Resentful

It had been two days since Sherlock and Sherrinford Holmes met. It had also been two days since it came to light that Mycroft and Mummy Holmes had been lying to Sherlock for his entire life.

Sum it to say that Mycroft was not Sherlock's favorite person in the world right now.

And that John was wondering if there were any other very important things that Mycroft was neglecting to tell them.

And that Lestrade was in a very, very tight spot at the moment.

"I- um," Lestrade grimaced into his phone when he finally scraped together enough courage to actually make the call, "I'm sorry, Mycroft."

"There's no need for you to apologize." Mycroft replied swiftly.

"I really didn't know."

"I know you didn't." Mycroft tried to reassure the copper.

"I wouldn't have tried to introduce Sherrinford to you or Sherlock if I did." Lestrade continued rambling. "I would understand if you hate me for that."

Mycroft huffed. "Gregory, I - um - actually, I wanted to thank you."

Lestrade blinked. "You what?" he asked dumbly.

Mycroft chuckled. "Well, it had to happen sometime."

"...What did?" Lestrade asked weakly.

"Sherrinford." Mycroft waited a moment to let Lestrade collect his wits. "Sherlock would've found out about him someday, and Mummy would've tried to find Sherrinford. As much as a prodigal son as he is, Sherrinford is her son. It would have come to light anyway and I'm secretly glad that it was you who made it. Sherlock would hate me forever if he had realized that we had no intention of ever telling him about Sherrinford, or if Mummy regressed into depression because of it."

Lestrade blew out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "So... we're good?"

Another huffy laugh. "We're good."

"Oh, thank God." Lestrade sighed in relief.

"Sherrinford agreed to stop by sometimes to get to know Sherlock and to get used to the fact that we don't actually hate him." Mycroft told him.

Lestrade raised his eyebrow dubiously.

"Alright, maybe I do resent him... just a little." Mycroft conceeded. Although, how he saw Lestrade's raised eyebrow through the phoneline, Lestrade could not fathom.

"Well that's... good then?"

"Yes, Gregory, it is good. Unless Sherlock and Sherrinford decide to merge forces against me then I cannot guarentee their safety." Mycroft deadpanned.

Lestrade laughed. "So, um... you okay?"

"Of course, Gregory." Mycroft said breezily.

"Should I chalk it up to you being a Holmes, or you lying? Because this is kind of a big deal, Mycroft." Lestrade said uneasily.

"I'll be alright, Gregory." Mycroft assured him. "There is no need for worry."

Figures that, there was.


Please restrain Sherlock. -A

Oh, no. What's he done? -Lestrade

He's been a nuisance in trying to figure out this new brother of his ever since Mummy Holmes told him Sherrinford visited their home. -A

I repeat; what's he done? -Lestrade

The better question is; what hasn't he? -A

Oh. -Lestrade

He's making life Hell for my Boss. ...And me. -A

I mean, he had it coming, but still. -A

Alright. I'll see what I can do. -Lestrade

Do. -A


Sherlock? -Lestrade

What? -SH

Where are you? -Lestrade

Why? -SH

I'm at Baker Street and you're not here. -Lestrade

Obviously. I'm on a case. -SH

John's here too. -Lestrade

I'm busy. -SH

Too busy to take John with you? Really, Sherlock? -Lestrade

I told him I'd be out. -SH

You told him that yesterday. He was about to organize a search party for you when you didn't come back. -Lestrade

And now he's sulking because he knows you're on a case without him. -Lestrade

Oh, now he's frowning at me for tattling. -Lestrade

Seriously, where are you? -Lestrade

Home. -SH

? -Lestrade

Oh. That home. -Lestrade

Well, stop being a nuisance. And don't bother your mum. Anthea's complaining. -Lestrade

Oh, now my brother's making his PA complain on his behalf? Pathetic. -SH

I get that you're upset, Sherlock. But would it kill you not to make it hard on everybody else? -Lestrade

A brother, Lestrade! I had a family member that I didn't even know about. -SH

And Mycroft had more than thirty years to tell me about him. -SH

But he didn't. -SH

Typical. -SH


"Hey." Lestrade greeted John when he found the man in their usual booth at the pub. "How are you holding up?"

John had already begun drinking without him and was well into his second pint. "Don't ask." he groaned.

"Sherlock still mad?" Lestrade asked.

"Well, he's been playing that violin of his for three days straight. He won't talk, won't eat, won't sleep, and slips out of the flat at ridiculous times when he knows I won't catch him." John fairly exploded. "Yes. He's still mad."

