TITLE: The Other One

CHAPTER/TITLE: Chapter Nine/ Twice Dead

RATING: T (violence/language)

A/N:

Review please?

Chapter Nine: Twice Dead

"John, I'd like you to meet my brother. My younger, dead, brother."

"Your what?" John parroted himself.

"Do try and keep up, John," Sherlock sighed. "And stop repeating yourself. Your hearing is perfectly fine and it makes you sound even less intelligent than you already are."

John snapped his mouth shut and then dared to speak after a moment of stunned silence.

"Are you really his brother?" John direction the question carefully at Merlin.

Merlin was silent for a long second before shifting himself forward.

"I - I should - leave."

Merlin fumbled to his feet, weakling grasping for his clothes and clumsily climbing into his pants.

"No," John shook his head. "You can't leave. You're still ill."

"Thank you," Merlin offered John a sincere nod, "for everything. I'm sorry."

Merlin made to leave again, this time Sherlock stepping in his way.

"You're apologizing to him?" The detective snarled, all claims of a sociopath without emotions flying out the window.

"I - I can't apologize to you," Merlin mumbled, his eyes glued to the floor.

"And why not?" Sherlock demanded dangerously.

"Because there is nothing I can say to make it right," Merlin was panting now. "Nothing!"

"So you're just going to leave, again, because you are too unintelligent to speak properly?" Sherlock scoffed. "Too scared?"

"I shouldn't have come back," Merlin whispered.

"You should have made up your mind before you came to London," Sherlock stabbed.

Merlin's hands moved to cradle his head and John stepped into the crossfire.

"Alright, Sherlock. That's enough."

"Stay out of this, John," Sherlock ground out.

"He's sick!" John protested as Merlin began to shake. "He has a concussion and hypothermia -"

"Well, that's certainly an improvement from being dead - twice." Sherlock seethed.

"You can do this later!" John warned.

"There is no later," Sherlock hollered. "He will leave. Again!"

"I had to," Merlin grunted between gasps. "Besides, I didn't leave. I was sent away."

"You could have made contact," Sherlock huffed.

"No, I couldn't," Merlin grit his teeth, leaning on John now to keep himself upright.

"You were dead!"

"So were you!"

The sudden scream silenced Sherlock and sent Merlin crumbling to the ground. John hefted the young man carefully up and onto the couch, forcing Merlin to remain there as the doctor examined him and checked his vitals. All three remained wordless as John finished his assessment of his patient. It wasn't until he motioned for Merlin to lean forward so that he could listen to his lungs did anyone speak.

"No," Meriln's protest was soft but sharp.

"Merlin, I have to -"

"No," Merlin repeated, this time panic ebbing his tone.

The younger boy slid farther back, pressing himself against the couch. He was scrambling to slip his shirt over his head when Sherlock swooped forward and spun his younger brother around, pinning him so that his stomach was against the couch, his back screaming for all to see. And Merlin was screaming too. Actually, properly, horribly, screaming. He was shrieking and shivering as though he was back in the throngs of the nightmare. Sherlock released Merlin and snapped his hand back so fast that John almost missed it. Merlin's back was still facing them, the aged and appalling scars glaring at them, as his shoulders shook. These markings made those on his chest seem almost trivial in allowed the boy to cry and neither doctor nor detective spoke until Merlin finally stiffened under their stares and hastily brought the blanket up and around his shoulders, shielding his back, as if hiding the wounds would erase them from their minds.

"You were dead," Merlin started softly, ignoring the questions he could feel crying out from the other two's brains.

"I saw it on the telly," Merlin swallowed, still not turning towards them. "All the lies. How you were a fake. How you lied. You were always too clever to have to lie to be smart, unless you wanted to for fun, or needed to. Like - like when you lied to take me home from school when that boy gave me a bloody nose." Merlin almost smiled at the memory. Almost. "And then they said you killed yourself. I thought - I - I thought you were dead. All this time, I survived. I fought and survived - for you. I stayed alive - for you. I couldn't - I wasn't supposed to see you at first, and then I just - I couldn't. I couldn't let you see - let you know. But I thought that if I stayed alive, you'd know. You'd feel it. I didn't know you thought I was - dead. And then - then you were."

Merlin was shaking something fierce. Whether it was from emotions or cold, John didn't ask. The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to his friend.

"Sherlock, go get Mrs. Hudson -"

"Why? And I can simply text her from -"

"No," John's voice suddenly carried the weight of the title of Captain. "Go downstairs. Have Mrs. Hudson bring up some soup. And stay with her until she does."

"But -"

"Sherlock," John snapped. "I don't want you back up here until I see Mrs. Hudson in that doorway. I need time alone to finish examining my patient and you need time to calm down before you continue this conversation. Do it. Now."

There was something in John's tone that had even Sherlock following the orders, though reluctantly and begrudgingly.

"Thanks," Merlin mumbled meekly.

"Don't thank me yet," John shook his head and sighed. "This is Sherlock. Things are definitely going to get a lot messier, and louder."