(3) Holmes

"Holmes?" Nero read the one word on it.

"Inside each of these envelopes," Sherlock began. "Is details of what happened, our number to call & an apology for leaving so quickly. Go to any British embassy when you land & ask for either Sherrinford or Mycroft Holmes. My brothers."

"You have two brothers?"

"Yes," Sherlock replied. "Sherry is the oldest, then Mycroft. Both work in the Service. I also have a little sister. Enola. She is the one who gave me that sword many years ago. From some people she had joined. Enola ran off with the Gypsies for a few years."

"Whoa Dad!" Nero glared at him. "Don't say that word."

"What did I say?"

"Gypsy is actually a racist term."

"Since when?" His father exclaimed.

"Learned about it in school," said Nero. "You guys are too old, perhaps."

"HEY!" Irene & Sherlock both yelped.

Nero laughed before saying, "The proper word is Roma."

"Alright, take it up with your aunt," Sherlock said. "She's known as 'GypsyPrincess' online." After a moment, he muttered, "Too old, my arse!" He looked at Irene who was pretending not to notice anything, firmly looking at her phone. "Do you want to live to your nineteenth birthday?" Sherlock grumbled. Nero & Irene both burst out laughing. When they shut up, he sighed heavily before going on. "Find either of my brothers & they can help you find the rest of them."

"Hang on," Nero looked at his mother. "Didn't one of these guys try to behead her?"

"Mycroft, yes," said Sherlock as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

"You still want me to contact him?"

"What can he do?" Sherlock had the nerve to laugh. "I beat him. I won the girl."

"Ohhhh kay," Nero sighed.

It had been almost two days since that conversation. Now, Nero stood on England's soil, looking up at a large governmental building. There were two men he needed to find, but he wondered how he would react when he laid eyes on someone who had tried to kill his mother. He also wondered how to do this, exactly. Go in & just ask for Holmes? Was it really that easy to find & contact a spy?

While he stood there, he saw a helicopter land on the roof & three people get out. Nero looked down to the door once more & finally went inside. There was a lot of security. He stayed in the lobby to avoid them for now, wondering if he should just go to the front desk. He slowly approached the woman there but never made it all the way.

Another woman was trotting across the floor, holding papers in her hands. "Mister Holmes. Mister Holmes!"

Nero whirled around to watch who she was going for. She went up to one man who had just come off an elevator & was now being checked by two security dogs. "Thank you, Lillian," the man took the papers. "This better be that package I've been waiting for." He gave one of the dogs a pat as they moved off. Nero moved closer. The man stood up, swished his long grey pony tailed hair back & looked right at him. "Something I can help you with, young man?"

"Are you ... Mycroft?"

The man raised a brow. "Both my brothers have been dead for years. Who are you?"

"You think—ooh!" Nero suddenly realized everyone here thought his father was dead. "My Dad is Sherlock Holmes & he isn't dead. So I guess you are Uncle Sherrinford, then?"

Sherrinford glared at Nero before turning away & screaming a four letter word that began with the letter F so loud & so long, the entire place came to a standstill. "I should have known. I should have known! He did this before! I should have BLOODY KNOWN!" He threw the stack of papers Lillian had given him hard against the wall. They fluttered to the floor.

"Mister Holmes?" Lillian slowly moved closer. "Are you alright?"

"NO!" He bellowed at her, making her retreat. "Any more questions?" He collapsed into an armchair. A few moments of shocked silence went by. Lillian inched sideways & began gathering the papers. He looked at Nero. "Now that I see you, I can see him. Sherlock is your father?"

"Yes."

"Tell me one thing, boy," Sherrinford demanded. "Just tell me. What the hell did Sherlock do to make him wait over two damn decades to tell us anything?"

"They were waiting for my eighteenth birthday," Nero began. "They gifted me a trip to England but with a job to do." He handed over the envelope labelled Holmes. "Dad said to find you or Mycroft first & you can help me with the rest."

"Mycroft died seven years ago," Sherrinford took the envelope but still glaring at Nero. "Bomb in his helicopter & unlike that tosser you call father, I at least know for a fact Mycroft is dead. We retrieved most of his body & I ran DNA tests on it. As for Sherlock," He stood up & finally accepted the other papers Lillian had picked up & held out to him. "This is not the first time he does this. Although last time, of course Mycroft & I knew. We helped him. But ... there are others. Especially ... oooohhhh will he be fit to be tied." He looked at all the papers in his hands, putting the yellow envelope on top. He stared at the family name. "I hate Sherlock!"

