Title: The Inventor and the Interpreter

Rating: PG-13

Warning: blood, science, fights, reference to homosexuality

Summary: Holmes introduces his brother. Watson learns more about his powers. A case is given, and the problems within it are great and terrible.

The fine layer of paperwork that two months worth of newspapers, telegrams, printouts, and various other things was floating up and slowly began to move into the various areas files and such that Holmes had set up to hold all his files. The test of ensuring the dense forest of papers had been one of the few random tests that helped Watson control his powers, or at least enough of it, and currently Holmes was also adding in distractions to the training.

"I suppose I get some of my deductive powers from my mother's side. My father's were country squires, while my mother's was artists…my grandmother was a sister of Vernet, you know?"

Watson didn't answer, as he wasn't sure if he should or not. It had been two months since his wound was reopened, and since then he'd worked on both physical and mental rehabilitation, Holmes and Mrs. Hudson helping him how they could. In truth, Holmes was the one who helped him the most, due to his simple belief that, no matter what Watson's previous experiences, he could do what was asked of him so long as he mastered his mind.

"Well, art in the blood takes the strangest forms. My brother, Mycroft for example—"

All the papers suddenly fell, and Holmes frowned, looking over and happily seeing none had caught fire or fallen into the grate. "I did mention him before, Watson."

"You didn't start talking about him, though, or give me his name," Watson pointed out, and after a moment the papers slowly rose again. "You were just toying with me, I suppose."

Holmes rolled his eyes at that. "I could take you to meet him."

Watson looked back at him as some of the papers were put away. He frowned after a minute and looked back to focus on the papers, attempting to finish things up. "Why bring this up now?"

Holmes sighed and Watson attempted to ignore him. Holmes was still as strange and contrary as he'd been before starting to take on the job of helping Watson control his powers. It had dawned on Watson during his rehabilitation that Holmes' simple demands, even while he'd been in pain and frightened, had succeeded in making him control his powers, and it both annoyed and amazed him that anyone would have such power over him.

Annoyed, because it seemed that Holmes had a better understanding of his own mind then Watson did, and in truth, Watson hated realizing how little he really knew about himself. Amazed, because for the first time, he had someone who wasn't about to tell him what to do with his powers, who encouraged him to learn the full extent of them and who's encouragement and strict nature kept him from losing control.

"I brought it up, again," Holmes said as the rest of the papers went into their spots, "because I wanted to see your reaction. I do not claim to know anything about the mind, but I find you're more distracted by talks of family than anything else."

"It doesn't help that my own family was…" Watson stopped as he finished. "I would like to meet him. Tell me at least a little."

Holmes frowned, giving him the look that said he wanted to ask more about what Watson started to say but was unsure how far it would get him. Watson's early years, as well as his time between Maiwand and Holmes tracking him to Hope's room, had been vague and left that way for various reasons, one of which being that losing control of his emotions tended to end badly.

A knock on the door stopped his attempt and he stood, going over to get the one telegram from Mrs. Hudson and chuckling. "We'll have to talk on the way over. My brother apparently needs my services, which, I will tell you now, is quite a lovely turn on our normal circumstances. Would you like to come along?"

"Of course," Watson said, standing to get his coat and hat, "You won't mind my company?"

Holmes smiled at him as he grabbed his own coat and hat. "Of course not! I get things done far quicker with you listening as well instead of being absent."

The carriage ride was filled with Holmes' voice mainly occupied the ride towards a small combination of a type of club and restaurant-bistro, and an upper floor of some rooms. The name of it, the Diogenes, surprised Watson, as did Holmes' description of his brother.

"My brother is seven years my senior," Holmes had said, "and a little different from me. He takes great pride in scientific discoveries, but whenever he has no ideas, he has absolutely no energy for anything, save perhaps one vice."

"He left before you did?"

"When he was fourteen, though I never quite got the full story behind his reasons, I think it had to do with following a target for too long and possibly learned a little about himself. Either way, he should be upstairs."

The Diogenes was a quiet bistro, dissimilar to any other club or similar bistro, as it had no real outside area, and the inside seemed full of men and Denebolans who were more interested in reading or drinking on comfy chairs and at tables then talking. Watson frowned for a second before Holmes lead him to the back, nodding to a waitress as they passed and, upon closing the door, whispering, "It's a rather queer sort of club, you see, and talking is a sort of unspoken taboo. Most of the men there simply need a good place to be alone, and many are unclubbable. It works out quite well, I suppose, and most are helped in one way or another by Mycroft." They continued up the stairs until they reached a door, Holmes knocking twice before entering.

