This one's kind of short, it's just a kind of filler, but I like it.

Enjoy!

"Any luck on the job front?" John asked, throwing a couple of cans of beans into the trolly. After looking through their fridge and only finding a bottle of milk, half a dozen eggs, some rather sad looking vegetables and of course, the tongues. I'd all but dragged John to the nearest supermarket for some much needing food shopping. Sherlock of course had refused to come; 'Why would I waste my time with such a mundane activity?' He asked, before retreating to his room to conduct an experiment. I swear, he's like an anti-social teenage version of Enistein.

"I haven't even started looking actually, I guess I should though, right?" Right, I'm meant to be finding a job, I mean, it's not like this is a holiday. This is my life now and I can't live off my inheritance forever, can I?

"That would probably be a good idea." He grinned.

It's been 2 weeks since I moved in. I honestly think London is the best place for me. In my tiny one bedroom basement flat, on Baker Street I was happy. The happiest I've been maybe in 4 years. Sure, I didn't have my best friends, or my Aunty, my nieces, my job. But I had a new start and I was enjoying it right now. Shopping with John, 'The Butcher' hadn't killed again since Maria, Sherlock had been right, Prudence Walter's death was a copycat killer who had been caught yesterday morning, much to the ego-divulging satisfaction of Sherlock Holmes.

The fact he hadn't killed again both comforted and frightened me. He hadn't been found, but he hadn't been killing more innocent people either. So he's either giving up the game, which I highly doubt, I've read that certain serial killers have a target, a target they'll go to the ends of the Earth to meet, even if that results in their own death or a longer prison sentence. I had a suspicion that Dr Richards wasn't the type to step away from a project.

"You like Chilli, right?" Dropping kidney beans into the trolly. I'd also taken to cooking for the Detective duo. They were about as good at looking after themselves as 8 year olds. So most nights that they were in I'd come over and cook. They'd been given a handful of cases which had all been solved quickly. Sherlock was getting bored and wanted a big case, something that 'takes more than the brains of an average house cat to figure out.' His words. Not mine. He's strange, I know.

"I haven't had Chilli in ages!" John said a little dreamily.

"Good, you'll have nothing better to compare mine to then." He laughed at me as we continued to shop.

.

By the end of our short shopping expedition I'd convinced John to buy a few ready meals, for when I'm not there and he and Sherlock hadn't eaten. Especially Sherlock who was known to completely forget about the necessity of food. Even if it's rubbish food, it's food.

We took a taxi home, unloaded the shopping and settled down in front of my TV, watching a Detective series. John made me laugh, in a very unattractive way at that. There was snorting and ugly giggling, I'm not a pretty laugher. He kept poking holes in the detectives theories, working out the liars, he named the killer in 10 minutes. I dread to think what Sherlock would be like to watch these programmes with.

"It's Lorraine! I'm telling you, she had absolutely no business being in that warehouse." He shouted at the TV, as if the actors would stop playing their parts then and there, give up trying to convince him of their rubbish story line.

"It's not Lorraine, it's Freida." It clearly wasn't. I just found wounding John up and TV shows was too much fun to miss.

"Freida?" He asked sounding a little outraged. Jesus did this man get defensive over television. Maybe that's why they don't have one in their flat. I could just imagine the two of them sat up there, shouting at the plasma screen. Maybe I should buy them a TV…."Freida's the one who was murdered, Meg!"

I sniggered to myself when suddenly a wild Sherlock appeared, how he got in I'll never no, I swear I'd locked that door? Although I wouldn't put it past him to know how to break into the securest of doors.

Mental note: buy better locks.

He was heading towards me until he noticed John shouting at the TV detective, apparently there was a suspect in the bin at the back of the building, or something like that.

"John, what are you doing here?" He asked as he stood behind the sofa.

