At first, John just stared at Sherlock for a few moments, finally just letting his chin drop to his chest for a moment. Arms crossed over his chest, he takes a slow, deep breath before he lifts his head. "You have a brother. I mean, another brother." He says as he looks at Sherlock. "So you're a middle child. Bloody hell, I can't imagine another one of you." he says as he puts a hand over his eyes.
With a small sniff, Sherlock nods. "Yes, there are only three of us." He reassures, before he shifts uneasily. "Ford is.. different." he says before he adds, "He's a genius, yes, but he doesn't have the deduction skills that Mycroft and I have. His talents have always leant more toward the mechanical. Computers, cars, gadgets, things like that." He smiles fondly for a moment. "He rewired one of Mycroft's watches once so it would shock him whenever he tried to press one of the buttons." A small chuckle comes from his cupid-bow lips despite himself, the sound deep and rich, and it made John smile.
"So, how old is this one? I mean, I know how old you are, and I think I've guessed how old Mycroft is.." John trails off, knowing that might be a delicate question. He's trying to wrap his head around a younger brother, maybe one that is a mix between Mycroft and Sherlock, but without revealing people's lives to them all the time. He really must be an idiot because his mind is not coming up with anything, it's completely blanking out.
Sherlock considers for a few moments before he speaks. "He's 26. We don't talk often. Ford left the house when he was 16. As soon as he could, moved to London. Mummy was quite upset, since Ford was always her baby." He says with a note of disgust, wrinkling his nose a little. "She doted on him. Likely she thought he wasn't as brilliant as Mycroft and I because he lacked the deductive skills." He says thoughtfully before he sighs. "But, like Mycroft before me, by the time he was a teenager I was already out of the house." He makes a frustrated sound in his throat.
John takes this all in, imagining it, and then he smiles sadly. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. It seems no one in your family had a happy childhood, huh?" Thinking about that, he turns when the kettle clicks off and goes to make them some tea, knowing by now exactly how Sherlock likes his. For a moment, he hesitates, remembering that he used to do this when Sherlock was gone, unconsciously making two cups of tea because it had become so automatic, only to realize there was no one to drink the second cup. It's a bit like his memories of Afghanistan, he muses. They come on him at the strangest of times, and almost send him into panic attacks sometimes, but he always has to push it aside. Slowly taking a deep breath to calm himself, he finishes with the tea and moves into the living room to hand his lanky flatmate. He's at least glad to see that Sherlock is gaining some of his weight back. It seems that without John there to bug him about eating, he neglected himself worse than before and lost a great deal of weight.
"Mycroft had a happy childhood." Sherlock says bitterly as he looks at John, concerned when he sees the doctor's shoulders stiffen for a moment, knowing that some memory must be overtaking him again. He used to see it once in a while at crime scenes before the Fall, it would trigger some memory. But his doctor is strong and never lets the memories control him. When the tea is brought over, he takes it gratefully, sipping it slowly. "Mycroft is Mummy's favorite of us all, I think. No matter how much she doted on Ford, it was only because Mycroft had long since left the house, and if he came home for any reason, she would abandon Ford or me in order to go to Mycroft." He mutters angrily.
The anger doesn't last for long though as a gentle hand on Sherlock's forearm startles him out of his anger. John grasped his bare forearm, the one not holding the tea, pulling it out from his body to twist it back and forth for a moment, examining it with a thoughtful expression on his face.
"What is it, John?" Sherlock asks gently as he lets himself be examined, unable to put his tea down anywhere so he just holds onto it, sipping it lightly.
"You're still too skinny." John mutters with a small frown as he looks at the pale arm before him, mostly muscle. He can still see too many bones, too many veins for his liking. A moment or two more goes by like this, and he lightly strokes his thumb back and forth against Sherlock's skin for a moment before he jerks his hand back. "Sorry." He mumbles, turning to head back to his chair.
Things like that have been happening once in a while for the past eight months since Sherlock has been back, frustrating the detective since he's thus far been unable to figure out why. Watching John retreat to his chair, he frowns for a few moments as he tries to figure it out. "Its fine." he finally says, going over to finally sit down in his chair as well. "I am sure I will be in top shape soon, under your excellent care, Doctor." he says casually as he puts his tea aside and brushes his fingers through the papers and books sitting on the end table.
A little chuckle came from the army doctor before he nods a little. "Lets hope so." He pauses, finally turning his attention back to his flatmate, and in an effort to dispel the slight awkwardness, he puts his tea aside and shuffles with his newspaper for a moment.
"So, when do we have to leave for this Christmas adventure?"
Wow, thanks to everyone who's read so far. I was a little shocked at how well chapter 1 was received! This chapter is a little shorter than I was hoping, but I wanted to get another one out for you guys. I am already working on chapter 3, and hopefully it will be a little longer. Thanks for reading!