Falling For You

The Other One

Sherlock looked up at John who frowned at him.  The crime scene was most unusual; a dead Irish setter stabbed to death.  It was most curious indeed to Sherlock, but Lestrade had called him in.  A note had been faxed to Scotland Yard insisting that Sherlock investigate the crime scene himself, and Sherlock of course, couldn't refuse.  But he had no leads and no idea why someone would kill a dog in this way.

"You okay?" John asked as they made their way to the cab.

Sherlock looked at John skeptically and then opened the door to the typical black cab.  John filed in after him, neither of them saying a word for a moment or two.  

"Sherrinford," Sherlock whispered, his voice uneven.

John looked at Sherlock, wondering what the mysterious word meant.  "Sherrinford? What's that?"

Sherlock looked at John sheepishly, his stormy eyes barely glossing over John's face before moving to the window.  "Before Mycroft, there was another one," Sherlock said.

John frowned.  "I don't understand," he said.

Sherlock huffed and tried to think of a better way to put things, but he didn't know how.  He hadn't thought about Sherrinford in a very long time.  He hadn't even see him since he was shipped off to that mental place after being found beat up one day after school.  Sherlock remembered all of the pain he felt when he saw him lying in that hospital bed.  Doctors making accusations that doomed him to a life of darkness.

"Originally, there were three of us.  Sherrinford, Mycroft, and me," Sherlock tried explaining.

John was beginning to catch on to two things.  First of all, Sherlock had another older brother.  Second of all, Sherlock didn't like talking about him.  Seeing this, John wrapped his arm around Sherlock to let him know that everything was going to be okay.  Sherlock smiled weakly at his love and remained calculated.  If he's learned one thing with his time with Sherrinford it was that he could never be off his game when he was involved, even in a conversation.

"A third Holmes brother," John whispered, unsure of what to make of this new information.

"Indeed.  However, he was strange.  Mycroft and I both cared for him because he was older.  We thought of him as a god.  He taught us not to feel for others but he did not teach us not to feel for him. He was greatly worshiped and soon Mycroft and I held onto his every word like it was law.  But then, we got Redbeard."  Sherlock stopped, unsure if he was willing to continue on.  He looked at John who seemed very deep in thought, and then Sherlock ran his fingers through his curly hair.

He sighed and rested his head on John's shoulder, making sure that John knew how much he appreciated him being there for him and how stressful this was for Sherlock to even think about.

"What happened after Redbeard?" John inquired softly, his voice like a protective cloud willing to fly away if the darkness fell. 

Sherlock looked at John, his stormy eyes soft and scared.  "I don't think Mycroft killed Redbeard," Sherlock said.

John looked at him in surprise.  "Why?"

"The Irish setter we found today.  He was killed in the same way Redbeard was and I think it was a warning."

"A warning of what?  Who sent the warning?  Mycroft?" John asked, his mind racing.

"No, Mycroft has an alibi.  He was with us around the time the dog was killed."

"Okay, so who did it?"

Sherlock shifted in his seat.  "Do you remember that blood we found a few centimeters away from the corpse?  The only blood on the ground?"

John thought back to the ugly scene and nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat.  "Yeah, it looked like an s," he remembered.

"And Lestrade though it was for 'Sherlock', did he not?"

"He did," John confirmed.

Sherlock sighed, something inside of him breaking.  "I don't think it stands for my name.  The s... I think it stands for-"

"Sherrinford," John gaped.

"He's back."