I

At The Door

Ding-dong!

"If it's Gregson, tell him I'm not interested," Sherlock Holmes said without looking away from the set of photographs on his desk.

"What if it's a case?" Joan Watson asked, pausing at the doorframe.

"Not interested. Still in the middle of the cold case he gave me last week."

Joan put her hands up in mock surrender, but turned and left to get the front door anyway. She didn't know when the two of them had crossed that line that made Sherlock comfortable enough to lessen amount the orders given, but it was a nice change compared to when they first met.

"I'm coming! One moment please!" she shouted when the caller knocked insistently at the door. "World's not going to end just because I'm not going to open the door fast enough," she said, opening the door and looking up.

"Actually, it just might," the light-haired stranger said, blue eyes darting across her person almost too quickly for her to follow; in fact, if Sherlock hadn't done the same exact thing when they first met, she probably would have missed it this time. "Please inform Mr. Holmes that Sherrinford has come to see him," he added.

"Sherrinford?" Joan repeated, raising an eyebrow. She didn't remember anything about a Sherrinford from Sherlock's files, the one his father had provided.

The man sighed. "Yes, Sherrinford. Must you repeat everything I say?"

Joan stared at him. "Well, no, we've just met, how can I repeat everything if-"

"It doesn't bother me. It's actually... endearing, reminds me of home a little," Sherrinford said, unconsciously glancing off to the side. "Now, excuse me, I know Sherlock is working now, but I need to talk to him now-"

"No. I don't know you, and you were never mentioned in Mr. Holmes's files. You are not coming in," Joan said, blocking Sherrinford's path.

A short exhale of frustration. "Ms. Watson, please do step aside as I am sure you do not want to experience of having your life spelled out for you a second time."

Joan stared at him. Only Sherlock had been able to do that, and after a little while of association. "How did you know my name?" she finally asked.

Sherrinford looked an odd combination of stressed, exhaustion, and annoyance. "I do my homework," he said, breezing in past her.

"Hey, wait, you can't-"

"Sherlock!"

Silence.

"And that's my invitation to come up," Sherrinford said, unraveling his blue scarf from his neck and shrugging off a black leather jacket that looked somewhat small for his lanky frame. Joan could only wonder when the last time this man had eaten or slept - there were dark circles underneath his bright eyes, she could see the outline of his skull, and he carefully adjusted his white shirt to conceal bony arms. Pursing her lips, she scanned his jacket pockets suspiciously for any contraband items before noting the small rectangular object in his jeans pocket.

"Don't worry, I'm clean. Been so for the last five years. That's my mobile you're seeing there," Sherrinford said before turning on his heel and marching up the stairs. From this angle, Joan could see his shirt was hanging off his frame; he'd gotten into some kind of trouble and expected help.

What have you gotten yourself into?

Frowning, she followed him.

When she entered the living room, she found that Sherrinford had taken over her desk while Sherlock remained at his, both content at staring at the photographs. "Please tell me you have one for me," Sherrinford said finally, looking up at Sherlock, who scowled. "I haven't solved a police case in two years, I need a break."

Joan half-expected Sherlock to turn him down, he was protective and strangely possessive about his cases...

Instead of snapping at the stranger, Sherlock handed a file over. "Detective Tobias Gregson is the man in charge of the investigations around here," he said, sitting back down. "How are the Yarders?"

" Being themselves. Lestrade keeps hiring idiots to replace idiots." Sherrinford's tone was clipped, and Joan caught sight of the small frown. "And Ms. Watson, is it no longer considered rude to stare at people when they're not looking?" he asked irritably.

"Watch it," Sherlock snapped, and ignored Sherrinford's flipped bird.

Joan had had enough. "Sherlock, who is this?" she demanded, gesturing to Sherrinford.

"Sherrinford Holmes, one of many cousins from England," Sherlock replied, casually leaning back in his chair.

"He wasn't on your father's approved visitor list," Joan said, sitting down in a free chair.

"He's that controlling? When I was still going through detoxification, at least Mycroft didn't regulate whom I could and couldn't see," Sherrinford said dismissively, returning his attention back to the papers after brushing some hair out of his face.

"That's because you didn't have anyone to see you other than family and Lestrade."

"And I'm quite sure you were the social butterfly in rehab," Sherrinford shot back.

The two men fell into a temporary silence. "Blond doesn't suit you," Sherlock finally said.

Sherrinford snorted. "Of course it doesn't. But I can hardly afford to be picky right now."

"Yes, why are you here anyway?"

