Disclaimer – I do not own Holmes or Watson or either James Watson. Jimmy boy was the invention of Bartimus Crotchety, who allowed me to borrow him for a plot bunny that attacked me, dragged me to the floor and cavorted in an unseemly manner. Thanks Barty!

AN – This is probably better classified as an AU of an AU – now that Bartimus has put out his own follow up story about the first meeting of Holmes and James.

Warnings – James Watson … 'nuff said!

The Startling Adventure of the Doctors Look Alike

Sherlock Holmes

My brother stood in our doorway, his eyes fastened upon me with no little warning in them. It was not a warning that I planned to heed – whatever he was about to tell me not to do would be ignored as a matter of course. The very idea that Watson had been forced to deal with the Diogenes Club with only the paltry help of Lestrade and the Yard chilled me to the bone. My elder brother was a ruthless man, one who saw value only in terms of those men that were of use to him. Watson would have been seen to be of very limited use and therefore any scheme he had participated in that involved Mycroft would have posed no small threat to his continued safety and well being. In short, Watson would have been considered by my elder brother to be 'disposable' for exactly as long as it took Mycroft to realise precisely the true calibre of the man who stood before him.

I had spared no effort in keeping these two men apart. Mycroft posed a very real threat to my dear friend. Watson was a man of many talents and hidden strengths: once Mycroft realised that he would have insisted on using my Boswell for all manner of unspeakable missions. That could not be permitted to happen: the danger of the few cases that I had undertaken on Mycroft's behalf since my arrival in Baker Street – and in the three years I was away from it – could not be allowed to threaten Watson. Additionally, I had not wanted to reveal to Watson what poor company he was keeping. The Holmes brothers were not the best men in the world, descended from country squires or not. Watson's character was of the highest order; he should have been associating with people far better than I. Whatever impulse had led him to befriending me during the course of our initial six months lease was not to be examined too closely, lest the miracle fall apart.

"Mr Holmes," Watson said courteously, standing and placing his napkin on the table, "Do come in."

Mycroft slanted him a very ironic look, as if he knew full well that Watson was merely observing the forms of courtesy. There was little that could deter Mycroft from his decided upon course of action – he came and went as he pleased, when he pleased and courtesy be damned. However my Watson was a gentleman who liked to observe the proprieties and I was certain that my brother had missed the faint tone of sarcasm in the invitation. That did not bode well. If Watson was sufficiently irked to be displaying that deeply buried and jealously guarded vein of sarcasm in his nature then their dealings had not at all been to Watson's tastes. I was beginning to be very alarmed.

"Thank you," Mycroft could lay the sarcasm on with the best of them, though Watson did not betray by look or gesture that he had noticed it. My eldest brother sat upon our settee and I watched as Watson crossed the room to take his usual armchair, waiting until he had settled to join him: choosing to perch on the arm of the already occupied chair and thus partially shield my doctor from the menace opposite him.

"I understand that you are fully informed of James Watson's presence in London," Mycroft stated flatly. His sharp eyes settled on my face and he quirked that little not-smile at me that spoke of superiority and smugness. I detested that smile. Mycroft would not have been at all disconcerted to see the familiar face of a dear friend subtly twisted into strange and unwelcome greed and selfishness. He didn't, as far as I knew, have any dear friends.

"I take it that you have further information for us?" Watson asked gently from the depths of his chair. I shivered a little – oh what a dangerous tone that had been. Mycroft, I was pleased to see, was not unaffected by it either. The momentary expression of unease that had crossed his face was a welcome sight.

"I do," he replied, "Though I am not pleased to be presenting it to you. I was overruled in my wishes and it is not convenient to engage in a power play at this time in order to have my way."

"In other words, you are once more seeking to use me and mine to your advantage," I was horrified to hear Watson say coolly, "I trust you remember our last conversation in this arena? I would remind you that my stance has not changed."

My mind spun as I tried to fathom exactly what it was that Watson was implying. He was threatening my brother, of that I had no doubt, over the treatment and safety of those that he considered to be in his realm of responsibility, if not affections. They had evidently had this conversation before: that James Watson held a higher place in John Watson's affections than I had thought was an unwelcome piece of news.

"You insist on protecting your brother?" Mycroft sounded just as astonished as I was.

"I have more than one," Watson laid his hand lightly on my back, turning the world on its ear with one simple statement. His voice took on an impatient and imperious tone; one which I can guarantee Mycroft had not expected to hear from my dearest friend, "Come sir, you prevaricate. What is it you want from us?"

