"Why do you want to be a doctor, John?"
Both teenagers were lying over the cold grass on their backs, looking directly to the sky with their eyes like asking themselves how many stars were over them in the dark sky. It was a warm night and they were just there in silence maybe making a summary inside their heads about the previous events during dinner or wondering what will happen the following morning once the sun were up in the sky.
Sherlock's question broke that silence, making John realize where he was. John Holmes was in his home, in the garden to be more accurate, with his brother Sherlock Holmes lying on their backs watching the dark and black sky over their heads. There were a few stars that shone more than others. The blond teenager smiled at that fact. His older brother told him it was because those were more close to the Earth. He had a vague memory of his mother, his biological mother.
'Some stars shine more than others because they are special. You, my baby, are one of those stars. You'll shine more than anyone else because you're special'
He had to admit he was a very curious boy always asking his mother things about nature and why his nails were the way they were, why his hair was blonde, was he was a boy and his sister a girl. He smiled to himself when he remembered those moments. He tried to keep them clear and safe on his head, but with the time passing, he find out that it became more and more difficult to still remember. There were days in wich he couldn't remember his parent's faces. Pitifully he didn't have any picture of them, or of his sister. He didn't know any relative. He didn't know if Harriet was alive. The only thing he remembered was waking up with a nun beside his bed, and a plaster on his right arm after a car crash.
He took his brother's hand and stroke it gently. Sherlock's face turned to face him, but he didn't look back. After a few deep breaths, John faced him. His dark and long curls were placed in such indistinctive ways over his forehead. When they looked at each other, John remembered how different they were. Not only physically with their hair, their eyes, their features. They were different in attitude as well. Sherlock was energic, fearless, eccentric in some ways and bold. All the opposite of him. They were different.
John Holmes still remember his first days living under the same roof as Sherlock. The tall boy couldn't forgive him something he didn't know at that moment. He paid it with silence and indifference coming from the curly haired boy. At it could have been lasted until present days unless he made the first move.
'Can I- Can I work with you on them? I- I don't have anything to do, and-'
'I'm going to dissect some frogs. Maybe you can help me, though'
Since that day, they were inseparable. It was almost impossible to conceive one without the other. John was proud to be close to Sherlock. He was proud to share those moments together in their laboratory making strange experiments, stealing cookies from the kitchen before dinner, reading together detective stories and even making one or another little joke to Mycroft when he was at home. Mostly important, John was proud to be Sherlock's brother.
"Am I your brother, Sherlock?"
John said out of the blue. It took Sherlock for surprise, but he didn't hesitate at the moment of his answer. His brother's blue eyes were visible even in the most darkest night of the year. His short and neat blonde hair and his porridge jumper had green stains from the grass under him back. After the discussion over the diner table, John seemed to be happy. His father couldn't accept his decision about Saint Bartholomew's Medicine School. He wanted them both in Cambridge like all the Holmes men and women did in the past. It was early to make paperwork, but John was determinated to attend Saint Bart's after school. His brother tried to keep the comment out of the conversation, but eventually after long minutes of a senseless speech coming from Richard Holmes, John let those words leave his mouth for the first time in his life.
'I'm not a real Holmes'
His mother let out a small cry out of his mouth and heavy tears fell from his grey eyes. Her husband took her hand and let his gaze fell to the table. John sighed heavily knowing he had hurt their feelings, but it was truth. He was once John H. Watson, but now he was John H. Holmes. He wasn't a real Holmes, he wasn't as clever as his brothers. He hadn't had Elizabeth's curly hair or Richard's green eyes. He would be accepted there because he carried that name and because his father had been once the PM. But again, John admitted he wasn't a real Holmes.
He apologised to their parents after dinner. Elizabeth hugged him so tightly, that he felt like she was going to break some of his ribs. Richard accepted his decision defeated, and when both parents went upstairs to sleep, they ran out to the garden.
"I know it was a mistake to say that, but it's the truth and-"
"Don't be so stupid, John. You're my brother"
The silence of the night fell over them again and the only audible noises came from birds and frogs. They stopped hunting them when they found disection of reptiles an old experiment to perform. It remind them of the first experiment they shared together. Certainly, Sherlock didn't know it, but John kept that old paper with Sherlock's observations about frog's anatomy hidden in the deepest of a desk drawer.
They loved London.
They knew every London's street.
John and Sherlock were in love with London.
On holidays, if their parents were abroad, they used to take their money and walk through the different and striking streets of the city they knew like the palms of their hands, such as Westminster, Soho, Myfair, Covent Garden, and so on. John loved to go to Arthur Conan Doyle's museum and visit his favourite fictional detective's house. Certainly it was in a different street from the original story, but basically the place was just the same as the descriptions of the writer. They used to visit the place everytime they could, taking them several visits to convince the guard outside that they really loved the place and they weren't there to steal anything... Sherlock wanted but John was there to remember him it was a 'not bit good'. His favourite part was the fireplace and the little table in the middle of the sitting room in wich the private detective and his friend used to sit and share moments in front of the fireplace. It had an old and big magnifier, a pipe and even the detective's hat.
The blonde teenager used to tell his brother he was just like him. The deductive skills, and even the attitude made Sherlock and the fictional character the same person. 'I'd never use that hat, that pipe and that ugly magnifier John' He couldn't help but smile a him.
While John enjoyed the fireplace and the table, Sherlock was facinated with the drug's kit and the chemistry equipment on the kitchen table. It was old and the microscope was old fashioned obviously, and the other thing he loved the most was the dog's head hanging on the wall. It was from the case 'The hound of the Baskervilles', his favourite one. John liked 'Study in Scarlet' and 'The sign of the four'.
After an obligatory visit to the souvenir shop, they walked several streets, visiting Sherlock's favourite places such as the Thames, in where he used to tell John about all the bodies that could be found there and the façade of the New Scotland Yard building. The blonde boy could see the brightness on his brother's eyes. He knew he used to believe police detectives were stupids, but certainly, it was one of his most favourite places.
And when they were finishing their visit to the big city, Sherlock surprised John with a black door and a three numbers and a b letter on it. Next to the black door was a little coffee shop managed by an old lady wearing a violet dress and a open and warm smile. Both teenagers looked at the poster glued on the window of the place. The old lady was renting rooms to 'responsible' people. It had two rooms, a sitting room with a fireplace, a kitchen and a bathroom. John couldn't help but burst out laughing at the description of the place and the number on the door. It was the same as the fictional stories they read since they were kids. Sherlock didn't shared the same laugh as his brother. With a very determinated voice, Sherlock assured John one day, they will be living there together.