Chapter Summary:
Sherlock reveals he had a brother named Mycroft.
CHAPTER 9: The Brother
It was immensely satisfying for John as he observed Sherlock trying to manipulate the chopsticks. The short haired man had long given up on attempting the feat and settled for a fork and spood, but Sherlock was determined to triumph over the little sticks. He had written down instructions from the internet, and even searched up some video tutorials on how to master them, but watching and using were clearly very different.
John stifled another laugh as Sherlock tried unsuccessfully for the fourth time to get a chicken ball into his mouth. He growled at his plate, glaring. The doctor speared one of his own chicken balls and held it out for Sherlock to eat. The cat ears flicked but the brunet reluctantly took a bite. John was already halfway through his plate, but Sherlock's was still barely touched.
"How are those people doing it? I don't understand," Sherlock grumbled, eyeing the other customers in the restaurant. Most of them seemed to have little problems with the utensils.
"Sherlock, are you sure you don't want a fork? You don't have to learn the art of chopsticks use."
The sleek tail twitched and Sherlock's mouth thinned into a stubborn line.
"I can learn it, billions of people use these, I can learn it too."
A soft, high pitched giggle rang out from the table beside them and the two looked over. They were being watched by a young girl, no older than seven or eight years old. She sat with her family, but it looked like she had finished eating already, so instead she was nibbling on her fortune cookie.
Sherlock's tail flicked, unsure how to react. He didn't really have much experience dealing with kids.
The girl hopped off her chair and strode over, eyeing the cat ears and tail curiously. She reached out a hand and tentatively petted the tip of Sherlock's tail, who kept still. More confident, the girl stroked the soft fur and smiled up at him.
"It's pretty, your ears and tail. They look like my kitty's. I wish I had them too."
In the dim light of the restaurant, John saw Sherlock's face flush pink as he blinked at the girl. She pointed at his chopsticks.
"Are you trying to learn how to use them? It's hard. I kept dropping my food at first too. But my mommy showed me a trick."
Reaching up to the table, the girl took the chopsticks and placed one between her thumb and index finger, using the middle finger to balance and manoeuvre the other one
"She said to think of them like an alligator's mouth. See? Open, and close, open and close," she demonstrated with ease, "Here, try it."
Hesitantly, Sherlock took the utensils back and attempted to mimic what he saw the girl do. Eagerly, she took his hand and moved his fingers until they were in the correct position and helped him move the sticks.
"There, see? Not so hard once you get used to it. Just takes some practice."
The tip of Sherlock's tongue peeked out between his lips as he concentrated, watching his fingers force the chopsticks apart, and then back together, then apart again. His face lit up as the movement got easier and he looked over at his plate, testing out his new skill on the chicken ball once more. This time, he succeeded in picking it up on the first try and he let out a little gasp of joy.
John smiled and shook his head at the image they painted, taking a sip of his drink.
"Megan, time to go, come on."
The girl looked back to her family and saw her parents getting ready to leave. They looked over at John and Sherlock with raised eyebrows, but didn't say anything.
"I have to go," she told them, but her eyes darted up to Sherlock's ears, looking at them longingly. The brunet bent down so she could reach and Megan giggled again, petting the furry triangles.
"Good luck, Mr. Kitty!" Satisfied, she hurried back to her parents and left with a wave.
John and Sherlock watched her leave before the doctor broke out in laughter. Sherlock smiled too, rubbing at his own ears where Megan had touched. He looked down at his chopsticks and tried again, remembering what he had been taught. It was still a little awkward, but he had a much easier time than before. At least now he managed to get the food to his mouth.
"Well, it looks like her lesson worked," John commented, continuing to eat his own food.
Sherlock nodded and started eating too, he'll have to figure out how to work these chopsticks around the rice, but one step at a time.
"She was...nice. She said my ears and tail were pretty," Sherlock contemplated, almost speaking to himself.
"Yes, and she's right. Your ears and tail are lovely," John replied, his own eyes gazing across the table.
Sherlock took a few bites, thinking.
