AN: Hello, everyone! I know you're all waiting on updates to my other stories - so am I. They're not co-operating with me at the moment. In the meantime, however, I've gotten on a Sherlock kick, so I've decided to write this. Hope you all enjoy, and please let me know what you think - please be kind, even if you hate it.
Summary: Charlotte Watson had decided at young age she wanted to study the human mind. She wanted to know what made people tick. Mostly, she wanted to know why her father was so mean when he drank, and why he was so awful to her big sister Harry. She went into college and decided she was going to specialize in addiction. When her brother John joined the Army, she decided she would expand her field of study to cover trauma as well. Several years later, she's a successful therapist, her brother has been invalided home, and her sister is an alcoholic. One day, as she's finishing up for the day, she receives a strange phone call from an unknown number. Curious, she follows the directions of the voice on the phone and meets the enigmatic Mycroft Holmes. He is concerned for his brother, as she is for hers. The two come to an agreement. She would provide the two with what assistance they would allow, and Mycroft would keep an eye on them both. Until the fall. After Sherlock's death, Mycroft goes silent. Then, out of the blue, he sends her text, warning her that John isn't handling his friend's death well. Charlotte rushes to London, hoping she's not too late.
It was late evening, a woman in her mid-thirties sat at a desk, finishing paperwork. She wore a pale blue blouse and black slacks, her blonde hair up in a bun, strands having fallen out through out the day, a few now framing her face. A single lamp lit the darkening office. She was closing out of a document when the phone rang. She picked it up.
"Carlisle Mental Health Center, Dr. Watson speaking. How may I help you?"
"Dr. Watson, this is somewhat of a… personal matter."
She raised her eyebrows.
"Well, sir, I do practice discussing personal matters. May I ask whom I am a dressing?"
"I am an acquaintance of your brother's, Dr. Watson."
"You know John? Why are you calling me to discuss him?"
"Your brother is now sharing a flat with mine. My brother is a constant source of worry for me, and I'm sure you worry for your brother as well."
She hummed in confirmation. She knew her brother was living with. She read his blog. Sherlock Holmes was a truly fascinating individual.
"As much as anyone worries for their siblings, I suppose. Should I be concerned about my brother's new living arrangements?"
"I'm afraid so, Dr. Watson, though I would prefer to continue this conversation in private. You are preparing to leave your office, are you not?"
She frowned.
"I was about to when you called, yes. How do you know that? Who are you?"
"As I said, I am an –"
"Acquaintance of my brother's. So you said. I would like to know your name, sir." She interrupted sharply. A phone call just as she's finishing up her paperwork? About her brother, no less? Something strange was going on, and she was going to find out what. She waited impatiently for the man to answer. A tired sigh rang over the line.
"I assure you, all question will be answered in person, Dr. Watson. When you leave your office, there will be a car waiting on you, please get inside and it will bring you to me. We will discuss more then."
She scowled.
"I'm not going anywhere until I get a name." she snapped. Another sigh.
"Very well, Dr. Watson. You're even more obstinate than your brother, it appears. My name is Mycroft Holmes."
She smiled.
"Thank you. I'll see you shortly, Mr. Holmes."
She hung up and began the process of shutting everything down. She still had a few things to add to her files, but she could do that later. John was more important. As she grabbed her bag and her keys, she sent a text to her brother.
Do you know a Mycroft Holmes?
She dropped her phone in her bag and locked up her office, heading swiftly downstairs. She was locking the outside door when her phone pinged. She saw a black car idling at the corner, a young woman leaning against it. She smiled when she saw her and waved her over. She dug out her phone to check it.
Yes. Why?
Don't worry about it. Thank you.
She shut off her phone, sliding into the car behind the other woman.
"And who are you?" she asked mildly.
"Anthea. I'm Mr. Holmes' PA." she answered with a vague smile. She nodded. Made sense, she supposed. They fell into silence. At least until she noticed they were leaving Carlisle.
"Where are you taking me?" she demanded. Anthea smiled again.
"Not too far. You'll still be able to get to work on time in the morning." She assured her. She huffed. Of course, she thought sarcastically. She fell silent once more, she pulled out her phone and began looking up Mycroft Holmes. So little information, yet so much at the same time. How very intriguing. When she finally looked back up from her phone and out the window, she saw a sign welcoming them to Middlesbrough and frowned. That was a near two-hour drive. She hoped they would be taking her back the way they'd brought her here. There was no way she'd be able to get a train back home at this hour. Eventually they pulled up in front of a two-story brick house with bay windows and a lovely garden out front. She raised an eyebrow at Anthea. The other woman smiled vaguely once more.
"Go on. He's waiting for you."