Lestrade looked sympathetic. "If it'll make him feel any better, tell him that Sherrinford is coming to visit next week."

"Would it be unfair of me to ask him to talk some sense into Sherlock?" John grumbled.

"I don't know." Lestrade shrugged. "I think they all need a little talking to, those Holmeses."

John let out a slightly hysterical giggle. "Understatement, Greg."

They continued drinking in silence and watched the telly as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"I don't think anyone's asked, but how are you?" John asked, breaking the silence.

Lestrade glanced at him over the rim of his glass. "I'm depressed." he declared. "Seriously depressed. Mycroft says that everything will be fine, Anthea's complaining that Sherlock's making her a personal Hell on Earth, and Sherlock's still obviously mad at Mycroft. The only people I'm not hearing from is Sherrinford and Mummy Holmes... then I'd have a whole set of-..." He threw his free hand up in surrender. "You know what? I give up. This has got to stop."

John snorted into his pint. "I know. But what can you do?"

Lestrade slouched back in his seat.

Yeah. What can he do?


He drunk-phoned Mycroft that night after he wandered home. Mycroft picked up after the first ring.

"You liar." Lestrade slurred in his ear.

"Gregory?"

"Who else, dumbass?"

Mycroft's eyebrows raised in slight surprise. "'Dumbass'?"

"Uh-huh. Yup. That's what you are." Lestrade agreed.

Mycroft sighed. "Gregory, are you drunk?"

"Sure am. So's John. We spent the whole night talking about Sh-..." Lestrade paused for a moment in drunken puzzlement. "Sherl- no not that one, the older one - Sherrin... Raffles. Raffles - him. You know..."

"Sherrinford?"

"That one, yeah." Lestrade giggled. "Sherrinford. Such a weird name. Must be a Holmes thing, the names."

"Gregory-..."

"Mycroft." Lestrade cut him off, swallowing thickly. "Listen-... listen to me, 'cause I need to tell you somethin' important."

"I'm listening." Mycroft told him patiently.

"You said that everythin's gonna be okay. But it's not." Lestrade sniffed on the other end. "I didn' want to tell you before, but things like that never are. Okay, I mean."

Mycroft sighed. "Gregory, I know that."

"Do you?" There was a muffled sound of something crashing and Lestrade cursed. "Ow - I mean, I dunno."

"What do you mean?" Mycroft asked. "Are you alright?"

"'M fine. Kicked the coffeetable on accident." Lestrade snickered. "Had it comin'. Anyway... what was I say'n?"

"Do I know that things are going to be okay."

"Oh- oh yeah." Lestrade hummed. "Because, he's angry, Mycroft."

"I know that too, Gregory." Mycroft rolled his eyes. "He'll get over it."

"No he won't. And you're not gonna forgive Raffles either so you have no right to ask Sherlock to forgive you." Lestrade stated firmly.

"Sherrinford, Gregory, Sherrinford." Mycroft corrected softly.

"An' you're so angry at Sherrinford like Sherlock's angry at you. You both did stuff that's pretty hard to forgive and forget, and it's okay too, in'nit? I mean, you're okay with Sherrinford even if you're still angry at him." Lestrade trailed off for a moment. "But my point is that you can't expect Sherlock to be okay with what you and Mummy Holmes did. 'Cause it's not okay. It was a bit not good. And I think he's more upset that you didn't trust him to keep a secret than because he all of a sudden has another older brother."

"As I've told you, Sherrinford's existance was a secret in itself, it was much less complicated if Sherlock simply did not know." Mycroft explained.

"But it's okay now, isn't it?" Lestrade said.

"Yes, it is." Mycroft replied when he realized it wasn't a rhetorical question.

"Then, why arn't you talking to Sherlock?"

"Simply because he doesn't want to talk to me." Mycroft sighed. "He's busy."

"He's tryin', Mycroft." Lestrade groaned.

"Oh no, what is he trying to do?" Mycroft demanded, suddenly on the alert.

"He wants to know who his brother is." Lestrade slurred. "Why arn't you talkin' to him?"

"Why do you think he'd want to talk to me?" Mycroft questioned.

"Stupid, Mycroft." Lestrade huffed. "You said all evi- evide-... Known stuff about Sherrinford was all gone."

"Yes, and?"

"Sherlock's not gonna be able to find out things about Sherrinford... but you'd know." Lestrade hummed under his breath. "You'd remember. So why arn't you tellin' Sherlock embarrassin' stories about him already?"

"Grego-..."