"You like them too, John? My ears and tail?"
The doctor raised his eyebrows, "Well, they're soft, and beautiful, and they match your hair. It also feels nice when your tail wraps around me, kind of like holding hands with someone. Don't you like them?"
Sherlock shook his head, "No, I don't. They are the easiest way for humans to identify me as a hybrid. I have...had a brother, he hated his ears and tail so much he found an underground surgeon and had them removed."
John was startled at this new information and his eyes widened.
"You had a brother? What happened to him?"
The brunet shrugged as if he didn't care.
"I only knew he was my brother because we were kept in the same cage when we were young. It's just shared DNA, that's all. He was older than me, and mean."
The older man sat back in his seat, trying to digest what he had just learned. Hybrid DNA came from egg and sperm banks, people who needed money would sell their eggs or sperm to these places. Sometimes, you could pay someone to sell you their eggs or sperm if you wanted to make a custom hybrid, but those were costly. From the egg and sperm banks, the eggs were fertilized and placed under observation. If the fertilization was successful, the embryo would then be transferred to a hybrid incubator that acted like a womb, but also allowed scientists to easily inject animal DNA into them to create the hybrids. Siblings were rare, but sometimes it happened.
"Do you know where he is now?" John ventured to ask.
Sherlock shook his head, swallowing some food.
"No. Don't even know if he's alive anymore. He was bought by some rich family before me, but my first owner, the fashion designer, ran in the elite circles so she and my brother's owners actually met a few times. I saw him once or twice, they called him Mycroft, stupid name. But I heard he ran away after a year or so. I only saw him one more time after that. He sneaked into my owner's house one night while she was out and told me he didn't want anything to do with me anymore. Told me he no longer had a brother. I almost didn't recognize him since by then he had had his ears and tail removed, but he smelled the same. Humans can't differentiate him without the physical characteristics, unless they ran a DNA test on him, so he apparently got himself a job working among humans, but any hybrid would be able to smell it on him."
The doctor listened to the story, slightly stunned. It was possible for hybrids to remove their animal traits? He had never heard of that before, clearly it would be against the law which was why Sherlock said his brother had gone to an underground surgeon.
"And you never tried contacting him again? Even just to see if he's still alive?"
The brunet's mouth tilted down and he looked away.
"He didn't want anything to do with me, having a hybrid brother would be a clear give away that he's a hybrid too. There was no point in me trying to contact him, I couldn't anyway. I would have needed my owner's permission and I doubt they would have given it to me."
John bit his lip, he knew about animosity between siblings. He and his own sister, Harriet, didn't exactly have the best relationship, but at least they got together for a reunion once or twice a year. John didn't always agree with her lifestyle, but she was his sister, and he knew he'd care about her regardless of what happened. Sherlock, clearly, felt no attachment for his brother.
"I see. Well, if you ever want to try finding him, or find out what happened to him, feel free. And now you have access to Scotland Yard, so maybe Lestrade can help."
Sherlock wrinkled his nose and flatted his ears, indicating without a doubt that he was not interested.
They spent the rest of the meal talking over some cases Sherlock had solved. A missing necklace, a vanishing husband, a string of burglaries. As the waiter took away their empty plates and left them with two fortune cookies, John contemplated if now was a good time to bring up his recent job hunt. Sherlock peeled open the plastic wrapping and sniffed the cookie, holding it up to the light to study it.
"It's OK, John. I don't mind."
The older man blinked for a second, confused as to what Sherlock was referring to.
"You, looking for a job. I don't mind. I can keep myself busy for a few hours while you're away," the brunet clarified as he placed the cookie between his hands and cracked it open.
"How did you...?"
"You left your resume open on your laptop this morning. I saw it. You were updating it, obviously getting it ready to be sent out."
John's mouth was hanging open and he shook his head, realizing that must have been quite an easy thing for Sherlock to have figured out.
"Oh. Uh...yeah, I-I was looking. I mean, if you feel OK with it, I figured since you have the cases to keep you busy..."
