THE ANDERSON HOLMES SERIE
The Writing Koala
Summary : Anderson seems to just be Sherlock's scapegoat. Few are those who know that Anderson is actually Mummy Holmes, Mycroft's husband, who Sherlock turn up to whenever he is feeling down. – sort of BAMP!Anderson
III
"How we all met John"
Sherlock's new idea was at the beginning of June 2009, to find a flatmate.
"If I want to move in to Baker Street, I have to find a flatmate." He said on a day he was having breakfast with them. Four years old Ingham and Isenham looked up and observed him seriously for some time. Then, they turned to their dad and rose – really – one eyebrow each. Anderson who was feeding little baby Baptistine smirked before looking up to Sherlock. He shrugged.
"That's a very good idea Sherlock." He answered. And the look of clear and pure relief that crossed Sherlock's face hurt Anderson a little.
Sherlock had no faith in himself.
"You know it's going to be hard though." He added softly.
"I can make compromise." Sherlock grunted, sitting in front of Anderson and handing an orange to Isenham. "Merci tonton," the little boy said in perfect French.
Sherlock nodded.
"Compromise would make you unhappy, Sherlock." Mycroft's voice came for the hallway and Anderson's face lit up, a large smile eating at his face.
"My, you're back." Anderson said before the boys who had been looking at their father with gobsmacked expression jumped out of their seats and ran to their father.
"Papa." They cried excited before hugging Mycroft's knees with all their little forces.
Mycroft kneeled and kissed his boys' forehead.
"I missed you, boys." He said. And the children nodded frantically and hugged his neck. "We missed you too." They answered.
Mycroft stood up with his sons in his arms and came to the table. He deposited the boys in their seats, then kissed Sherlock's forehead as well and rounded the table to properly great his husband. He then took the baby in his arm and little Baptistine laughed and clapped her sticky hands on her father's tie.
"Hello, princess." He said. The child looked intently at its father for a while before bubbling vigorously. Mycroft's big smile softened.
He seated her back in her high chair.
"So, flatmate?" he said after taking a seat next to Anderson.
"Yes, flatmate." Sherlock answered.
-O-
Mike Stamford had not been Sherlock's friend at first. He had been Anderson. And he would remember the day the man came into his lab with this gangly young fellow for a very long time – in fact, he would remember it as much as he remembered his daughter's birth.
Since then, Sherlock had been a constant presence in St Bart's life and everyone knew what kind of 'little shit' the boy – he was still a boy for most of them, even if he was now almost twenty-seven – could be.
"So, Anderson told me you were searching for a flatmate." He said walking into Sherlock's attributed lab.
The boy looked up and nodded. "Yes, but unfortunately, there aren't a lot of people who would want me for a flatmate," he explained, cutting straight into a fresh lung.
"Have you had any answer?"
"I already tried living with two very different type of person, but the first was cheating on his girlfriend with said girlfriend's father, and the other one was an ex drug addict who was only waiting to find someone else to take up the drug again." – And this one had been thrown out of the flat Manu military by Anderson and Lestrade.
"Well, I am sure you'll find someone soon, Sherlock, don't give up." Mike said with a smile.
"I won't." Sherlock frowned and looked into his microscope. Mike took his leave.
-O-
"I've got a flatmate Mummy." Sherlock's voice said on the phone. Anderson smiled and walked away from the building site where they had found a third suicide victim.
"Really, who's he?" Anderson asked, watching Donovan looked around the crime scene.
"His name is John Watson ; Army doctor, wounded in service, he wasn't put out by my deduction." Sherlock explained with an excited voice. Anderson smiled.
"Well, Sherlock, that's great."
"Anderson!" Lestrade yelled at him from the police car.
"Love, I've got to go, but prepare yourself to see Greg come to you in the next day or so."
"No, he'll wait for a new one." Sherlock answered.
"All right, wonder boy. But still, he'll come to you soon enough. Come for breakfast tomorrow Sherlock."