I had to stop myself from staring at Sherlock. He was wearing a black button up that was a fraction to small. But it was too small in the nicest way possible. The colour made his skin look a little paler, his eyes looked brighter. The shirt was tight in all the right places, stretching across his arms and chest when he moved. His top button undone. I mean, call me a pervert, but damn does Sherlock look good in a dark tight shirt, I mean Me-freaking-ow!

He cleared his throat and I literally wanted the ground to swallow me whole when I looked up and found him watching me staring at his body. One eyebrow raised as he smirked a little. No way does socially inept Sherlock know what I was doing?! Well, judging from that freaking smirk he did know, and I did an awful job at not staring there! Congratulations Meghan! John was oblivious as he watched D.C.I Hart chase after one of the suspects down the busy streets of Manchester.

"I'm watching TV, eating Jaffa Cakes and drinking coffee. What are you doing?" John asked casually, to which Sherlock averted his attention from me to him. Thank God, why he was still staring at me after catching me checking him out I'll never know.

"Hiding from Mycroft." Sherlock muttered.

"Mycroft's here?" John asked sounding more interested.

"Yes. His car just pulled up."

"And here I was, thinking you stopped by to say hello." I muttered, leaning back on the sofa as Sherlock sat down in the warn out armchair. "Who's Mycroft?" That has got to be his last name, Mycroft's almost as bad as Sherlock!

"My brother." Oh…

"Your parents are awful." I whispered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing. So…why are you hiding from your brother?"

"No doubt he's just here to check up on me, tell me off for God knows what I've done now." Sherlock sighed, his long legs crossed out in front of him.

"Sherlock and Mycroft don't get on so well." John whispered, eyes still on the screen.

"Why?" I whispered back, noticing how Sherlock was frowning intensely at the TV, no doubt mentally questioning everything they were doing.

"I don't really know that." John admitted, looking as though he had already tried to work out their relationship. "You'll see when you meet him."

"This story line is ridiculous!" Sherlock sighed, suddenly standing and going to the kitchen.

"Mugs are in the cupboard by the fridge!" I shouted through after him, knowing exactly what he was doing.

"I know!" He called back. I was going to question how he knew that then realised I probably didn't want to know. He'd only ever been in my flat twice before since I moved in. Well, that I knew of at least.

Readjust mental note: Add dead bolts and lasers to front door...possibly buy guard dogs too.

It wasn't 10 minutes after Sherlock sat back in the armchair with a cup of tea that there was a knock on my door. He groaned dramatically but stood up, going to answer my front door as if he lived here. But weirdly enough his behaviour wasn't really irritating. I kind of liked that he made himself at home. That both he and John just lounged around calmly and relaxed in my home. It was...nice.

"Looks like you'll be witnessing a Holmes family meeting sooner than later." John sat up, placing his coffee on the table and looking towards the front door.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock moaned as we heard the door swing open.

"Is that anyway to greet your brother?" A voice questioned. Two seconds in and I could have guessed he was related to Sherlock without being told. It was slight complacent-ness in his voice. Something it seemed both brothers had. "Did you really think hiding out in your neighbours apartment would work?" His voice was getting louder, it seems the Holmes' were a law onto themselves when it came to being a house guest. I heard the door shut and watched as the brothers walked in. Mycroft was easily as tall as Sherlock, but he was clearly the older of the two, dressed in a light brown, 3 piece suit with a red tie and a smug grin.

"I had hoped you'd give up after searching our flat." Sherlock sighed, walking past his brother and sitting in the armchair again. Mycroft stood in front of the TV, nodding towards John before looking at me.

"You must be Miss Bennett." He said confidently, before looking around my living room. His eyes weren't quite as sharp and busy as Sherlocks, but he was still examining everything, scrutinising the contents of the room. It was a moment later that I realised he knew my name. I turned to Sherlock for an answer.

"Mycroft has us watched, he'll deny it, but he does. No doubt he know's everything about you already." Jesus Christ do I hope he's wrong.