Sherlock nodded as he took a nibbling bite out of the cookie, testing the taste.
"Yes, it's fine, John. I'll be OK on my own, now. There's Mrs. Hudson, and if I run into any serious trouble I can always get Lestrade. You've been getting restless around the flat, a job would be good for you instead of constantly babysitting me."
John reached over the table and placed a hand over Sherlock's.
"Hey, I wasn't 'babysitting' you. You just needed a bit of time to adjust, that's all. And even after I find a job, if you need me home, all you have to do is call me, yeah?"
Curious eyes glanced over the small piece of paper he pulled out from the centre of the cookie as he read over the words.
"Yeah, I know. Or I can message you, like when you go to your therapist," Sherlock's brows furrowed as he tried to decipher what he read, "John? What does 'There is magic in your smile' mean? That makes no sense."
John grinned at the random fortune the cookie offered.
"It means when you smile it has...a magical effect, on yourself, on people around you, you know."
Blue eyes studied the paper before he lifted his head and gave John the biggest smile the doctor had ever seen grace Sherlock's face.
"Is it working? The magic, I mean," the brunet asked sarcastically.
The doctor burst out laughing.
"I think it is, Sherlock. Do you feel it working?"
The tips of Sherlock's ears twitched at John's laugh and he chuckled too.
"I don't know about magic, but I like making you laugh."
John's laughter settled into a lopsided grin on his face and he patted Sherlock's hand before standing up.
"Come on, let's go home."
They took their time heading back to the flat. The evening air felt calming to both of them and when they walked through an area with no streetlights, Sherlock looked up into the sky.
"They're marvelous."
"Hm?"
"The stars, quite beautiful aren't they?"
The doctor looked up too and nodded. In the darkness, the twinkling little specks stood out like glitter on a black canvas. Usually in the city one could only make out a few, the really bright ones, but now he can see that they almost covered the entire sky.
They stood still for a few minutes, just looking. John's hand slipped into Sherlock's and for a moment he felt like he was on some sappy, romantic date. Usually he had little patience for these things, smelling the flowers, gazing at stars, they all seemed totally pointless to him. Yet right now something about the expression of awe on Sherlock's face made him appreciate the view much more than he remembered. Had the clever hybrid ever even had the chance to look at the stars before? Did he ever sit by a window trying to find the constellations only to growl in frustration as all those damn sparkles looked the same? It was hard to imagine.
Sherlock unconsciously moved closer to the doctor, committing the view memory. With a quiet sigh, he started walking again with John at his side. He peeked over at the other man, his sharp eyes picking up details that humans would miss in the darkness. Maybe he can convince John to switch some of their afternoon walks to the evening, it was calmer now, quieter, and there wasn't as much stimulation assaulting his senses, demanding his attention.
... ...
Back at the flat, the pair watched some telly to pass the time. Sherlock picked out a channel showing a documentary on African animals, leaning forward in his seat as his eyes glued to the cheetahs chasing down gazelles. His tailed flicked quickly, and John detected a low growl in his throat as the gazelle leaped in twists and turns, trying to throw the predator off its tail. The doctor was much more amused watching Sherlock than the show, it seemed watching other big cats was bringing out the feline instinct in the brunet and he almost laughed out loud when Sherlock let out a soft whine when he saw the lion cubs play fighting. Defined cheeks flushed pink when Sherlock realized what he was doing and he dove into John's chest, burying his face against the plaid shirt.
"It's in my genes, I can't help it," he complained, pursing his lips.
John pulled the tall hybrid into his lap, smiling fondly as he ran his fingers over the soft ears.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking it! I could hear you thinking!"
The short haired man gave the bundle in his arms an amused look although he didn't deny the accusation.
By the end of the show, John was already starting to nod off. He jerked awake when he felt a tug on his shirt and found Sherlock standing over him, already changed into his pajamas.
"You'll feel sore if you fall asleep like that."
The doctor yawned, stretched and wobbled to his feet.
"Right, bed. Time for bed."
