Work Text:
The doorbell rang. Sherlock and John heard Mrs Hudson go open it, some quiet talking – a man then - and the visitor walking up the stairs.
“Must be for you” commented John.
“Considering he's not rushing up here, it's nothing important, anyway.” answered Sherlock in a disparagingly way.
They heard the steps go to their front door and a quiet knocking. John decided he was too comfortably sat to move and gestured to Sherlock, who gave him an annoyed look and then yelled “Come in!”.
The door was opened, something was set on the floor and the visitor entered the living room. It was a young man, with thick dark hair, glasses, dressed in a very unconventional but still stylish way, of average height but very thin, whose eyes immediately went to Sherlock. He smiled gently.
“Hello Sherlock.”
“You know each other?” asked John.
“Yes”, they both answered.
When it became apparent that Sherlock wasn't going to continue, the visitor went on, his gaze still on the detective.
“You must be Doctor Watson. It's a pleasure. My name is Quillan Holmes. I'm Sherlock's brother.”
There was a silence, broken by John's tense voice.
“Sherlock.”
“What?”
“Is this man your brother?”
Sherlock turned to him. “Well yes. Haven't you heard him?”
John slammed his fist on his elbow-rest.
“Goddammit, Sherlock! It never occurred to you to mention to me that you have another brother?”
Sherlock looked surprised. “There was no reason.”
John was about to retort when he remembered that they had a guest. He glanced a nasty look at Sherlock, muttered “we'll finish that conversation later” then rose abruptly and offered his hand.
“John Watson, though it seems at least you know who I am.”
Quillan shook his hand. “I do, though no thanks to Sherlock if it makes you feel any better. It was Mycroft who told me Sherlock found someone that managed to bear with him on a daily basis. And I am a faithful reader of your blog.”
Quillan was nice, in John's opinion, and a nice Holmes was even more surprising than the discovery of a new Holmes sibling. Now that he knew, he could see a family resemblance, even though Quillan was shorter than both his brothers.
“Won't you sit down? Can I get you something to drink?”
“He'll have a cup of Earl Grey, make one for me too.” interrupted Sherlock. “What are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too, Sherlock. It's only been what? Two years?”
“You're the one who moved abroad” said Sherlock.
“You're the one who doesn't show up for Christmas dinners” retorted Quillan.
“I was busy.” said Sherlock dismissively. “And it's not even close to Christmas so why are you here?”
“Business. Couldn't you guess? I'm only staying for three days. Thank you” he added to John who was handling him a mug of tea.
“I never “guess”, I make deductions and you know it.” said Sherlock, taking his own mug from John. “You hate flying. The most you manage since you left is a trip home once every two year for Christmas. There's no way you wouldn't have arranged for your business meeting to take place somewhere you could drive to or have a video-conference”.
“Could it be I'm here to see you then?” answered calmly Quillan.
Sherlock examined him. “Is it about the wedding?”
“You're getting married?” asked John, sincerely surprised. “Aren't you a bit young?”
“I'm 25, Doctor Watson.”
“Oh. You don't look like it. Please call me John. And congratulations.”
“Thank you.” Quillan turned back to Sherlock. “Will you come?”
“Of course I won't come, I thought I had made myself clear when I told you to stop making stupid decisions. You flight landed hours ago. Were you with Mycroft ? Is he expecting your report ?” asked Sherlock.
Quillan sighed. “I stayed a few hours in the airport lounge for the effect of the medication to wear off. Anti-flight anxiety” he explained to John. “ And Mycroft doesn't know I'm here, I plan to surprise him tomorrow and you know bloody well I'm not talking with him about you. Sherlock, I didn't ask for your permission, I asked you to be my best man.”
Sherlock sipped his tea. “I already did that once, you know how I hate repeats. Besides, you asked me to be one of your best men. With Mycroft.”
“Mycroft says he won't do it either, that he can't leave the country.”
Sherlock flinched a little. “Sorry. Won't make it.”
There was a very uncomfortable silence.
John cleared his throat. “So, Quillan, where are you staying?”
“I was hoping I could stay here.” answered Quillan.
Sherlock leaned forwards immediately.
“Absolutely not. Go to a hotel or go to Mycroft's.”
“Sherlock!” scorned John. “He can perfectly stay here. If you don't mind sleeping on the couch” he added to Quillan.
“Not at all.” answered Quillan pleasantly.
“There's no room, you'll disturb my things.” insisted Sherlock in a petulant way.
“I promise not to touch anything. It's only for one night, Sherlock, I'll stay at Mycroft's tomorrow and I'm leaving the day after.”
Sherlock glared at him and didn't answer. In fact, he remained silent while John engaged Quillan in small talk, finding out that Quillan was 8 years younger than Sherlock, had been living in California since he was 18 and was the founder of a mobile application that apparently was very famous though John had never used it.
After a while, Quillan asked to use the lavatory. John showed him the door and went in the kitchen to wash the mugs when he heard movement in the living room. He turned to see Sherlock putting on his coat.
“Where are you going?” he asked, a bit alarmed.
“Out. I have something to work on” Sherlock answered before walking hurriedly towards the front door. John ran after him.