Sherrinford hesitated, and then set down the files he'd been examining. "As Mycroft likes to put it," he said finally, "I may have overreached a little, several years ago, and I'm in the process of cleaning up a few mistakes before returning to London."

"Few? Did any of these 'mistakes' have anything to do with her coming here?" Sherlock asked, his voice full of disdain for an unnamed woman that both men evidently knew. The same one, Joan realized, that could have been the reason for Sherlock's flight from London.

"Irene Adler?" Sherrinford snorted. "That was just to spite Mycroft. I didn't care where she went after her life was spared."

"I ran into her several weeks before Joan showed up. Some warning would be appreciated next time," Sherlock said, glancing back at the photographs. "I saw your doctor's blog by the way."

Sherrinford stiffened, but relaxed almost immediately. "Mycroft is keeping an eye on him," he said finally.

Sherlock didn't say anything, and Joan suddenly felt as though the two men were still conversing albeit without words. Not to keep her out of loop, but out of habit. "Do you want tea or coffee?" she asked, glancing at Sherrinford.

"No. I don't plan to stay long. I have a lovely appointment tonight with a soon-to-be-dead sniper, any preferences where you want the body?" Sherrinford said, directing the question at Sherlock.

Sherlock was quiet for a moment before he said, "Preferably somewhere outside of this precinct. I don't want to have to lie to Gregson about why there's a dead body... where were you going to meet the sniper?"

"At that little park down the road. Thought it would be fitting, seeing as he tried to kill my landlady while she was at a park several weeks ago," Sherrinford said casually, as though the two were just discussing tomorrow's weather.

"Hm. And you just left the doctor behind?"

Sherrinford narrowed his eyes. "His safety is a greater priority, and London is the safest place for him."

"You haven't read his blog lately, have you?"

Sherrinford raised both gloved hands; Joan had missed the gloves earlier. "No computer."

"Joan's computer right over there."

"Don't mind if I do."

"It's password-protected, and no, you may not use it," Joan said as Sherrinford reached for her laptop.

"True or false: your father's first name combined with your mother's maiden name all lowercase and in one word is the password," Sherrinford said without looking up as he typed the password and easily accessed her laptop.

Joan stared at him. "So you both can do that deducing thing."

"No, I just do my homework. I had to find out where he lived after all," Sherrinford replied mildly as he accessed the Internet and typed in the network password. He was quiet as he typed in a web address, and Joan, curious despite herself, leaned over slightly to see the screen better.

He was staring at a blog, the owner's face in a small box off to the upper right hand corner. 'The Personal Blog of Dr. John Watson' lined the top in green, and Sherrinford made a humming sound to himself as he clicked on and scanned the latest entry, which was made four weeks ago. The message itself was short, and read:

Close Call at Regents Park

Went for a walk with Mrs. Hudson and Gladstone, it's the first time in a while we've spoken; she's been busy with her sister and I at the surgery. Thought a bit of fresh air would do us both some good. Apparently there was a bloody sniper in the building across the street, and tried to shoot us both when we were about to enter the park. I pulled Mrs. Hudson down, she's all right now - and fired back, but it didn't really end until Mycroft Holmes of all people arrived and the sniper stopped firing and took off. He didn't get far; Mycroft's henchmen were waiting for him in the back alley and chased him down the street until he was shot down. No one, except for the sniper, was hurt.

The timing was so impeccable it was... suspicious.

Mycroft, since I know you're reading this, please give me my black jacket back. Preferably unbugged. I just discovered it missing, and I think I lost it in the move out of 221B. You know, when you were being oh so helpful taking... taking your brother's things. Thank you.

The post had several comments, but Sherrinford didn't bother reading through them. "He got a dog. A dog. Wonderful," Sherrinford groaned. Leaning forward, he opened the comment box and typed, 'He doesn't have the jacket. It's nice and warm, but will return it soon. -SH.' Then he posted the comment before he went and started skimming through the sporadically scattered previous posts.

"You're going to give him a heart attack," Sherlock remarked dryly as he studied the updated blog.

"He's made of stronger stuff than that," Sherrinford replied without looking up.

Joan silently applauded Dr. John Watson for managing to put up with Sherrinford. She considered emailing him for advice on how to handle Sherlock Holmes, maybe she could just set up the situation without using names and be able to squeak by getting assistance and not betraying patient confidentiality at the same time.

"That is inadvisable, Ms. Watson," Sherrinford suddenly said without looking up.

She gaped at him. "How did you know what I was thinking?"