Sherlock followed, waiting in the bedroom as John got changed and washed up. He sat on the bed, leaning against the pillows as he surfed the internet on his phone. John had shown him how to start his own blog and Sherlock tapped out an entry, writing about his new laptop.
By the time John came into the bedroom, it was already half past midnight and they both snuggled down into the covers. Sherlock wiggled his way until he felt John's chin resting on his head. He liked sleeping in this position the best, when the older man wrapped his arms around him, all of Sherlock's senses became surrounded by John. He could feel and hear the man's heartbeat in his chest, feel his soft breath breeze over his ears, the protective arms holding him close, it kept the nightmares away.
...
...
Unfortunately, for Sherlock, a good night's sleep was not in store for him. Through the fog of sleep the brunet found a familiar scene playing out before him in his mind. He was much younger, eyes still wide and lively with innocence as he stared out of his cage. He was naked except for a collar with a tag, stating his number, 74-37H. They were given names at birth for the sake of their birth certificate, but no one referred to them by the names since their owners would give them new ones. Instead they were assigned numbers.
A well dressed and clearly wealthy family stood around, inspecting his brother, whose own tag sported the number 69-27H . The elder hybrid couldn't be coaxed into kneeling, so he stood, nose high in the air as the mother checked his ears and teeth.
"Are you sure this is the one you want, Henry? He looks high maintenance. How about the younger one?" Her big, green eyes glanced over to Sherlock making his older brother growl.
"But mommy, I want this one!" The young boy, Henry, complained, pulling on his mom's hand, "He looks smarter!"
Sherlock was anxious as he watched, listening to the conversation. Would they take his brother away? He didn't always get along with his brother, but in here, with the elder hybrid, he at least had someone to confide in. If they took him away then he'd be all alone. He whined softly, the sound reaching his older brother's ears and making them flick. He turned and gave his younger brother a glance, his expression blank. Sherlock gripped the bars of his cage, reaching a hand out to try and grab his brother, but the hybrid ignored him.
FInally, the father and mother agreed on the pet for their little boy and put a collar around him, handing the leash to the ecstatic Henry. Sherlock panicked, growling in his cage and trying to shake the bars.
"No! No! Brother! Don't go!"
A stick slammed against the cage making Sherlock fall back. The owner appeared, baton in hand as he glared at the younger Holmes.
"None of that, be quiet."
Sherlock refused and tried reaching his arm out as far as it could go, his finger tips brushing against his brother's arm.
"Don't go, don't take him, please! Don't leave me here on my own brother!"
But the elder hybrid just stared at him impassively, pursing his lips. He turned to fully face Sherlock, although he stood out of reach.
"Behave, you're embarrassing yourself. I told you not to get attached, I warned you. You didn't listen. Caring's not an advantage. Stop caring."
It felt like his brother was fading but Sherlock struggled harder, trying to push the cage bars away, trying to get out. He needed to reach, just a bit further. But slowly, the image of the elder hybrid melted into darkness along with his surroundings leaving the brunet in his cage, all alone.
It was pitch black, he couldn't see anything. Sherlock screamed and yelled but there was no reply. He banged on the cage, feeling panic rising. Where was he? What's happening?
"Sherlock."
The stern voice startled the brunet and he whipped around. A man stood outside the cage dressed in a suit, hands in his pockets and staring at him. A man...no...wait, that wasn't a man. He smelled familiar, and as Sherlock looked closer he looked familiar too. The blue eyed hybrid gasped and stumbled back, eyes impossibly wide.
"B..bro..ther?"
The elder hybrid raised an eyebrow as Sherlock's eyes ran over him. No cat ears...no tail. Physically he looked human.
"Mycroft. My name's Mycroft now, Sherlock. You should forget that name of yours too, your owner has given you a new name, you need to accept it."
"What happened to you?! I heard you had run away, but...your ears...and tail!"
"I got rid of them. Underground surgery, you can do anything when you have enough money. I'm not going to be a pet to humans anymore. I refuse to bow to these imbeciles. I will rule over them and beat them at their own game."