"Um, that's for all three of you," Nero tried. "You, Mycroft & Enola. I'm Nero, by the way."

"Uhh huh," Sherrinford moaned distractedly. He looked up at Nero. "I'm sorry. It's got nothing to do with you. Sherlock is ... never mind. Come with me." He turned & headed for the elevator.

"... Uncle ...?"

Sherrinford turned to look at him & managed a short smile. "I like that. Uncle. Come on." They got into the elevator along with another agent who seemed to be something of a bodyguard. "So, who's your mother?"

"Irene," said Nero.

"What? She's still alive?"

"She's not as dead as Uncle Mycroft would have hoped."

"Sherlock!" Sherrinford groaned. "Of course, he went & saved her. I really should have known." They got out onto the top floor just under the roof where the helicopter was parked. Sherrinford nodded silently to someone & Nero was suddenly grabbed by three men. "You understand of course, I do need to have you checked out before going any further. I suggest you cooperate." He went to sit down. Nero was dragged away into another room where he was poked, prodded & analyzed for what seemed like ever. Sherrinford opened the envelope & began reading. By the time Nero was released, Sherrinford had his face in his hands.

"DNA checks out, Sir," an agent handed over another paper. "Father: Sherlock Holmes. Mother: Irene Adler. He disappeared & presumed dead about twenty years ago. Her supposedly dead around twenty-five years ago."

"Yeah," Sherrinford leaned back in his chair & took the paper. "I believe it." He looked at Nero. "I read your father's letter while you were held up." Ignoring the slight glare, he went on. "We knew those bullets came from his gun. We could not understand why. I eventually got them to think that perhaps his gun had been stolen or something. Now I know what really happened." He stood up. "Sorry about your mother, Nero."

"They just recently told me," said Nero. "My mother has a few scars from that."

"I know," Sherrinford said. "He described it. Everything. Even the fact that what happened to her nearly destroyed her. Her chance of pregnancy went down to about four percent & she nearly died giving birth to you, so he got a vasectomy."

"Ok, they didn't mention that!" Nero exclaimed. "No wonder I'm an only child."

"I'll take you home," Sherrinford said. "Enola needs to hear about this as well."

Nero followed him up some stairs & out onto the rooftop. It dawned on him, he was about to get into a helicopter for the first time. Once he settled into the back, Sherrinford helped him strap in securely, then got into the pilot's chair. Nero was soon flying over London in a Holmes helicopter.

They went into the countryside where a large estate sat against some hills. The roof had it's own helipad. As Nero climbed out, he could see down the driveway. A limo was pulling up. As he watched, he saw a woman get out.

"Mm, our sister, Enola," Sherrinford said. "Out of the four of us, her & Sherlock were the closest. I called her earlier while they were checking you out." He led the way down the stairs into the house.

"Sherrinford," Enola put her arms around her last brother's neck for a moment. "What is this ab—good heavens! SHERLOCK?" She stared straight at Nero. "No, you're dead."

"My Dad is quite alive," Nero said. "I'm Nero."

"Sherlock's son, with Irene, no less," Sherrinford explained.

"He saved her?" Enola gasped.

"Apparently so," Sherrinford replied. "There's a letter, too." He held out the Holmes envelope. "Enola?"

Enola turned away & with a scream of rage, she punched her fist down through the glass coffee table, cutting her hand. "Now I know how John felt! At least last time, Sherlock told us since we are family, but he left out John."

"It's ok," Sherrinford looked at the shattered remains of the table. "It's just a Chinese table worth five hundred thousand pounds. But let's get that hand taken care of."

"It wasn't a table," Enola snarled, holding up her bleeding hand. "It was William's stupid face!"

"We all hate him right now, dear," Sherrinford herded his sister into the washroom.

Half an hour later, Nero was sitting on the lounge with Enola while Sherrinford stood in the bay window, glaring at the rain pouring down. She had yet to read the letter as she was still keeping her hand elevated even though it was wrapped. "Now that I see you up close, I can see the differences. Your hair has some red in it. Take after Irene more, don't you?"

"You know my mother?" Nero asked.

"When she first showed up, Will fell crazy in love with her," Enola said. "Everyone else thought he was incapable of that & so it took us by surprise. He talked to me all the time about the Woman. I got all the gossip ... & then, it just stopped." Sherrinford scoffed under breath & went back to staring into the rain. Enola laughed at him. "I'm his favourite, Sherry. Why do you think I'm the only one who can call him by his first name?"

