Chapter Three

Yes, it's shorter, but hey, I got it to you quick.

John followed Sherlock into the flat, heading straight for his armchair. The entire day seemed to be a blur: the case, General Shan, the tunnel, the room, the bomb, the mind meld, Sherlock's alien heritage…He couldn't believe it; that Sherlock had managed to keep something like this a secret? Well, that wasn't entirely surprising. If John had managed to keep this from Sherlock, now that would be impressive.

Even though it didn't really change anything—Sherlock was still Sherlock—John had the feeling that everything would change. His best friend was an alien, for God's sake. How do you just take that in stride? How was it even possible? What was his planet like? Who were his parents? Did he volunteer to come here? What was—

"Do spit it out, John."

John looked up to see Sherlock sitting in his own armchair across from him. "Hmm?"

"You've got questions," Sherlock said. "Let's hear them."

John smirked at his friend's ability to know exactly what he was thinking. Which was now quite literal. With a frown, John opened his mouth to ask.

"No," said Sherlock.

John's jaw snapped closed.

"Based on my deduction that you had questions, you were reminded of my unique interrogation methods, which would lead to a question of whether my detective skills come from them," Sherlock explained. "They do not. I need contact for a mind meld. I hardly ever use it, except in the case of an emergency. My deductive skills come naturally, like they do to most Vulcans. However, I happen to have dedicated my life to the field, so I do know a thing or two more than them." He gave a smug smile.

John nodded, grateful it wasn't all a sham. "So…Donovan."

Sherlock frowned. "Donovan?"

"You mind melded with her," said John.

"I needed someone unlikely to side with me to corroborate my story," Sherlock explained. "She was one of the two people who hate me most in all of London."

"And Anderson?" asked John.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, as if offended by the suggestion. "I wouldn't trust Anderson with my mind if I were on fire on a sinking ship surrounded by an army of Poison Dart Frogs." (I checked Google. A group of frogs is actually called an army!)

John laughed out loud at that, and Sherlock gave a small smile. He looked back up at Sherlock. "You do have a point." His mind drifted to the expression on Donovan's face when the mind meld had happened. What that must have been like…

"Don't tell me you're upset that I picked Donovan over you," said Sherlock.

"No, no," said John, waving a hand to assure him. "I know why you picked her. She was the perfect choice."

Sherlock paused and then smirked slightly. "You're curious, aren't you?"

John raised his brows and spread his hands in front of him. "I just found out my best friend's an alien. Of course I'm curious." He lowered his hands, frowning as Sherlock stared at him. "What?"

"I'm…your best friend?" asked Sherlock, a frown marring his features.

John smiled. "Yeah, I guess you are."

Sherlock nodded, taking that in. "Am I still?" His eyes strayed down to the floor.

John stared at him a moment before shifting in his seat a little. "Sherlock." He waited for the detective to look up at him. "You are my best friend." He made sure to emphasize the present tense.

A smile threatened to break out on Sherlock's face, but he reined it in and scooted forward in his chair. "You sure?"

John glanced down at Sherlock's hand, open and raised slightly. "I'm sure." He moved forward in his seat and braced his arms on his knees.

Sherlock looked him in the eye. "Relax."

John nodded once as Sherlock reached forward and gently placed his fingers against John's face.

Sherlock looked at him again. "Take a deep breath."

John complied just as Sherlock closed his eyes. The next second, the room cut out into darkness, even though John could tell his eyes were still open. As stars exploded in front of his eyes, he closed them to prevent himself from getting disoriented.

Stars seemed to fly past him, as though he were in a spaceship, speeding through space. Nebulas and asteroids and comets appeared and disappeared before a reddish planet grew in front of him.

"This is Vulcan," Sherlock's voice echoed in his head. "My home world."

The planet loomed ever closer until John suddenly found himself standing on the surface. It appeared to be some sort of desert-like world, all red jagged rock and open blue sky. Two people stood in front of him.

"These are my parents: Thomas Matheson and Ainok."

The man had blonde curly hair roughly the same length as Sherlock's and bright, pale blue eyes. He was dressed in a white robe with a dark brown gown over it, presumably some sort of Vulcan clothing. The woman, on the other hand, had long black hair and brown eyes, also wearing the Vulcan robes. Even more strangely, her ears were pointed, like an elf in one of those Tolkein stories. Her eyebrows were also different; they started in the usual place above her eyes just above her nose, but they then slanted upwards in a straight line, as though to emphasize the pointed ears.