Sherlock frowned, staring at his brother like he had lost his mind.
"You're going to live as a human?"
"Yes, and I'm going to gain such immense power that I will be the one controlling humans. Sherlock, forget me. Forget you ever had a brother. I am no longer related to you in any way."
The younger Holmes choked on a breath at the words, feeling tears well up in his eyes.
"Wh-what?! But you're my brother! We share DNA!"
The human-looking hybrid sighed and started walking away.
"Sherlock, that means nothing. From now on I don't know you, and you don't know me. I am human, Sherlock, you...you're just a hybrid."
With those parting words, Mycroft disappeared once more leaving Sherlock crying on the cage floor. He wailed and sobbed, tugging on his ears as if he could pull them off. It hurt, it hurt so much, but maybe he can tear them away and then his brother will accept him again.
Soft hands grabbed his own and tried to pry them away from his ears.
"Sherlock!"
A firm but gently voice called out to him.
"Sherlock, stop, wake up!"
The brunet shook his head, eyes shut tightly. He felt the brush of fingers over his hair, encircling him in a warm embrace. Slowly, the metal bars of the cage dulled into nothingness and Sherlock blinked his eyes open. They felt wet, and he was shaking, but someone was talking to him.
"Shh, shhh, Sherlock, it's OK, you're OK, come on, wake up for me."
John was relieved to see his partner no longer seemed determined to rip his ears out. He had been woken up by Sherlock's frantic flailing and screams, a single name ripping from his throat. Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes, his brother. Before the doctor could do anything, however, the slender fingers had grabbed onto his own ears and pulled so hard it made John wince. Now he held the trembling hybrid in his arms, feeling alarmed at the tears that streamed down Sherlock's cheeks as consciousness seemed to return to him.
"Sherlock, it's OK, you're safe, no one's leaving you alone, I'm here, I'm here..."
The doctor whispered into Sherlock's ear as the other clung to John, sobbing into his pajamas
His ears throbbed and he could still see the image of Mycroft so clearly, the disdain in his voice, the disgust in his gaze as he watched Sherlock break down. He had tried, he really had, to do as his brother had instructed. Stop caring, stop feeling because all he ever got was pain, but it had been so hard. Sherlock had managed a convincing enough mask in front of his owners before, but now, now John had managed to break through it and Sherlock was honestly relieved he had.
John held Sherlock tightly, letting him cry. Clearly their talk at the restaurant at raised some painful memories for the brunet. He continued nuzzling against the soft curls, stroking his hands down the slim back and kissing at the flattened ears. He repeated comforting words over and over, not even sure if Sherlock heard them, but hoping they helped even a little bit.
It was a long time before Sherlock settled down again. His cries quieted but he didn't move from John's embrace. For a while the doctor wondered if the brunet had fallen asleep again, but then he heard a soft sniffle.
"Sherlock? Are you OK?"
John whispered quietly, just in case the other was actually asleep.
A small nod answered him.
"Do you want to talk?"
A shake of his head, no.
"OK, do you want to try to sleep a little more?"
He felt Sherlock curl tighter against him.
"It's OK, I'll be right here if you want to sleep. I won't go anywhere," the doctor reassured the brunet.
After a few more minutes, he slowly felt the body pressed against him relax once more. Softly, John sighed in relief. Tomorrow he'll see if maybe Sherlock wants to talk, maybe he can find out a bit about this Mycroft. Even if Sherlock says he's not interested in locating his brother, it was clear the topic still preyed on his mind.
For now, though, John pulled the covers up a bit tighter around them. Outside the sky was already starting to lighten up, midnight black giving way to the gentle hues of navy blue. The older man closed his eyes, hoping that Sherlock will be able to get a few hours of dreamless sleep this time.
CHAPTER 9 END
Thanks for reading and all comments, reviews and kudos loved~! 3
Trying to figure out how to put Mycroft in a position of power when hybrids are considered pets was quite a project. Well, slowly but surely our cast is becoming more complete.
