A/N: Hey guys! I expected nobody to actually read this, so thank you guys SO MUCH for your support! This story may be kind of confusing, I know, but just deal with it. This is basically what I write when I'm suffering from writer's block with my other stories, so don't expect consistent updates, but I WILL NOT ABAMDON THIS! Anyways, enjoy this new chapter!

Chapter 2:

[221B Baker Street]

John finally woke up at around 8:30 the next day and, still blurry-eyed from his recent venture into the realm of sleep, he eagerly checked his phone to see whether or not Sherlock had solved his little puzzle over the night. It appeared he had, though just a short while ago, because the text had been sent at 8:00.

What on earth does "GrimBrotherSimon" mean to you, John? Why ever would it be your password? -SH

John grinned in satisfaction at the fact that it'd taken Sherlock so long to figure it out. However, the blatant question sent a painful twinge through his heart, though he tried to ignore it as he typed a reply.

Took you long enough. I see you found my clue, yes?

Yes. But who is this "Simon" to you? -SH

John froze. He quickly wracked his brains for a reasonable answer. He hastily typed out an answer to his friend's question.

Simon is what I wanted to name our son if Mary and I ever had one.

John was still congratulating him for his save when Sherlock texted him back.

I see. And why "Brother"? -SH

By now, John was on a roll, and this didn't really throw him off.

Because he'd be the brother to our daughter.

What about the "Grim"? -SH

Because, it is a dream of a life that can never be. Was John's simple reply.

A pause in the conversation. Then…

Is this the part where I'm supposed to say something comforting? -SH

John grinned, classic Sherlock.

Well, yes, but you don't really have to. I was going to change the password anyways. Promise you won't try to hack in again?

Until I get bored, I shall refrain from accessing this particular email as much as humanly possible. -SH

That's all I ask.

With that matter settled, John quickly went onto his email and changed the password; secure yet again, he reversed the computer code so that his communications with the Boss came back up. His heart stopped for a second when he realized that he had a new message.

Reaper-

I hear you had a little disagreement with Mr. Stamford yesterday. Make sure that this does not happen again. If not, you will be hearing from me, Mr. Williams. Or rather, you will be hearing from the prosthetic that I so kindly gifted to you as a part of your SVRP package.

On another note, I believe that, if you were actually listening to Mr. Stamford, you are aware of the fact that I will soon have a job for you so that you may begin your payback to me and, admittedly, your enemies. You will be pleased to know that your task will probably involve The Avengers. You're welcome. Be prepared for action, don't get too comfortable with that "cushy civilian life" of yours. I shall send somebody to collect you when the time comes. I will be seeing you soon.

-Ultron

John's eyes widened slightly when he read the email. After sparing a quick glance at his right hand, which was actually a robotic prosthetic designed for him by the Cowl, Ultron himself, and covered with an extremely convincing fake flesh. Of course he controlled the hand for the majority of the time, but he also didn't doubt for an instant that Ultron would make good his threat and would be able to take control of the mechanical arm that he had made, so John made a quick vow to be on his best behavior when it came to Ultron. He typed a quick email in reply to the Boss's.

Ultron,

I hear ya, I'll be awaiting your beckons. The timing's pretty good too, 'cause Sherlock seems to be on to me, at least a little bit. He even discovered this email account, though I tried out your coding that you sent me for emergencies. It worked like a charm. Good job, thanks!

But seriously, Stamford was totally out of line. Calling me by my real name, and provoking me - mentioning Simon and such. Please take note of this, that is all I ask of you.

Anyways, if the job involves The Avengers, I probably woulda helped you out even without the debt I owe you. For Simon.

I'll polish my scythe later today, I think.

Reaper.

With this business taken care of, John turned off his phone and headed downstairs, wondering what Sherlock was up to. Probably shooting the wall again, either that or he was looking for some cases for the two of them to take on, hopefully the latter.

However, Sherlock Holmes was not, in fact, doing either of those things, but instead sitting on his chair, staring intently at the stairs as if waiting for John to descend them.

When John entered the room, Sherlock watched him silently, as if trying to deduce him, as John brewed himself up some tea (he thought that coffee was better, but he had to keep up the image of being British, so he was, most unfortunately, stuck with bags of flavored, not-nearly strong enough caffeine).
Finally, John had had enough of Sherlock's staring, and decided to confront him about it. "What's up, Sherlock?" he asked tiredly.

"You. You, John Hamish Watson, are the problem."

"Oh? How so?" John asked curiously, starting to get a little bit concerned now.

"Those emails on your other account."

"What about them?"

"They were false."

John froze. How? How did he figure that out.

"What makes you think that? And, uh, the short version please Sherlock."

"As you wish, John. The emails were obviously false because first of all, the email addresses, although being real ones, were all spam mail accounts, and also, one of the men you were emailing to. 'Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes' his name was, I believe. First of all, you never mentioned him to me or anybody else, trust me, I know, I've been asking around. Second, the most recent Sergeant James Barnes fought in World War II. So, John, I want to know, what exactly were these emails replacing? If I went back on your account, would I find the same emails as I did yesterday?"

John sighed, and looked Sherlock in the eyes. "No." He confirmed reluctantly.

Sherlock's eyebrows raised at the blatant admission. He quickly snatched up the laptop, and attempted to login to John's email.

Just as he typed in "GrimBrotherSimon" and attempted to access the account, John helpfully added, "I changed the password, by the way."

Sherlock gritted his teeth noticeably. "I can see that. But whyyyyyyyy?"

Sherlock said this last part like how a child would beg for candy, but John caught the subtle undertones, the tone of hurt and betrayal, the poor man obviously having not been expecting this kind of thing from his best friend.

John did some quick thinking, and, loath to lie to Sherlock and yet knowing that it was absolutely necessary, put on his best façade and began the act, hoping with all his heart, for both Sherlock's sake and his, that his friend would buy it.

"Oh, Sherlock, it really hurts me to have done this to you, I'm so sorry. But, well, you sort of know almost every detail of my life, and when I remembered my old email account, I changed the password and modified the account so that I could get in touch with some old friends, and when one of them, who happens to be a computer genius, offered me a line of code I could use in case I needed some privacy on my account and, well, Sherlock, a man needs to have some secrets, or else he's not really a man at all!"

"Your profile picture is a scythe."

"I was grieving at the time, okay?"

Sherlock sighed, "Your reasons are sound - I don't understand, but I suppose that the average human mind strives to possess some information that belongs solely to itself. It makes sense, in an odd, backwards way. I suppose."

Sherlock put on a deep concentrating face, and John felt another twang in his gut when he thought back on all of the times he had lied to this man. But then he pushed all of the feelings back down again, and put on a brave face.

"Friends?" He asked softly, touching Sherlock's shoulder.

He sighed. "Friends. Now, there's an interesting 8 that Lestrade told me about at some fancy, high-security hotel, would you like to go and check it out?"

John grinned elatedly. "More than anything in the world."

A/N: And that's a wrap! Hope you liked! (This story may be a little weird, but I simply don't care.)

-Doom