NOTE:

I never thought I'd be writing a SH story, (it's sacrilege, really!), but a sudden idea occurred to me over the weekend, and I thought I should write it down.

I've been a SH fan for years; I've read the original stories and every book I can get my hands on. As for the movie, I didn't see it because in my mind there was no one more ill-suited for the part than RDjr. My first reaction was, "How can they let that drug addict play Holmes? I mean, (ahem) sure, Holmes was a drug addict too, but still…" And "RDjr is a weirdo! I mean, sure, Holmes was kind of a weirdo too, but…"

Then a couple of months ago I saw the last five minutes of Iron Man. I was so intrigued by RDjr's performance I bought the DVD and ended up watching it a zillion times. Suddenly, I realized he was actually a great actor, ( more importantly, he wasn't the "actor-who-blows-every-opportunity-Hollywood-gives-him" anymore). And from the videos on YOutube, I know he looks good as Holmes. Now every time I read a SH story I picture RD in it –which is not a bad thing, considering I never really liked the balding, hooked-nosed Holmes.

Anyway, I still haven't seen the movie, so I don't know if Mycroft appears in it, or if he's portrayed as being much older than Holmes like they did in the TV series, but that's how I'm picturing him here.

In the books, Mycroft is described as being overweight -in sharp contrast to Holmes. Both are confirmed bachelors.

Note: This story takes place a few months after Watson's wedding.

Updte: I finally saw the film at last and loved it. RDJ and JL say so much with their eyes alone...

Apparently, Mary doesn't detest Holmes. In this story, however, she does.

A tale of two brothers

Doctor John Watson took a sip of his tea, then put the cup down. He looked at the man standing by the fire. So far Mycroft Holmes hadn't reacted to a word he'd said.

"Mrs. Hudson can't recall the last time he left his room," Watson added. "He hasn't had a case in weeks, yet he refuses to see Lestrade. "

Mycroft Holmes waved a dismissive hand.

"Doctor," he said. "I still don't see any cause for alarm. Surely you, of all people, know all about my brother's little idiosyncrasies. He is hardly helpless."

Watson nodded. "He is the strongest man I know," he said. "But sometimes he needs to be reminded of the fact." He leant forward. "Mrs. Hudson is worried, sir."

"And you trust a hysterical woman's observations?"

"I trust her judgment. She's always guarded Holmes' privacy," he added gravely; "She wouldn't dream of betraying his trust unless she believed it was absolutely necessary."

"Then by all means, you should go to him."

Watson shook his head.

"We haven't spoken in months."

Mycroft looked at him with interest.

"Not since your marriage," he said slowly. "Which he must have viewed as a desertion on your part. Ah, Sherlock, Sherlock," he muttered; "How like a child…" He shook his head in disapproval.

Watson didn't bother asking Mycroft how he could know all this; it wasn't the first time he'd been the subject of the elder Holmes' deductions. Instead, he leant forward. "It is you he needs now, sir. I have a cab waiting outside, if you wish to come."

"Absolutely not." Mycroft abruptly abandoned his place by the fire and came to stand by a large mahogany desk. He pointedly ruffled a few of the papers lying on top of it. "There are more urgent matters I ought to address here. There is a rumor of war, Doctor; or didn't you know?"

"There always is," Watson retorted. "But this is Holmes we are talking about. Surely his well-being is of some importance to you."

Mycroft smiled cynically.

"Do you think he would abandon a case for my sake, Doctor?"

"Yes, he would," Watson said firmly, though inwardly he wasn't so sure. The brothers had never been close; in fact, they only got in touch when one or the other needed assistance to unravel a mystery. The rest of the time they simply ignored the other's existence -or pretended to.

"Holmes may be seriously ill, sir," he countered.

"Then you are better suited than I to be of any help, Doctor."

Mycroft's indifference was more than Watson could tolerate.

"You astound me, sir;" he said indignantly. "Are politics more important that filial love?"

"Love." Mycroft said the word with distaste. He eyed Watson with interest, the cynical smile back on his lips. "But of course, you must know all about that noble sentiment, eh, Doctor? Being recently married, the yoke of marriage must still feel as light as a feather. Very well; I give you a year before you start reconsidering the matter."

Watson rose from his seat.

"Really, sir! This is uncalled for!"

Mycroft raised a hand.

"My apologies, Doctor," he said calmly. "You are right, of course; that was uncalled for. Please, do sit down. You were telling me about Sherlock -" he let the word trail off.

Hardly mollified, Watson sat again.

"I have come to you as a friend of your brother's," he said. "His only friend."

