TITLE: The Other One
CHAPTER/TITLE: Chapter Ten/ Disappearing Act
RATING: T (violence/language)
A/N: Nothing like a little snippet of BAMF John to make a girl smile while writing.
Review please?
Chapter Ten: Disappearing Act
John and Sherlock exchanged glances as they both watched Merlin nearly drown himself in the soup and tea. The boy barely came up for air as he polished off the bowl, draining it dry. He seemed to stare almost longingly at the empty contents.
"Would you like some more, dear?" Mrs. Hudson hovered over Merlin expectantly.
"Oh, no," Merlin shook his head as she took his bowl. "I couldn't."
"Nonsense," the older woman waved her hand.
"Really, I'm full," Merlin insisted kindly. "It was quite good. Best I've had. Thank you."
Mrs. Hudson was far too flattered to notice the lie that Sherlock swiftly caught.
"Oh, well, you are very welcome," the woman beamed. "How I wish others appreciated my cooking like you do," she flashed a fiery but friendly glare at Sherlock. That, he didn't notice.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," John tipped his head at their landlady as she made her leave.
"Lying, again," Sherlock pierced Merlin with his eyes once the woman was down the stairs. "Becoming habit for you."
Merlin glanced away sheepishly.
"When was the last time you've eaten?" Sherlock fired off the question without waiting for a response. "Nevermind. Don't answer that. Not that you would. Let's see, yes. Scrap of bread, what - two days ago? Nothing before that for at least four days, possibly more. What would you say, doctor?"
John didn't answer. He didn't need Sherlock's power to somehow see the breadcrumb on Merlin's jacket when they first met him or under his fingernails - or however he always figured those things out - to know the truth. Merlin's appearance told enough of a story, from the dark and sunken caverns underneath his eyes to the skin stretched tightly over his ribcage. Instead of adding fuel to Sherlock's fire, the medical man turned a concerned gaze to his patient.
"Merlin?" He prompted.
"Winter's always hard," Melrin shrugged.
"Oh, that may be true," Sherlock shook his head, "but with your talents, I bet you win quite a good amount of money from those card games of yours, unless they all end with you being beaten and left for dead. Then there's your magic tricks. That's got to get you something from the bleeding hearts of the world that pass you by and stop to watch your little show. You obviously don't spend money on clothes and you aren't supporting a drug habit, nor do you have a taste for alcohol. So, what is it then?" Sherlock paused and then clapped his hands together. "Ah! Yes! Of course. That good old moral compass. John's got one too. Annoying, really. So, who'd you give it to? Old lady? Small child? Please tell me you were at least intelligent enough not to waste your earnings by handing them over to an addict."
"Two kids," Merlin sighed after a measured moment. "Brother 'n sister. Seven and eight. Runaways."
"You should've gone to the police," John shook his head. "That's too young to be on the streets."
"Police don't help," Merlin shot a significant look at his brother. "Just send you away. Those kids are better off being on the streets, together, than being torn apart and shuffled and herded like cattle, only to be -"
Merlin suddenly snapped his mouth shut, as if only then realizing what he had been saying, or about to say.
"To be what?" John pressed patiently, knowing without Sherlock's genius brain that Merlin had been talking about far more than the two children.
"It's nothing," Merlin mumbled.
"And another lie," Sherlock sniffed. "Father would wash out your mouth."
"He wasn't my father!"
John wasn't sure which was more surprising, the words - or the right hook that accompanied them and landed against Sherlock's jaw.
It wasn't until the doctor went to help his flatmate back to his feet that John saw Sherlock was, for once, just as shocked as he was.
It was a rare expression to color the great detective's face and John almost didn't recognize it. Before he could blink, though, it was gone, replaced by a veil of indifference.
"Of course," Sherlock nodded, something dark flashing in the depths of his eyes. "That makes perfect sense. That certainly explains the -"
"Stop," Merlin was suddenly pleading. "Please."
"How could you not tell me?" Sherlock advanced on his younger brother, a mixture of betrayal, anger - and was that pain? - in his voice.
"How could you not figure it out?" Merlin swallowed a sob in between a scream. "You always knew everything! I looked up to you! I trusted you! I thought you - that one day you'd see. But it wasn't you."
"Mycroft," Sherlock spat the word like bad meat in his mouth.
Merlin merely nodded, a subtle flinch at the name.
"Mycroft found out," Sherlock continued, "and made you disappear."
"I'd hardly say disappear," a voice rolled from the entryway and both younger Holmes brothers stiffened.
"I told you not to let me see you," Sherlock warned.
"Then close your eyes," Mycroft retorted apathetically. "I couldn't simply allow this to go on without intervening, now could I?"
"Intervening?" Sherlock hissed, staring at Mycroft through slits for eyes. "You've already intervened quite enough, don't you think, dear brother?"
"I've only ever done what has been best for the both of you," the British government official shook his head.
"And who made you God?" Sherlock snapped.
"Well, someone had to take control in this family after -"
"I suggest you stop speaking before the next body I'm standing over is yours," Sherlock threatened.
"Okay," John cleared his throat, "let's everybody calm down, shall we?"
"I was the eldest," Mycroft plowed forward, giving no recognition of even hearing John. "It was my responsibility. My duty."
"Duty," Sherlock slapped the word against his tongue.
"Yes, duty," Mycroft repeated, as if to a child. "That is what family is, Sherlock. Don't be getting caught up in sentiment now."
"I was 'caught up' in sentiment when I was told my brother was dead!" Sherlock screamed.
"But you moved on," Mycroft challenged.
"What?" Sherlock snapped back.
"I'm sorry," John cut in hesitantly, "I know this is really none of my business, but could someone please explain what the hell is going on?"