Chapter 3

Looking at the expressions on the two other men's faces, John assumed that had not been the reaction they had been expecting.

"Well that wasn't quite how I'd planned this to go," Mycroft said, just as John realised why Merlin's reaction to seeing Sherlock had been so severe.

"Wait a minute, you didn't tell him that Sherlock was alive? He thinks Sherlock should be dead! How could you keep that from your youngest brother?"

"He wouldn't have been able to convincingly act like I was dead," Sherlock said coldly, "He was never any good at keeping secrets."

"So instead you let him be tormented with the knowledge you were dead! Think about how badly he could have reacted! Christ, he doesn't look much older than twenty!"

"He's seventeen," Mycroft cut in.

"That's even worse! He would have been fifteen when you 'died'! Jesus, it's a wonder he looks so well! Think about how poorly I handled the situation, and I am nineteen years older than him!"

"I stopped him from jumping, it's not like I could have predicted his reaction to my demise. Death is just a boring fact of life," Sherlock said nonchalantly.

"He tried to jump! And you still didn't tell him you were alive! You know what, I knew you were pretty useless when it came to feelings, but I always thought you had at least some sort of emotion locked up deep down in you. Now I know I was wrong."

"Are you disappointed in me again John?"

"Unbelievable," John muttered and with that he walked over to where Anthea had dumped Arthur, who was sat with a dazed look in his eyes. "Hello there, you must be the Arthur Merlin mentioned, my name's Doctor John Watson, is it ok if I check you for concussion?"

"Sure," Arthur murmured, "But I'm pretty sure already that I have concussion."

"Why?" John asked.

"Because there is no way that Sherlock Holmes is sat over there."

"I can assure you that he is, unfortunately."

"But that makes no sense!" Arthur yelped as John lightly pressed cool hands against the purpling bruise on his head. "I saw the news report on his death, but more so than that, I've seen Merlin get very upset at the mention of him, he practically worshipped the man and was devastated when he died from what I've gathered. When he gets drunk he always brings up how much he misses him!"

"I'm afraid that Sherlock is alive. He's an arse for keeping this from his younger brother. As is Mycroft." John raised his voice with those statements, much to the annoyance of both the older Holmes's. "Anyway, it looks like you do have a slight concussion, but the only advice I can give you about that is to take some aspirin."

"Thanks. Wait, where's Merlin?"

John went to point to where the boy had collapsed on the floor, but there was no longer anyone there.

"Sherlock," John said worriedly, forgetting his quarrel with his younger friend. "Merlin's vanished."

Merlin was sat on a wooden rope swing in a park nearby to where the country club had was. His mind was whirring full of disjointed thoughts. Contrary to what many thought, Merlin did share the deductive skills of both his older brothers, without the power complex of Mycroft or the attitude of Sherlock. He had known from the moment he had entered the room that John had only recently regained his psychosomatic limp due to the stress of a recent reunion, and that Mycroft had gained three pounds due to a scandal concerning the radiation poisoning of an ex- Russian spy, which he had supposed to have covered up. Unlike his brothers though, Merlin preferred to keep his gift well hidden, after years of bullying and beatings from his peers. It turned out not everyone liked to know their father was an alcoholic or that their mother was having an affair with the postman.

Merlin's thoughts turned then to his brothers. Why hadn't they told him that Sherlock was alive? The ache that filled him when he had awoken to find that Sherlock didn't think he could lie about the fact he was alive hurt him deeply. He'd hidden that particular skill set from the school bullies and university faculty for several years, having been already tormented for skipping a year of school; the only people that knew about his ability were Gaius and his friends Lancelot and Will, although secretly Merlin suspected that his drunken study partner Gwaine might have guessed that Merlin was much smarter than he let on. But the fact that Sherlock deemed him untrustworthy filled him with sorrow.

Suddenly a horrid thought struck him. "Is it because I'm... normal?" Merlin pondered aloud.

He'd never considered that being normal was a bad thing, much to the despair of his brothers. On the contrary, he'd found that by acting like one of the crowd he could more easily infiltrate the popular groups and fit in, rather than being that weirdo on the fringes of society as he had been as a child. Perhaps though Sherlock resented how easily Merlin had rejected him when he was young.

The pair had been extremely close as children despite the eleven year age gap between the two of them. Sherlock had enjoyed having someone whom he could share his deductions with without fear of the consequences, and Merlin had enjoyed the company of his brother being a lonely child himself. However when Merlin had reached seven, he began the pretence of normality to please those around him, which Sherlock disapproved of, declaring Merlin was now 'boring.' A few weeks later, the day he turned eighteen, Sherlock left home and Merlin hadn't spoken to him face to face since, as Sherlock refused to speak to him.

Merlin sighed and stood up. He had worried the others long enough, it was probably about time he headed back. Besides, he wanted to check that Arthur was ok, the overprotective idiot was probably ranting at Sherlock already. Something which Merlin was all too ready to join in with.

As he wandered along the street, he cast his thoughts towards his future. He'd had a couple of offers from Gaius to find him a job amongst the university when he was done, but Merlin had politely declined them. He didn't know what he wanted to do, but it had to be just as big, if not bigger, than his elder brothers.

He'd show Sherlock. And Mycroft too. "I'm not normal, I can be just as intelligent as they are," he said quietly to himself.

"I don't doubt you can be darling," came a lilting voice from behind him.

Quickly spinning around, Merlin noticed a man leaning against a black Aston Martin not dissimilar to the car Mycroft enjoyed using. He was dressed in a suit which Merlin deduced was custom fitted from Westwood. The voice he'd spoken with was clearly Irish, and in his hand he held a single apple. But it was his face that really caught his was the face of a man who Merlin knew, not personally, but someone who had a hand in the supposed suicide of his brother; a man who was supposed to be dead too.

"Hi there. The name's Jim Moriarty. You must be Merlin Holmes! Why don't we have a little chat?"

Hello again! Hope you enjoyed chapter 3 and don't forget to review! Those who do get previews and bonus content! :) Speaking of reviews, huge thank you's to Lady Ningrum, Doctor Frostybuscus, Ve, Sahba and Ellen! :) A big thank you to my awesome beta Morgana-Le-Fai! See y'all next week :)

IndiaMoore