Shaking her head, she left the car and approached the house. She rang the bell. A few minutes and some shuffling from inside and the door was opened. On the other side stood a man in a pinstripe suit, with reddish-brown hair and a receding hairline. He smiled thinly at her.
"Welcome, Dr. Watson," he stepped to the side, "please, do come in."
She stepped inside, around the man and waited for him to close the door and lead the way. He led her to a sitting room, with crème-colored walls and white, Victorian-style furniture. She perched on the settee and looked at him expectantly. He sat in an armchair to her left.
"Mr. Holmes, I presume."
He inclined his head.
"Quite."
"You're an interesting man, Mr. Holmes. I'm curious as to why a member of our illustrious government wishes to speak to me about my brother." She said, leaning forward, clasping her hands together and resting her elbows on her knees, watching him expectantly.
"As I said on the phone, Dr. Watson, your brother and mine are now sharing a flat, and I have some concerns."
She raised her eyebrows. So much subterfuge for a little brotherly concern?
"Such as?"
"The other Dr. Watson moved in with my brother shortly after helping him chase down a criminal."
Her eyes widened. She remembered reading about her brother's first 'case' with Sherlock Holmes.
"Ah. I assume you are referring to the incident John refers to as 'A Study in Pink'?" she questioned. He arched a brow in surprise. She shrugged.
"My brother is a soldier and I'm a clinical psychiatrist, Mr. Holmes. Of course I keep an eye on his therapy assignment. He was also rather ecstatic when telling me how Sherlock 'cured his limp'. When he called me and gushed about his 'amazing' new flatmate, I did a bit of research. I did not, however, see anything connecting the two of you. Now, what, exactly, do you want, Mr. Holmes?"
He looked surprised for a moment, and something like approval flashed in his eyes, then it was gone.
"Very well, to the point, then. As I stated earlier, my brother is a constant source of worry," she inclined her head. She could understand why, "Now that he is living with the other Dr. Watson, I find myself somewhat concerned for him as well, if only for my brother's sake."
She leaned back and nodded again.
"You're worried what they'll bring out in each other – whether they will destroy each other or if this new arrangement will prove beneficial to your brother."
Holmes nodded as well in agreement. Watson tilted her head.
"I understand, to an extent. From what I've read on John's blog and what he's told me over the phone, the two of them have developed a frightening dependence on each other. They practically live in each other's pockets. Given your worry for your brother – and about mine, I'm assuming you want something from me. How can I help you, Mr. Holmes?"
He studied her for several long moments, an odd look in his eye.
"I propose an arrangement, Dr. Watson. I am closer to both of our brothers, but you are in a better position to help them, as your relationship with your brother is better than mine is with Sherlock. I will make all the arrangements, and you will convince John to accept assistance from time to time."
She hummed under her breath, considering for a moment. John was a proud man, but he also couldn't stand to make her worry. So long as she expressed concern for a few days before offering assistance – ask him to accept it for her sake. It would ease her mind to know he was taken care of, after all. It shouldn't be too difficult. She nodded.
"I agree to your terms, Mr. Holmes – so long as you agree to keep me up to date on the two of them. You're not the only one with concerns, after all."
He arched a brow once more.
"You don't want money?"
She rolled her eyes, bristling at the implication that she needed an incentive to help her brother other than an honest desire to do so.
"Helping your brother helps mine. I don't need you to pay me to help John. I assure you, you do not care for your brother more than I do mine – you are simply able to do more than I am. We're agreed, then?" she added, somewhat waspishly. He nodded.
"We are. A pleasure doing business with you, Dr. Watson. Anthea is waiting outside to escort you home."
She quirked a brow, and her lips twitched in a slight smile. She reached into her bag and pulled out a pin and one of her business cards. She wrote down the number to her mobile and held it out to him.
"Easier than calling me at work," she explained at his raised eyebrows, "And call me Charlotte, Mr. Holmes, rather than addressing John and I both as Dr. Watson." She added with a grin. With that, she exited the house and headed back to the car, missing the appraising look the man sent her.
The arrangement with Mycroft went well. He kept her up to date on their brothers, and she occasionally managed to shove something off on John to keep the two of them afloat and properly fed. She even managed to sneak a few things in for Sherlock on rare occasions. She followed the boys' career, both through Mycroft and through John's blog. This continued for nearly two years. Until Sherlock jumped off the roof of St. Bart's in November of 2011. John blogged a few more cases afterward before finally shutting the blog down. It was two months into the new year when she received and unexpected text from Mycroft.
I've bought you a train ticket to London. It leaves at 1500. Pack a bag and don't be late. John is about to do something drastic.
She left her office immediately, telling the secretary to cancel her appointments for the rest of the month and into the next as she left. She went home and quickly pack. Mycroft had sent that message at 1300. She had an hour and a half to get to the train station. She only hoped John didn't do anything before she could get to him.