"You just read one of his posts over my shoulder, and you know that he's made of sterner stuff in order to handle a little thing like a comment post. You have evidently dealt with my cousin for quite some time already, and therefore know the pain of dealing with a difficult flatmate. Further investigation into Dr. Watson's blog after my departure will show you that he knows how to handle difficult flatmates. I advise against contacting Dr. Watson as he is going through a difficult time right now and any further mention of his former flatmate might prove to be detrimental to his recovery," Sherrinford said without looking up from another entry he was reading.

"As little as there was to begin with," Sherlock muttered without looking up.

Sherrinford ignored him. Instead, he asked, "Where'd you get the bees?"

"Here in the United States. Airlines don't usually like it when you bring bees onboard," Sherlock said, tossing a sealed file over to Sherrinford, who easily caught it.

"Airlines get touchy about the stuff in checked luggage too, I've noticed. Had to ask Mycroft to send over half of the things I needed-"

Joan had had enough. "I'm sorry for interrupting, but-"

"No, you're not."

She scowled at both men, who both had responded without looking up. "Who exactly are you, and how are you related to him?" she asked, glaring at Sherrinford while gesturing to Sherlock.

Sherrinford stared at her. "My name is Sherrinford Holmes, and I am his cousin once removed. Do keep up, Ms. Watson, you can't exactly help Sherlock here if you are constantly behind," he said as he leaned back to hand over the folders to Sherlock. "It was the twin cousins, their uncle was the family patriarch and he threatened to disinherit them if they didn't pull their act together. They did, but not in the way that the uncle meant."

"Evidence?"

"The birth records, the uncle's last will and testament, and the girl's allergy to peanuts."

"Which one of you is older?" Joan asked, leaning back in her chair.

The two men looked at each other, and then Sherrinford said, "Him, by a few months."

Ping!

Joan glanced at the blog, and noticed that another comment had been posted in response to Sherrinford's. It said:

Not. Funny. At. All. Mycroft.

Sherrinford sighed and shut the laptop. "I'd reply, take the heat off Mycroft for not only the jacket, but the timing with the rescue, but I've risked enough as it is even though it is. I'll have to call Mycroft about watching his timing because the doctor and landlady are as safe as long as they don't know." He glanced at the nearby wall clock. "I have to go now, don't want to miss a rendezvous that took several weeks to set up."

"You can come back and spend the night once you're done. Door will be unlocked." Sherlock said as Sherrinford stood up.

Joan tried again. "But-"

"Thank you. I'll stay on the couch, I know I've occupied it more often than not back home on Baker Street," Sherrinford said. "And lock the door, the spare key is under the flowerpot anyway."

Sherlock merely nodded while Joan stared at this man. Did he specifically snoop around for the key before knocking?

Sherrinford stood up, worked out a crink in his spine, and then looked down at her. "Good evening, Ms. Watson," he said before sweeping out of the room, a gesture that was largely wasted since he apparently didn't own a long trench coat to complete the effect.

She and Sherlock were quiet as they heard Sherrinford grab his things and then leave, taking care to slam the door behind him as he left. "Move the key to the doormat," Sherlock said without looking up from his cold case files. "It'll drive him crazy that he was wrong."

"You can't just invite people into the apartment like that," Joan said. "I mean, for all I know, he could be smuggling things in that you can't have."

"He won't. He's been clean for five years, he won't wreck that record now that he knows I have someone monitoring me. He wants to beat me, so he won't risk breaking his record," Sherlock said, leaning back in his chair after closing a couple folders. "You should get some rest, Watson. You think he's strange now, wait until morning."

Joan frowned. "What if Gregson has a new case in the morning?"

"Sherl- Sherrinford is only here for the night. He won't put you at risk," Sherlock merely replied before standing. "If there is a case in the morning, then you and I will have something to do. He'll likely be gone right before or after breakfast anyway."

"Why would he put me at risk?" Joan asked, standing up as well.

"Because his enemies are monitoring a Doctor Watson. You and I know that it's his doctor that they want, but when they see him associating with you, another Doctor Watson, then they'll realize their 'mistake', and rectify it. It wouldn't be fair of him to do that to me," Sherlock replied before leaving the living room, leaving Joan alone.

After a moment's hesitation, she came to a decision. Too wound up to sleep, she picked up her laptop and sat down with it. Opening the lid, she found that the webpage was still open to Dr. John Watson's blog. She scrolled down to the first entry, and settled back in her chair to read.

A/N: Welcome to Stranger! This is a two-shot, taking place after the pilot episode of Elementary. All of the characters and related media belong to their proper owners/adaptors.

Fun Fact: 'Sherrinford Holmes' was originally the name of the non-canon older Holmes brother to Mycroft and Sherlock.