“Oh no you don't, you're not leaving me alone with your brother, Sherlock” he hissed.
“You're the one who invited him, you deal with him. I'm busy.” And Sherlock walked out the door as John was angrily saying “No you're not!”.
Sherlock quickly descended the stairs as John bend over the railing, saying. “Sherlock! He's your brother! And you have no case going on!”
Sherlock just waved his hand, not looking back, and walked out the door. John cursed angrily and walked back into the flat where he found Quillan standing in the living room. He saw the defeated look on the young man and once more pondered at how different this Holmes was.
“Er, he got an emergency call” he lied, hating that once again, it was up to him to make up for Sherlock's behavior.
Quillan had a nervous smile. “No he didn't.”. He shrugged and went to his coat. “Well, it's been lovely meeting you, John, but there's no reason for me to impose anymore. I'll be on my way.”
John didn't hesitate. “No, please, you're more than welcome. Fuck him. I don't have to tell you how he is. How about you retaliate by telling me embarrassing stories from his childhood? In fact, we could go have lunch, if you're not too tired from your flight.”
Quillan laughed. “That seems quite vindictive. I like it.”
John took Quillan to a restaurant nearby and was surprised at how easy it was to talk with that Holmes. Quillan was brilliant and witty and lacked his brother's deficiency regarding social skills.
However, any hopes that John had to have the Holmes family history finally revealed to him was soon crushed. Sherlock always ignored questions he didn't want to answer, Mycroft said John should discuss such matters with Sherlock. Quillan just … slipped through your fingers. He would smile politely and artfully dodge any personal question. Whatever he did reveal, John already knew or could have easily found out in a quick internet search. He learned that their father had died (stroke) when Quillan was 8. Their mother had already been 40 when Quillan was born and lacked the energy necessary to look after a young child.
“That must have been hard” commented John.
Quillan shrugged. “In a way, I was lucky, I guess. Mycroft was 23 and just starting his first job as assistant to a MP. He moved us to London so we could live together. He really raised me.”
“You're closer to him, then?” asked John, not voicing the thought that he found it incredible that anyone could feel close to Mycroft Holmes.
“No, I love both my brothers.” simply stated Quillan. He laughed when he saw John's startled reaction. “Sherlock's not exactly a patient man, he was terrible with mundane things such as making sure I had a way to get to school, or doing the groceries. But I had a lot of fun with him, he always had something new and exciting to try. Things got complicated later, they were both terribly busy, then they kept fighting. You know how Sherlock feels towards authority and Mycroft tends to be a little overwhelming. After mom died, it was just impossible to have any kind of family reunion. Then I had this opportunity to leave. At least, now that I'm thousands of miles away, there's a valid reason for not seeing each other.”
“Did you know about the fake death?” asked John. That was and would always be a sore point for him.
“No, at least, not immediately. I usually call Mycroft about once a month and I email or text Sherlock the same. I used to call him too but he blocked my number for disrupting him for no reason. None of them deemed it necessary to inform me of their plan and I don't read English press. I only learned about Sherlock's death days later, when someone asked me if I was related to the fraud suicide detective.”
“That's why you weren't at the funeral”.
“Yes, I was so angry at Mycroft. I yelled at him over the phone, he just told me to come and he would explain in person. I jumped on a plane, he picked me up at the airport. Only then did he tell me everything. He said no communication device could be trusted. And a few months later, Sherlock showed up on my doorstep in LA. He stayed about 10 days.”
Another person who had been in the secret while John had been left mourning. It was hard however to blame Quillan, at least he had no part in the suicide plot, and he hadn't even know John.
The next morning, Quillan and John shared a quiet breakfast. Then Quillan called a cab and the two men waited together.
“So...what are you going to do for your best men issues?” asked John.
Quillan had a small smile. “I have no idea. I was thinking about having the wedding here, that at least solves the problem with Mycroft. I wanted to ask Sherlock if he would do it then but well...”
“Sorry” said John, internally cursing Sherlock.
The sound of a car stopping in front of the building was heard. Both men stood.
“John, it's been a pleasure.”
“Likewise”.
John leaned on the railing watching the youngest Holmes go. Quillan had just reached the door when it opened abruptly, Sherlock almost colliding with Quillan. Both men stood awkwardly for a while.
“Well, I'm on my way.” finally said Quillan.
“Right” answered Sherlock.
Quillan was at the door when Sherlock called him back. He turned around and looked expectantly at his brother. Sherlock walked to him and John's jaw dropped when he saw Sherlock pulling his brother into a hug. Quillan hugged him back. The embrace was short, soon Sherlock pulled away but Quillan was beaming.
Once the door was closed, Sherlock walked up the stairs and noticed John gaping at him.
“What?” he asked, irritated.
“I didn't know you could hug.” answered John.
“He's my brother, of course we hug.” dismissed Sherlock.
“Of course. Are you blushing?”
“I'm certainly not blushing!” said Sherlock in an indignant voice, storming into the flat.
“Right, you're not blushing, your cheeks just happened to turned pink.” said John, closing the door. “Oh, Sherlock, now is the perfect time for that talk about what's important information to share with me and what's not. Can you guess – sorry, deduce - in which category your younger brother fits?”