"A friend who abandoned him," Mycroft replied. "No," he said, raising a hand to stop any protest that might be coming. "No, I'm not blaming you, doctor. Everyone abandons Sherlock sooner or later. He isn't the easiest person to live with, we both know that. But the fact that you are here at all renews the hope I placed in you a while ago."

Watson shook his head. "I cannot get involved now; I have a practice -" I have a wife who detests Holmes, he could have added but didn't.

"Nevertheless, you must go to him. Go." Mycroft seemed tired, all of a sudden. "Do what you can for him." But Watson didn't move. "I beseech you, Doctor; go to him." He faltered, then whispered, "You are the closest thing to a brother he shall ever have."

"But you are his brother."

Mycroft didn't reply; he merely held Watson's gaze… and waited.

Had this conversation happened at the beginning of his association with Sherlock Holmes, Watson wouldn't have thought twice of Mycroft's silence, but his time with Holmes had taught him that people's silences often spoke louder than words. He stared back at Mycroft until suddenly, a thought occurred to him.

It was too fantastic, and yet -

"You are not his brother," he blurted out. He waited for some sort of denial but none came. "You are not?"

Mycroft didn't reply.

Watson stared at him in disbelief.

"But you are obviously related," he said mechanically. "You are so similar; even with the age difference, you seem to -"

And then, all of a sudden, he knew.

"Good God," he whispered. "You are his father."

Mycroft dropped his gaze.

Watson didn't know what to say.

"Does… Does he know?"

Mycroft shook his head.

"I don't believe he does," he said eventually; "And yet, how can he not know?" he added, almost to himself. "He seems to know everything." He was silent for a moment, then he looked at Watson. He had recovered some of his rself-possession. "Of course, as a doctor, you must know how difficult it is to disprove a paternity case."

"Yes," Watson said uncomfortably.

"I was never entirely certain," Mycroft said. Then, reluctantly, he added, "But she was."

"His mother," Watson said, and he paled at the implications. They were too terrible to contemplate.

Mycroft noticed his turmoil.

"Calm yourself, Doctor," he said. He smiled that cold, sardonic smile again. "She was my stepmother. A young woman -younger than Father, that is. Not the fairest of creatures, except to an inexperienced boy on his first school vacation in years." He tilted his head, "Surely being an innocent exempts me from any culpability, Doctor, does it not?"

Watson didn't deign to reply.

Mycroft's smile faded.

"No," he said quietly. "I suppose it does not."

"Did your father know?"

"If he did, he never told me. He certainly never suspected me." He quietly added, "He didn't care for Sherlock."

Watson closed his eyes at this revelation. Ah, Holmes, he thought. Poor friend.

He looked at Mycroft.

"Why didn't you intervene?"

Mycroft scoffed. "Why didn't I rescue him, you mean? Or why didn't I defy my father in order to be with the woman I loved? I did not love her, Doctor. Her very presence disgusted me once I realized what I'd done. Her child certainly meant nothing to me."

"So, you abandoned them."

"I was -"

"Young," Watson said. "I know."

"I had a brilliant future ahead of me, Doctor. I had a duty to fulfill -"

"You were old enough to fence for yourself; but Holmes was only a child!"

Mycroft looked away. He was silent for a moment, then whispered, "He has her eyes."

"And for that reason alone you condemned him to solitude."

Watson waited for a moment more, then abruptly rose from his seat.

Mycroft look up in alarm.

"Don't worry," Watson said, eyeing him with open distaste. "I don't intent to do you any harm -though God knows I'd gladly cut you into pieces if that could make up for all the pain you've caused Holmes."

Mycroft smiled.

"I'd take my punishment gladly, Doctor."

…

Still stunned by Mycroft's revelations, Watson mechanically left the Diogenes Club. He walked to the corner where the cabbie had been waiting all along.

He tipped his hat when he saw Watson.

"Where to, g'vernor?"

Watson hesitated, then gave his own address. He had to go home first, of course; he had to warn Mary he wouldn't be coming home after his rounds… He would not mention Holmes -that was esential; otherwise Mary would be too distressed for words. She had been led to believe Watson's association with Holmes was over -

And it was over, Watson thought firmly; he certainly didn't intent to follow Holmes on a case ever again. But if Holmes needed a friend, then he'd be there.

As the cab started to move, Watson stole a glance at the building he was leaving. Somewhere in there, Mycroft Holmes was plotting England's future. A man Watson had thought of as one of the noblest Englishmen he'd ever met.

A coward; that's what he was.

If I had a child, Watson thought; I would protect him with my own life.

If I had a brother, I'd protect him, too.

And it suddenly occurred to him that he had a brother, after all. After all he'd been through with Holmes (and because of Holmes) hadn't he earned the right to that title?

He smiled a little.

"Cabbie!" he called out. "I changed my mind! Take me to Baker Street!"

The End