The room seemed a combination of the chemistry area that Holmes had set up himself, only with more equipment, and the bistro downstairs, though another door to one side, possibly to the bedroom or toilet, made this effect less. A large man straightened from one end of the table, the man about as tall as Holmes but filling out as much of the form, though Watson was unsure if he should call him 'fat' or simply 'filled out. He had a smile on his face, his watery gray eyes alight with the same passionate fire that Holmes also had while on a case, and walked over to the two of them, though his eyes seemed more focused on Holmes.

"Well, Sherlock, you've come at quite a time. I successfully finished my blood test."

"Blood test?" Watson questioned, causing the taller man to give him an once-over look before stating, "A way to tell if the blood is Human or not. I'm working on identifications for the others who have similar coloring or who can't always be told apart from other beings until a specialized computer is used, and not always, as at least four are down to the genetic level. This, though, only reacts to human blood. Would you like to see a test…um…"

"Ah, Mycroft," Holmes said, "this is Doctor Watson. I think I spoke to you about him before?"

"You haven't," Mycroft pointed out, putting the flask down and cleaning off his hands before offering one to Watson, "You really must forgive Sherlock…he's terrible at telling people information sometimes. Mycroft Holmes, at your service. Would you like to see how this works?"

Watson did, only from the looks of it, Mycroft Holmes expected his blood, and how--

"You sent me something about urgent request you couldn't solve yourself?" Holmes interrupted, glaring at his older brother as he frowned at him, sighing and motioning for the two to sit.

"It's not so much what happened with me, but with my fellow lodger, Mr. Melas. As my brother is horrible at explaining, I'm horrible at retelling stories. I'll see if he's better."

"Better? What happened?" Holmes asked as Mycroft stood, heading for the door and disappearing through the other door. Watson looked over at Holmes as he sighed.

"That was a very bad change of subject," he said simply, glancing at Holmes.

Holmes chuckled. "Mycroft enjoys showing off his inventions. I think he wouldn't have batted an eyelash at the fact you registered as non-human. In fact, he might have congratulated me, than spent the next few hours attempting to figure out which species you were."

"I'm beginning to see the family resemblance, at least there," Watson managed as Mycroft came back, another man following him. The man sported a small bruise on the lower side of his chin, his dark hair and mustache, thin-rimmed glasses and nervous attitude making Watson stand and go to him, his instinct to heal and calm overriding his annoyance at the two Holmes brothers.

The man smiled at Watson as he looked over the bruise, soon finding that most of the man's right side was bruised, and he saying, in accented English, "It is alright. I am fine, truly."

"Mr. Melas, this is my brother, Sherlock, and his friend, Watson. Apparently Watson is a doctor, so I'd let him at least check the bruising."

Melas blushed at that, allowing Watson to check him over as he explained, "You see, I am Greek by birth and my family moved to England when I was young, to have a job as an Interpreters. I know most Human languages, but pride myself on being able to speak Epimedian, the group of Denebolans who are similar, at least in pantheon, to my Greek heritage."

Holmes nodded. "I've heard of them. The Greek nation and Epimedians are attempting to see if there's any reason for it, perhaps a space-going culture that attempted to show off their power to early humans, or at least became a basis. But please, the case you want us in that gave you such bruising?"

Melas nodded as Watson stood, giving him a warm smile and returning to his own seat. "Well, as one of the better known Interpreters around Pall Mall, I'm used to being called upon at various hours, so I was not quite surprised to have a visitor two nights ago at a late hour.

"The man, a Mr. Latimer, said that it was important I come, for they needed someone who could speak both Greek and Epimedian. He seemed to wish we leave quickly and said we were heading to Kensington, but when I commented on the length, he threatened me with great violence if I continued. I did try to listen to take in what I could, but between the late hour and the rather violent companion, I could only tell a few things, and most I doubted with the time it took to get to the house."

Holmes motioned for him to continue after Watson moved away, frowning a little but stating, "You'll be fine, Mr. Melas, it should be better in a few days."