"Not quite everything." Mycroft said, his eyes on me. "But I know enough." He gave me one of those looks that could mean anything from he know's I had a hair cut a few weeks ago, to he knows my first word was 'Dog'. God am I starting to dislike Holmes' and their mysterious ways. Ergh.

"Why are you here Mycroft?" Sherlock asked again, sounding bored as he stared down into his mug.

"I've come with a case for you."

"Since when do you personally bring us cases?" Sherlock asked, trying to seem nonchalant but he'd sat up a little more, his eyes a bit more focused on his brother now.

"Since a close friend of mine in parliament needs you."

"I didn't realise you had friends." Sherlock smiled to himself, John sniggered while Mycroft just rolled his eyes. Yes, Sherlock was definitely the younger brother.

"Oh do be mature for once, Sherlock." He sighed tiredly.

"Mycroft works for the government." John whispered, noticing my slight confusion.

"Oh.."

"So...Parliament?" Sherlock asked, quirking an eyebrow. Even John was paying Mycroft more attention. They hadn't worked on a big case in almost a week.

"Yes. It's a big one, it'll keep you and John busy." I scoffed a little, judging from the looks I received from all three men, none of them had the mental immaturity level I did. I mean come on! That was an innuendo if I've ever heard one.

After a short moment while they all seemed to try and work out why I found that sentence funny, Sherlock carried on.

"I doubt it, it's likely to be a sex scandal." Sherlock sighed but stood, put his mug down and walked out. Mycroft scowled a little, clearly Sherlock was right about the sex scandal thing. But Sherlock just went, no word of thanks for the tea, no goodbye nothing.

"So…are we taking it?" John asked confused, following Sherlock towards the door.

"Of course we're taking it, we're not going to sit around here watching mindless drivel all day, John." He said as if were obvious opening the front door as he went. By now I'd come to realise that Sherlock never meant to be insulting when he said these things, he was just a bit of an etiquette square.

John's head peaked around the corner.

"Thanks for today Meg, I'll text you if we're going to be in for dinner." He grinned a little apologetically as he pulled his coat on.

"No worries, have fun!"

"As always." He rolled his eyes and disappeared, no doubt Sherlock was already in the car waiting. It was only then that I realised Mycroft was still stood in front of the TV, waiting patiently.

"You know not everything in your records add up." He said casually starting to stroll around the room. Oh shit no, how did he know?! How does he have my records? Who is this man? How high up is he in the government? "Your school records don't add up."

"What do you mean they don't add up?" Play dumb, right? That's the best way about this.

"I mean that the years you attended are all wrong. They overlap." He picked up a photo in a frame and looked it over. "Everything else is perfect, but that little slip up was noted."

I sat in silence, it would be insulting to argue about it. He knew. He knew I wasn't who I say I am and all because someone messed up a little thing like that. Shit.

"I don't really care why you're lying, or who you are right now. There must be reason for you to be lying and I won't pry. But if you're bringing more trouble into this house than my brother brings on himself, than we have a problem." He turned back to me, staring, warning behind his eyes. "If you are bringing trouble into this house, then I suggest you sort out it before it becomes his problem."

He sighed and headed towards the door after Sherlock and John. He picked up a wine gum from the bowl of sweets on the cabinet by the door before looking back.

"I'll be keeping an eye out, Meghan." He dropped the sweet into his mouth and smiled then left, closing the door quietly behind him. I just sat, staring at where he'd been. So he knows I'm not who I say I am, but he doesn't know who I really am. Sherlocks, slightly creepy older brother knows my entire fake life story and he's probably going to find out who I really am at some point. Then he'll tell Sherlock no doubt. My heart dropped in my chest at that thought.

And he's going to be watching me.

Have I mentioned how much I love the Holmes' yet?

I'm so stoked with the feedback you guys are giving, I'm glad you like it so much!

Thanks for reading, I'll try and upload the next chapter as soon as, Ciao!