"My father is human, but my mother is Vulcan. For this reason, my physical appearance is human."

John then saw many other Vulcans, all with the pointed ears, the slanted brows and the black hair.

"For this reason, I was chosen."

John was suddenly standing in front of a panel of Vulcans, a flag hanging on the wall behind them.

"They needed to know how advanced Earth had become to determine if first contact was appropriate at this stage. I was the only one capable of blending in."

The Vulcans stared down at him, looking ominous and imposing.

"My father and I have always been looked down upon because of our humanity. It was my chance to redeem myself."

John was walking up a platform onto a spaceship.

"I contacted Mycroft and asked him to give me the cover of his brother."

John sat at what must have been the pilot seat of the ship, a screen in front of him displaying a younger Mycroft's face.

"After a couple years of observation, I decided to do something with my time. That's when I met Lestrade."

The ship had landed, a residence had been found, and encounters with people had happened. John was walking past several police cars, whose lights were flashing, when he spotted the crime scene. His eyes swept over it, figuring out the whole thing in a few seconds. He began stepping towards the scene, where Greg stood coordinating everything.

"I have spent the last eight of my twenty years consulting for Scotland Yar—"

"Wait, what?" asked John, opening his eyes and yanking his head back from Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock startled slightly, opening his eyes and frowning at him. "What?"

"Twenty years?" asked John. "What does that mean?"

Sherlock lowered his hand, the frown vanishing. "That I am to return home after my twenty years of observation are up."

John's brows rose. "So, you only have twelve years left here?"

"Ten," answered Sherlock curtly. "I was on Earth two years before I became a detective."

John's eyes widened. "Ten years. And then you just…what, leave?"

"Yes," said Sherlock.

John frowned at him. "How can you say that as if it were nothing? Were you ever going to say anything, or were you just going to up and leave us all behind one day?"

Sherlock nodded as he finally understood. "Another aspect of my Vulcan heritage: we have no emotions."

John frowned as he calmed down. "No emotions?"

"We evolved over time to conquer them," Sherlock explained. "They are virtually nonexistent on my planet."

John's frown deepened in confusion. "But I've seen you excited when you got a new case, bored when you don't have one, frustrated at Anderson—"

"I am half-human, John. I have emotions, but I keep them very under wraps. They rarely come out."

John nodded, smirking. "Not a sociopath."

Sherlock nodded. "A Vulcan."

"So, you don't feel at all upset about having to leave Earth?" asked John.

Sherlock was silent for a while before he spoke in a quiet voice. "Why do you think I never let anyone in?"

"You let me in," John pointed out.

Sherlock looked up at him sadly. "Yes, I did."

John stared back for a moment before looking away. "So, all Vulcans look like that?"

Sherlock brightened at the subject change. "All but me and Father. Usually, Vulcan genes are dominant, but in this case, I got his human genes."

"And what was that thing you did to knock Hawkins unconscious?"

"A nerve pinch. Although, outsiders have fondly come to call it the Vulcan Death Grip."

"Death grip," laughed John. "How colorful."

"Yes, my father found it especially humorous."

"How did your parents handle all of this?"

"You forget, John; Vulcans have no emotions."

"What about your father? Do you have any siblings?"

"I'm an only child. My father stayed behind on Vulcan, wishing me luck before I left. He may be human, but he is a man."

John chuckled. "True." He paused a moment before asking the question they were both thinking of. "Any clue who was behind this?"

Sherlock gave a small shake of the head. "None." He grimaced in frustration as he flung his hand out. "Something made him set up this elaborate test. And this is no ordinary criminal; he has access to a network of conspirators."

"And he ran the Black Lotus," John reminded him. "That's how long he's been planning this, right?"

Sherlock had already begun to shake his head, so John forged on.

"Did you do anything strange during that case?"

Sherlock was still shaking his head. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Besides, if it was that case that tipped him off, this would have happened months ago. No, it had to be more recent, but I haven't done anything in any of my cases." He took in a sharp breath as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his fingers propped together in front of himself. "I suspect this man is familiar with my people. Meeting me face-to-face, he saw something in my personality, my behavior, that reminded him of a Vulcan."

John frowned, his gaze wavering. "Well, what criminal mastermind have you ever met in…person…" His eyes widened as he stumbled upon the answer. He looked up at Sherlock, who shared his wide-eyed shock as they both spoke.

"Moriarty."