Mycroft gave him a thankful smile as Melas continued his story. "When we reached the house, I was brought in quickly, and met another man, who seemed to have a rather sinister smile on his face and laughed rather annoyingly, before I was put into a small room and another man was brought before me. He was an Epimedian, but would only answer Greek. He had sticking plaster on his face, covering his mouth, and his coloring was so pale that it was soon obvious to me the man was being used horribly, and after a while I found of asking what felt like the same question, I attempted added in others of my own. The two men who circled around us, demanding answers, did not notice and the man seemed grateful for my questions, but tired."

"What did you find out?" Watson asked, curious.

"The man's name is Kraides, and he is from Athens. From what I could gather of my time, I learned that a woman was involved, as well as odd papers to be signed. He was being starved and had been in London for three weeks. Another few minutes and I might have gotten everything, but then a woman came through the door. I saw her very plainly, and she was very tall, graceful woman with dark hair. I recognized her easily as one of my fellow Greeks, and she spoke in broken English to one man, saying 'Harold, I was wondering—' then, upon seeing the man, switched to Greek, crying out, 'Oh God, Kraides!' and rushed towards him. The emancipated man tore off the plaster, saying, 'Sophy!' and embracing before the two men tried to separate them. I fear many of these bruises came from my attempt to help the man and women when the other two tried to separate them. I was hit back, the younger man Harold dragging the girl out and Mr. Latimer taking away the Epimedian. I was left alone for some time, but I had been hit and kicked enough to be dazed, and by the time I stood and attempted to thinking of escape, the other man Harold reappeared, giggling and giving me five sovereigns for my troubles, but warning that if I spoke of this to anyone…well, I would get worst then my attempt to help the poor man they held prisoner. I was soon pushed into a vehicle and after another two hours or so of driving, was pushed out and found myself far away from my home. I was lucky enough to find a way to a phone and telephone Mycroft, for I was in Wandsworth Commons and quite scared. He was able to calm me and soon I was able to get home in the early morning of Tuesday. After I told Mycroft, he suggested I speak to you. And that is my story."

Holmes gave him a small smile, motioning to Mycroft quickly as the two walked off to one side, leaving Watson alone to speak to Melas.

"Are they usually this secretive?" Melas asked, looking over at Watson.

"I'm not quite sure. I've only known Sherlock Holmes for perhaps three months straight. Are you sure you're quite alright?"

"I am. I am worried, though…one of the Diogenes learned about it and said I should put in an advertisement, but if I do…"

Watson nodded, understanding. Being too scared to go anywhere had been a constant companion in his life, and he sympathized with the other man's plight.

"Unluckily," Mycroft spoke up, holding up the Daily News, "he took it upon himself to say it anyway. I'm not quite sure where he got all the information, but…well, that's that."

"Perhaps you should have stricter rules about quiet," Holmes said as they walked up, Watson taking the paper for himself and Melas to read, "Speaking in an area without sound is like shouting in a crowded room."

"We're upstairs, Sherlock, and we didn't speak of it until before anyone was allowed inside. Really."

Melas was pale himself as Watson read the advertisement, "'Anybody supplying any information to the whereabouts of an Epimedian gentleman named Kratides, from Athens, who only speaks Greek. A similar reward paid to any one giving information about a Greek lady whose first name is Sophy'…is this in all the newspapers?"

"It appears," Mycroft said, then looked over at Holmes. "I did send some information to the Greek and Epimedian Legation, but neither have any knowledge."

"Was that the point where you had a breakthrough?" Holmes asked.

"Somewhere, also we were far too worried to do anything else. Melas has been inside the whole day, and you are the first people we've spoken to."

Holmes sighed, thinking. "The fact that they might know gives this a rather dangerous edge. Epimedians are known to be able to hold on for two months without food or water, but these men are obviously attempting to break him down. As he only speaks Greek, and the Greek lady knows him, I'll see if I can contact the Athens police. The problem now, is who shall guard Mr. Melas."

Mycroft blinked. "He's perfectly fine here, Sherlock."

Holmes shook his head. "No, he's not. That the group knows he's here is dangerous, and I know you after figuring out the solution to a problem."

"That can wait until tomorrow. I fully plan on ensuring my Alexis--."