"Yes Mummy, I'll come."
And they hung up. Anderson looked at the phone a while longer and smiled again, happy and relieved. His phone biped.
'Stop smiling like that or I'm going to throw up on my lung. SH'
Anderson kept smiling.
-O-
The very first time Anderson met John Watson, Sherlock was in one of his mood.
First, he insinuated that he and Donovan were having an affair – which was, frankly, hilarious. But Sherlock was apparently really trying to show off to John. And then they were standing in the room where the new suicide victim was laying and as soon as Anderson suggested that 'Rache' may mean 'revenge' in German, Sherlock throw him outside the room very effectively – he closed the door to his face.
Anderson rolled his eyes and rested his back against the wall. He then took out his phone.
'John Watson seems to be one of a kind – he actually looks genuinely fascinated by Sherlock.' He wrote, and then smiled when he heard a 'Brilliant' said by the unfamiliar voice of John Watson in the room.
'I programmed a meeting in 30 minutes – just to be sure.' His husband answered not 15 seconds later. Anderson held back a chuckle and raised his head when Sherlock flowed past him.
He was rambling about serial Killer and suitcase and pink and – and John Watson was now all alone, pathetically going down the stairs.
Anderson followed him slowly outside the abandoned house and gritted his teeth when he saw Donovan clearly warning the doctor away from Sherlock.
'Are you ready to take him?' Anderson wrote quickly as he watched John walk away from the crime scene.
'Already on my way. The car is ready for him.'
'Good. Coming home in 25 minutes.'
-O-
Anderson was rocking Baptistine when Mycroft entered the living-room. He smiled, looking softly at his husband and their last born.
"So, how is he?" Anderson whispered, the little girl's grey eyes dropping slowly close. She kept re-opening them, though, watching her dad in fascination.
"He is – good." Mycroft said, sitting beside Anderson and undoing his tie. He seemed a little bit surprised by his own statement, but relieved all the same. "He refused the money." He added, and Anderson chuckled.
"Well, if he refused the money then, he must be the one." Anderson smirked and breathed deeply.
"I just hope he'll get use to Sherlock." He added in a whisper.
"Papa," said a voice behind them. Mycroft and Anderson turned their heads and greeted Isenham with a warm smile. The little boy came running around the sofa and jumped on his papa's laps.
"What is the matter, Isenham?" Mycroft said, his arms hugging his son closely.
"You're very late." He said, pouting. "They wanted you to read them a story before bed," Anderson said.
"Well, come on then. But just a little one."
Isenham's smile lit up the whole room. Anderson watched them disappear through the door and was going to take his daughter back to bed when his phone biped.
'Tell your insufferable husband to stop interfering or I'll never talk to him again - SH!'
Anderson raised his eyebrows and smirked.
'A little overdramatic, Sherlock, don't you think?'
'He could have put John off. John's good. Stop worrying – SH.' - yes, he seemed to be, Anderson thought.
'Just wanted to be sure, love, and we are reassured. Mycroft told me he was good.' He wrote. Baptistine bubbled in her sleep and Anderson watched with delighted fascination.
'Really?'
Anderson was still so unsure. 'Yes Sherlock. He said John Watson was good. We approve of him.'
'Well, that's good. But tell Mycroft that I won't speak to him until he has apologized for kidnapping my flatmate without asking first.'
Anderson grunted and breathed deeply. 'That man is not a toy, Sherlock.'
'I know,' appeared the reply on his screen almost instantly.
'Goodnight love.' He wrote, finally.
'Night, Mummy.'
And then, Anderson stood up and went through the long corridor to his daughter's room.
-O-
"So, another case cracked. How very public spirited. Though that's never really your motivation, is it." Mycroft said when Sherlock and John – who had just killed a man to save Sherlock's life (really, Anderson approved of him greatly) – met him just outside the crime scene.
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock grunted – oh and he was still pissed off with Mycroft who had certainly not apologized.
