Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.


Tamasin's Explanation


John didn't even register that he'd taken the scarf in hand. He didn't realize that Mycroft's grip on his umbrella handle tightened ever so slightly. He didn't even pause to consider the sheer ludicrously of the idea that an item could give him any sort of ability.

All he knew was that when he touched the cashmere-soft fabric, there was suddenly another person - the woman Molly had described helping Sherlock, black peacoat and all - sitting on the bed beside Sherlock as if she'd been there all the while.

"John Hamish Watson," Mycroft said in a soft voice, "meet Rebecca Tamasin Joan Holmes."

John couldn't help gaping at the woman. Just about a half-foot shorter than Mycroft, she had long black hair falling in soft, tussled waves to below her shoulders. Intense Holmes eyes met the doctor's astonished brown ones with the weary look of a woman standing vigil over a loved one.

"You've done all you can, Doctor," she said in a soft, bell-like voice not unlike that of a child's. "You've been the best of friends for my brother. Now it's up to Locks."

"How - How is this - " John sputtered and choked, trying to ask the impossible. Sherlock's scarf slipped from his slack fingers - and she disappeared in an eye-blink. "Wait, where did - "

"Pick it up, Doctor," Mycroft said patiently, pointing to the scarf with his umbrella tip.

John did so, and when he blinked, Tamasin was back. The smile she shot at him was identical to Sherlock's haughty grin. "And there it is. The "I don't understand" look I've heard Sherlock bemoan and adulate on several occasions. You really ought to put that slogan on a T-shirt, you'd make millions."

"You're Sherlock's sister all right." He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How?" he demanded.

"The power of sentiment, dear Doctor." She smiled at John, and the sight of Sherlock's trademark smile was unnerving. "That's my scarf you're holding. Sherlock bought it for me for our tenth Christmas. Myke has my umbrella."

"How come you're - "

"An adult?" Her thumb brushed the back of Sherlock's hand as she spoke. "Physicality is a figment of the imagination. Because you heard I was Sherlock's twin, you've unconsciously attributed physical traits similar to his based on that assumption. "Model-esque with a touch of girl next door," right? Long black hair, thick but not as curly as Sherlock's, heart-shaped face with softer features than his, blue-green eyes." John could only nod dumbly. "My eyes are more of a blue-violet, actually."

And when he blinked, her eyes had become that impossible shade. John quickly locked onto the heart of the matter. "Why are you here?"

Tamasin looked down at her brother. "Because he needs me."

John's mouth worked for several seconds before he finally said, "But you're...dead."

It felt foolish to even voice that observation. Judging by the critical glare Mycroft was levelling at him, the elder Holmes was thinking just that.

"Since when has something like death ever stopped a Holmes from helping?" Tamasin shrugged her shoulder and gave a little grin. "And it's not like I haven't pulled his stupid arse out of some rather difficult situations before. Ever wonder how he managed to survive two years off the grid?"

"Raw dumb luck and Mycroft watching his stupid arse?"

"More like I've been watching his arse. Like always." Fondness warmed her tone and softened her eyes. "Ever since we were very small, we've always looked after each other."

"Like Harry and I," John smiled. He could almost picture schoolboy Sherlock, complete with scraped knees and split lip, squaring off against a squad of bigger kids with a miniature Tamasin at his side. "You must've made quite a pair."

"Couldn't leave him to muck around on his own. Locks always had a lousy sense of self-preservation." She continued to stroke across his bandaged forehead, wrapping one unruly curl around her finger. "Always has to rush off straight into danger just to prove he's right. Makes it right bothersome for a guardian angel to do her bloody job."

John gaped like a proper fool at that declaration. "Sorry, did you just say guardian angel?" At her sage nod, he blew out a sigh. "Well, that certainly explains a lot."

Tamasin cocked her head, interest piquing in her eyes. "My being a guardian angel is easily accepted, but my being his sister was not so quickly believed?"

"Yeah, that's right." At her mildly dumbstruck expression he shrugged. "It's the only explanation that makes sense of everything that's already happened. Why Sherlock's acted so damned off, why every clue he picked up seemed even more random than usual, how Molly knew where to point us, and why I felt the need to check a freezer for no reason. 'When you've eliminated the impossible, whatever is left, however improbable, must be the truth,' as Sherlock is so fond of saying."

"And how did you deduce this? I'm curious as to what you classify as impossible."

John had a wonderfully prepared deduction for that reply, but he never got the chance to deliver it. A loud flurry of wild beeps suddenly shattered the air, drawing three pairs of eyes to the flashing monitor attached to Sherlock. Warnings were blinking at his heart rate and BP indicators, familiar warnings that had John shouting, "Code blue! Get the crash trolley in here!" Mycroft was already out the door and yelling for help.

A doctor and two nurses rushed into the room in a matter of seconds, shoving past John and taking up positions around Sherlock's bed. "Patient is experiencing cardiac arrest. Prepare the syringes and charge the cart." He accepted a tube from his nurse and carefully intubated the consulting detective.

One area of the monitor cut to zero, letting out a loud whine. The nurse assisting the doctor hastily checked the monitor. "We're losing him!"

The doctor hesitated for the briefest second before shouting, "Hit him, now!"

"It's still charging!" the other nurse said.

Belatedly, John realized that in all the commotion, Tamasin had moved to the end of Sherlock's bed. Her periwinkle eyes bored into her bother's slack face with an intensity that made John flinch. He couldn't be sure, but it appeared that two enormous shadows were growing in size on the wall behind her.

His attention remained on Tamasin, as she announced in a voice of strength and determination, "You will not give up so easily, Sherlock Holmes. Not on my watch."

John watched, horrorstruck, as the EKG showed Herlock's heart going into ventricular fibrillation, then flatlining with a harsh EEEEEEEE.


Hopefully this helps clear up some questions regarding Tamasin. Hope it doesn't feel too rushed.

Review please!