The room went quite silent. Holmes was glaring at Mycroft and Melas equally. Watson was looking skyward, and managed a sigh before saying rather strictly, "No matter if you stay to ensure his safety or not, you don't seem to have anything beyond chemicals as a deterrent for them, and while I do not doubt your ability, I do doubt the ability to withstand fire or a gun. Your brother will be on the move all day, which will make it harder for them to find either. If they are downstairs now, though, it might make things easier, so unless you two are going to have a sibling squabble now, I suggest we come up with a plan to keep Mr. Melas safe. Or I will do it myself."

Holmes' glare now turned to him and Watson returned it. He owed Holmes for many things but was far from being a simple friend to him. In the face of this possible danger to a client as well, he found no reason for Holmes to be attempting to glare down his brother as well. The thought was old-fashioned, though many still shared it, and Watson honestly didn't feel this was the time or place for such a thing.

Holmes finally relented. "We shall all go out, Mr. Melas and Mycroft between us. I will take him with me, and you both will head to Baker Street. We'll redirect any information to go to Baker Street, and from there we can hopefully get the man out of harm's way."

Mycroft gave him a small smile and nodded, going to get the two's coat and hats from the other room. Mr. Melas looked a little worried, but another glare from Watson caused Holmes to remain silent. He was quite sure this was due to the fact that the few times Watson had been emotionally unstable, things tended to break or end badly.

Watson sighed, attempting to calm himself down as Mycroft returned, giving Melas his coat and hat. It didn't do him any service to hold his temper over Holmes as far as being civil. It wouldn't help his relations at all if he only used his powers to intimidate…what would that make him, to threaten a rain of rocks or something equally cruel if people wouldn't do as he asked?

The four headed out, pausing to speak to the waitress again before calling a cab and departing.

Holmes watched Watson slowly, wondering if the man knew how open his face was. The annoyance from earlier was something Holmes would've expected, but then again his brother had given him rather a hard shock and it had angered him to no end that his brother thought he should keep secrets from him. He had a general idea as to the reasons for Mycroft's leaving, but the actual fact staring him in the face and demanding help had not left him time to consider his words at the moment, or lack of words in that case.

But right now, Watson wasn't feeling pride at having so quickly defused a situation where two men of great intellect was about to have words, but rather fear of his own abilities. Holmes disliked these remains of his past fears and had done what he could to deter them, but it appeared that currently there was going to be little chance of it. He considered briefly telling Mycroft of it, but was uncertain that it would do any good for the hopefully short span of time they'd be together.

They reached a telegraph office a few streets down before Holmes knocked for the cab to stop, paying for the first half of the trip as he and Melas got out. "Watson, please make sure my brother is alright. I know they will come after Melas but I'm uncertain how much they know and how likely they are to go after everyone who knows. If you must…I highly advise losing your temper, if only a little."

Watson blinked at him in surprise, but finally nodded his understanding. Holmes gave him a reassuring smile before closing the cab door, heading over to where Mr. Melas was waiting, heading into the telegraph office.

As he was writing out the correspondence, Mr. Melas shifted a little. "Mr. Holmes, about--."

"I do not intend to talk about the relationship you have with my brother until after you are out of danger. As that will possibly not be until we discover who the men are that took you, as well as where they are, I suggest you don't bring it up."

Melas sighed, nodding as Holmes sent the message, sitting back in the chair. "I know such a thing is hard to consider, with how some of the technology is, but there are those who go undetected, and sometimes, the older is better."

Melas nodded. "Mycroft says so as well, I suppose it's true. Do you think they're monitoring computers as well?"

"It could be all they are, but so far I'm not sure what they want. You said they were asking to sign papers…the lady could speak English but the man could not…yet why would he not speak Epimedian?" He glanced at the door and frowned as he felt Melas' hand on his arm. There were only a few thoughts through his mind before he slowly stood, the Greek following him.

"Quickly," he muttered as they left the area towards the more crowded arcade to one side, "and quietly. If I can, I'll at least get you to Baker Street."

The two made to the arcade, Holmes motioning subtly to one of the Irregulars as they passed, making it to the end of the road before he noticed another man coming up to them, a smaller man then the one following them, his glasses shining and his grin sinister for his seemingly insignificant self.

Damn, Holmes thought, looking around for a way to escape when he felt a hand on his shoulder, Melas freezing in fear, possibly from what felt like a gun at his back.

"Ah, Mr. Melas," the smaller man muttered, giggling as he came up, "really, you've given us quite some trouble, you and your friend. We must remedy that."