"Oh God, I feel sick. Imma go puke now. G'night, Mycroft." And Lestrade cut the connection, leaving Mycroft slightly stunned at his drunken insight.

He put his phone down and raked his fingers through his hair, letting out a large sigh.


Sherlock was at Holmes Manor, this was the third time in the last week that he visited. He had tenaciously hunted down every possible avenue of investigation into the mysterious case of the non-existant Sherrinford Holmes and still it had gotten him nowhere.

It was obvious that Mycroft had walked these steps before him years ago and brushed away every trace of footprints. Sherrinford Holmes simply did not exist. No record of birth, education, arrests, not even dental records. And every time he tried to talk to Mummy Holmes about him, she clammed up and hurried away with obvious signs of guilt.

He moved upstairs to what was previously his room when growing up. He removed the plastic covering from the bed and sat on it quietly.

He was only disturbed by a soft coughing from the doorway. He turned to see Mycroft standing awkwardly just in the hallway.

"What do you want?" the younger Holmes snapped irrately.

Mycroft simply blinked in way of response. "I thought you might like to see the room where Sherrinford grew up." he said slowly.

"I checked every room." Sherlock spat. "And every room was identical to the next. You did a good job of removing all evidence of our elder brother, congratulations." he said scathingly.

"Oh, don't be difficult, Sherlock." Mycroft rolled his eyes. "And there is alot about the Holmes family that you still do not know of."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Please tell me I haven't got another additional sibling."

Mycroft allowed a stiff chuckle. "Uh, no, not that kind of secret."

He turned and left, not waiting to see if Sherlock would follow. Sherlock frowned, contemplating letting him go alone, but was ultimately won over by his curiosity.

They walked into an empty bedroom. It looked exactly the same as every other empty bedroom in the house. If anybody but Mycroft Holmes had led him into that room, Sherlock would've been inclined to think it was random.

Mycroft motioned with his umbrella to the wall opposite the bed. "Mummy doesn't know about any of this, so you must not tell her. Understand?" Sherlock nodded soberly.

Mycroft moved aside a full body length mirror from its place and gently felt along the wall behind it. "Oh, there it is." he murmured softly to himself.

There was a slight creak and a hidden compartment opened up a hole in the wall. Sherlock's eyes widened.

Mycroft smiled reminiscently. "Sherrinford made it himself. It was a secret from Mummy. He showed it to me a few times." He reached his hand into the gaping hole and pulled out a small wooden box. He handed it to Sherlock. "Go on. It's the last shreds of evidence that Sherrinford Holmes actually existed. I didn't have the heart to let Mummy destroy it."

Sherlock sat on the bed - Sherrinford's bed - and opened the box.

The first thing he saw was a faded picture that showed a younger Sherrinford with an even younger Mycroft on his knee. Mycroft looked to be about three years old and had something dark smeared around his gaping mouth and on his hands.

Mycroft coughed self-consciously at Sherlock's stunned expression. "Yes, well, it wasn't my best moment."

Sherlock stared at the picture, took one look at Mycroft, and burst out laughing.

There was another picture under the first, and another after that. Mycroft was busy telling stories until the day was long gone.


Hey. -Lestrade

Yes, Gregory? -MH

Did I drunk call you last night? I think I did, but I don't remember. -Lestrade

Don't worry about it. -MH

Oh, shit! I did call you! -Lestrade

Oh no, what did I say? Holy shit! I was on for ten minutes? How drunk was I? I don't remember any of it! -Lestrade

Don't worry. I do. -MH

And, thank you. -MH

... Erm, okay? You're welcome? -Lestrade

Apparently, you are my voice of reason even when drunk. -MH

Oh... did I give good advice? -Lestrade

Yes. Resentfully so. -MH

Um... okay. -Lestrade

Have a good day. I love you. -MH

... -Lestrade

Excuse me while I do a panicked little freak-out over here. -Lestrade

... Okay, I'm back. Fine now. -Lestrade

I'm very happy for you. -MH

Har, har. Love you, too. -Lestrade

And I'm texting Anthea about this. -Lestrade

Oh, horror of horrors. I think she just squealed. -MH

An honest-to-God squeal. Appalling. -MH

Very unprofessional. -Lestrade

Not a word, Sir. -A

Yes ma'am. -MH


A/N: Funny thing happened the other day, I got attacked by a ninja fever! Seriously, it snuck up on me in the middle of the night, rose to almost 104 degrees, and just suddenly disappeared two days later! Weird... but okay. As long as it's gone. haha. Still need to take it easy and stay cooped up in the house, though.

Stay healthy, everyone! TT_TT