"Very well," Mycroft gave me a look that promised we would be speaking later, "James Watson is once again in possession of information that we require. He is attempting to broker said information, for which a number of interested parties have bid. It is essential that we win the bid, by whatever means necessary. He is less than stable, less than trustworthy and less than cunning. I felt it would be to our advantage to… enlist your aid in this matter. My brother need not be involved, naturally."

"Quite," Watson agreed blandly. Only I who knew him so well could hear the undercurrent of amusement in his voice. He knew as well as I did that I would sooner burn my Strad than allow him to enter into such an intrigue alone.

"Of course, there would be a full briefing on the matter," Mycroft added, "Perhaps at the club?"

"Perhaps not," I asserted myself, angry that my brother would think to exclude me from the matter with such a high handed manner. I folded my arms and glared down my not inconsiderable nose at him, intimating that he had best get on with it.

"Sherlock, if you would give us the room?" Mycroft was not to be deterred so easily. Before I could tell him what I thought of his invitation, my Watson added his own request to the conversation.

"It would be for the best, dear chap," he murmured, the fingers that still rested on my back tapping twice before withdrawing, something that my brother had not seen. I twisted to glare at my friend and then rose in a huff, scowling at them both and stomping from the room. The moment the door was shut behind me I was on the move to the listening post we had established upstairs many years ago. Mycroft didn't know of it and Watson had been careful to never write of it in his stories.

"… Surprised that he gave way so quickly," Mycroft sounded suspicious and I prayed that Watson would not try to act his way out of the difficulty. My brother was no less astute than I when it came to detecting deception and Watson was no actor.

"This afternoon's little scene between our respective brothers did not… play out well. Holmes forbade James from ever returning to Baker Street – in fact he threatened to shoot him on sight – and as such is somewhat unsettled at the moment. He is not entirely certain if I have condoned his treatment of my brother or not, thus his acquiescence to my request," Watson's words were the exact truth and yet couched in such a way that one who was unfamiliar with him would not realise that he was presenting only the bare surface of matters.

"I see," Mycroft sounded amused, "He always did let his emotions overrule his common sense."

"To the matter at hand – it won't be long before he decides to burst back in here," Watson suggested, "As it is you've condemned me to weeks of ill feeling."

"Ah I remember it well – Sherlock always could hold a grudge with the best of them," Mycroft had the gall to sound amused, and I clenched my fists. We'd see who bore the grudges when this matter was over!

"James is involved with a gang from Rotherhithe," Mycroft condescended to reiterate, "They primarily made their income by stealing luggage. A few weeks ago, they were fortunate enough to lift the luggage of a travelling diplomat from a train in Piccadilly. Concealed within this luggage were several rather sensitive documents. Your brother had been acting as the go-between for the gang and several 'fences' of purloined goods – his aristocratic bearing gave an illusion of respectability that the gang desired – and discovered the documents for himself. Of all the gang, James had the literacy skills to understand what the documents were saying and the political knowledge to know who would be the most interested in the contents. He promptly left with the documents and is now attempting to broker them on the open market."

It was a simple enough political intrigue, how ghastly and dull. Had Watson's brother not been involved I would have burst back into the room and demanded Mycroft leave at once. As it was we would have to work quickly if we were to resolve this before Mycroft did any damage to my Watson.

"You want the documents back," Watson's voice was cool and calm, "What of James?"

"I would prefer he was returned to the Island," Mycroft replied, "Or killed. Either way, I want him removed from the picture. You may choose which."

I nearly choked. What a monstrous thing to say to Watson! To ask him to choose his brothers freedom over his life was so far beyond the pale that I could not bear to imagine what my dear friend was thinking now! And how would Mycroft's words reflect upon me? Would my dearest friend finally realise the stamp of man he had been associating with these last long years? We had only just recovered from my three years of deception – that alone would have been enough to kill the kind regard of most. That Watson had not repudiated me was a bewildering piece of good fortune that I dared not examine too closely lest it fall apart beneath my eyes.

"I will see to James," Watson's voice had turned iron hard, "You need not concern yourself with him or this matter any further. In fact I do not expect to see you or any of your agents again in relation to this."

I would have given anything to see his face then! To be able to read what his intent was and what Mycroft's reaction to that had been!

"As you wish," Mycroft sounded amused, "Good evening Doctor. I wish you joy of Sherlock's mood."

0o0o0o0

Lol!!!