care about the funeral." The tall Brit took a step forward, causing Derek to twitch as well. "You have letters and postcards that belong to me. I want to see them."

TBC

A/N: Ooooooooooh brother…? (winces, then grins) Hey, that actually fits!

So, the brothers have found each other. But oh no, it's NOT going to be a smooth sailing. Wounds from the past will be torn wide open while they try and get used to one another. The BAU-team and John are in for a tough babysitting chore…

Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that I'll c ya all there.

Take care!