"Whatever," Sherrinford complained.

Enola turned & picked up a picture from from the side table. "Here is one of few pictures with all four of us together." She handed it to Nero.

"Is this Mycroft?" Nero pointed to the man on Sherlock's right side.

"Yeah, that's him," Enola slowly worked her better hand into the envelope & pulled it out. "Alright, let's see what he has to say for himself this time." After reading it, she laid it aside. "So ... he really did kill all those people, then."

"They were trying to kill Mom."

"I know," Enola looked over her shoulder to where Sherrinford was still standing. "But surely you can clear up that little mess about the rapist at least with that Secret Service you work in, right Sherry?"

"I can, but do I want to?"

"Sherry," Enola rolled her eyes. "As soon as you fix it, you can call him & let him know he can come home."

"I don't even want to talk to him, right now!"

"Well I do!" Enola stood up to face him.

"You can call him, right now," said Nero. "They're only three hours behind us." Sherrinford was suddenly standing silent, eyes closed, off in his own Mind Palace. Where in the world was three hours behind England?

"Don't mind if I do," Enola pulled out her mobile.

"Enola!" Sherrinford exclaimed.

She lowered her mobile. "What, you going to stop me?"

"I'm trying to think!"

They glared at each other before Enola said, "Fine, YOU can tell him about Mycroft." Ignoring his look, she finished dialing & waited for an answer. "Both of you need a good beating by that Wom—hello?" Her whole demeanour changed in an instant.

"I'm sure he's had plenty," Sherrinford derided. Enola stuck up a middle finger while Nero pressed a hand to his eyes, wiping away tears of laughter.

"Enola," Sherlock put the phone on speaker so Irene could hear as well. "It's been a long time."

"Yes it has!" Enola snapped at him. "What were you thinking? Please come home! Sherrinford would be happy to fix your little problem." Sherrinford just snarled at her.

"He does not sound happy," Sherlock pointed out.

"Give it here," Sherrinford snapped his fingers at Enola. "NOW! Enola give me—oof!" She had thrown it in his face. He sighed heavily before bellowing, "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE, LITTLE ONE?!"

"I kn—"

"SECOND TIME IN A ROW!" Sherrinford wasn't finished. "Are you trying to kill him or something?"

There was a long pause. No one needed to mention who 'him' was.

"You know, I don't even want to tell him," Sherrinford went on. "He's better off thinking you're dead! We all thought you died."

"Sherry—"

"DON'T!" Sherrinford shouted before trying to lower his voice a bit. "Sherry me, little brother!"

"Shane—"

"Nope! Not my first name either. Don't you dare!"

"I am sorry."

"You always are!"

"May I speak to Mycroft, please?"

"Mycroft?" Sherrinford huffed. "If you want to speak to him, set up a seance! There was a bomb in his helicopter. He's been dead for seven years & unlike you, he is never coming back!"

"Mycroft is dead?" Sherlock wavered on his feet & sat down.

"Yes, Sherly! He's gone. Your fault you missed it!" Sherrinford stopped for a moment to try to calm down. It didn't work. "Just wait until I get my hands on you! Don't think I won't figure out where you are! You're not the only one born with the superpower of deducing! All us Holmes men have it."

"I am the best at it!" Sherlock all but sneered.

"Mycroft was better," Sherrinford sassed back, equally as childish.

Enola leaned close to Nero. "All Holmes boys never grow up, either. Please tell me you take after your mother in more than just the hair?"

"Apparently yes," said Nero. "Although, I didn't get into that sex stuff she does." Enola sat straight as Nero added. "I mean, not yet anyway." Enola put face to palm for a moment.

"BOYS!" Irene shouted into the speaker so Sherrinford could hear it, too. "Twenty years & not a single thing has changed."

"Why would we change?" Sherrinford muttered. "By the way, aren't you supposed to be dead?" It was Irene's turn to put her face into her hand. Nero cast a nervous glance at his uncle.

"Put Enola back on!" Sherlock ordered.

"Why?" Sherrinford all but purred.

"I want my sister!"

"You want her?" Sherrinford asked pleasantly. "Come & get her!" At that, he turned off the call.

"SHERRINF—" Sherlock glared at the phone.

"That ... went better than I expected," Irene tried to comfort him. Sherlock just glared at her, then kicked the table.