Anderson rolled his eyes, resting his head lazily against the leather backseat of the car.
"As ever, I'm concerned about you." Mycroft answered.
"Yes, I've been hearing about your concern," retorted Sherlock.
Anderson sighed and waited for Mycroft to apologize – and then maybe Sherlock would come eat with them – but his stubborn husband avoided the question entirely.
"… We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer. And you know how it always upset Mummy."
And no, Anderson really didn't want to be brought up in the conversation, specifically by Mycroft who had absolutely no right to call him 'Mummy' – His husband was certainly going to face some sex withholding for the next week. And Anderson shuddered at the idea of being called Mummy by Mycroft in their bed.
"I upset her? Me? It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft!" And he was not a woman – for god sake, Sherlock. 'I – am – not – a – women, Sherlock!' he wrote swiftly on his phone, certain that Sherlock would ignore him.
"No. No, wait. Mummy, who's 'Mummy'?" Came the astonished voice of John – and Anderson would have killed to just get outside the car now and tell him that he was 'Mummy' – haha – but for security's sake, he couldn't expose himself.
"Mother. This is my brother Mycroft," explained Sherlock and something in Anderson shuddered as he heard Sherlock really referring to him as his mother. He smiled softly.
"He is your brother?" John Watson asked in a mildly horrified voice. Anderson chuckled from inside the car, but neither Mycroft nor Anthea acknowledged him.
"Of course he's my brother." Sherlock responded impatiently.
"So he's not—"John kept going, his voice faltering.
"Not what?"
"I don't know, criminal mastermind." He said, and Anderson had a hard time holding his bark of laugh.
He could almost see the smirk on Sherlock's face. "Close enough."
"For goodness sake," Mycroft breathed, annoyed. "I occupy a minor position in the British government." – Oh and that was the understatement of the month.
"He is the British government. When he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis. Good evening Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home, you know what it does for the traffic." And trust Sherlock to right the wrong and expose his brother in front of everyone.
"So when you say you're concerned about him, you actually are concerned," John asked genuinely.
"Yes of course," replied Mycroft in his poshest voice. Anderson smiled again.
"I mean, it actually is a childish feud?" - More like an adult feud, but they were still pretty much 10 and 12 in their heads when annoyed by eachother.
"He's always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners."
If John couldn't imagine them, Anderson could certainly remember them and yes, it was epic – even if Sherlock and Mycroft had ended completely pissed in Mycroft and Anderson's bed, sleeping and snoring like two gigantic bear.
And Anderson had taken the picture and framed it. It was now resting on the mantel because it was the cutest picture of the brother together.
"Yeah…No, God, no," John answered before walking quickly away to catch up with Sherlock who had certainly already taken his leave.
Anderson watched Anthea then Mycroft get in the car and he smiled broadly at his husband. "Enjoyed yourself?" Mycroft asked, taking hold of his husband's outstretched hand. Anderson chuckled and nodded.
"Quite a lot." He said, and Mycroft shared his smile. "So John Watson." Anderson added. Mycroft breathed deeply and taped his umbrella against the car's floor.
"John Watson. Are you ready to be Mummy-in-law?" Mycroft asked and Anderson's eyes grow wide. He then grimaced and nipped at his bottom lip. "Sherlock is clearly besotted, but what of Watson?" He said.
"John Watson has quite the record. He was called 'three continent Watson' by his army fellows. But I think that for this time, we should see what happen." Mycroft said. And it must have been the hardest statement of the year because never – very rarely – did Mycroft allow situations to not be entirely governed by him.
Anderson leaned into him and kissed him briefly. "Good. That's good."
Fin part III
Notes : Thank you for reading. The next part will be about the pool and Reichenbach - what really happened for Anderson to try and convince Lestrade Sherlock was a fraud, haha. ^_^ Go see my LJ - I made a banner for this story ^_^ Hope you enjoyed, please leave a comment.