Oh Brother.

“John. Hurry up.” John sighed, glancing over at Sherlock from where he was paying the taxi driver. He looked back to the bearded driver and smiled courteously as he handed over the money.

“Keep the change.” He muttered as he straightened back up, following Sherlock down the street as the black taxi drove away. His eyes focused onto a café, with a sign above the door naming the place as ‘the Black Lions Café’, he winced; the ‘s’ should have an apostrophe.

As they got to the door, Sherlock pulled him aside and down an alley way next to the café.

“Sherlock? I thought you said we were having tea.”

“I did. I didn’t want Mycroft knowing where I was going. He doesn’t approve.” John frowned.

“How could Mycroft have known. We were in the flat.”

“He’s bugged it.” He answered simply.

“He’s what?!” Sherlock glanced back at John, he was a little further down the narrow gap.

“I’d have thought you’d have noticed. One of the microphones is in your bedroom lamp.”

“Wha- How do you know that?”

“Easy to see when you’re looking for them.” John sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was eternally tired around Sherlock.

“I meant, why were you in my room?” He said, exasperated.

“I was looking for microphones. Honestly John. Keep up.” He halted suddenly and knocked on an iron door on one side of the alleyway.

“Sherlock. You can’t just go into my ro- Oh never mind, do what you want.” Sherlock smirked at him as the door opened, revealing a grubby looking woman.

“Alright Mr Holmes. How’s it goin’?” Sherlock smiled at her, the smile not quite reaching his eyes.

“Fine, thank you, Tilly. Is your father in?” She nodded and led them upstairs, past mouldy walls and suspicious smelling rooms, though not before checking the alleyway and slamming the iron door behind John and Sherlock. She took no notice of Dr Watson, except for a dirty sideways glance.

The room John found himself in was smaller than his bedroom and much dirtier. The flowery wallpaper was faded and peeling, giving the boarded floor a dusting of plaster here and there. In the far corner was a young teenager and a middle-aged man, both grubby and dressed in what can only be described as rags.

“Dad. Parker. Mr Holmes is ‘ere.” She excused herself and the larger man looked towards them.

“’Ello Mr Holmes. Long time. We’ve been rather missing your company.” Sherlock flashed an identical smile to the one he had given the young woman who had answered the door.

“Or my wallet Mr Jones.”

“Well sir we are a little wanton of cash at the moment. Seeing as how you have forbidden Parker here making a living the only way he knows how.” From what John had heard, the whole family were resolutely cockney speakers. And from what he had seen, Parker’s way of making money was not going to be a pleasant one.

“Yes. Well. I am in need of his assistance once more. Come along Parker.” The boy stood, only to be pulled back down onto his chair by his father.

“Advance please Mr Holmes.” Sherlock clicked his tongue in annoyance and threw a bundle of twenties at Mr Jones, who caught them feverishly. “Go on son.” He pushed the boy roughly toward Sherlock, who caught his arm as he tripped, righting him quickly. John and Sherlock vacated the premises quickly. Sherlock was plainly not in the mood for hanging around. John couldn’t blame him.

“You said you didn’t have any money.” John asked angrily.

“I didn’t.”

“You had nearly two hundred pounds in your jacket!” He exclaimed.

“I needed it.” John scowled at Sherlock as they got back onto the street.

“What do you need him for anyway?” Parker was a little way ahead of them, and as John watched the boy stole a sandwich from a woman’s picnic basket, while she, oblivious, talked into her phone.

“You’ll see.”

“Sherlock. You can’t just pick up teenage boys. Especially by paying their father.” He looked at John.

“Why not?” Sherlock looked genuinely confused, John sighed in exasperation.

“Because it’s not- oh never mind.”

When they got back to 221B, Sherlock sat Parker at his laptop and explained in hushed tones what he was to do with it. He then returned to hearing distance of John and took a place in his armchair. John sat in the other.

“He’s a whiz with all things computer. Almost as good as my dear sister. He’s tracking her IP address, through her hacks, to see if he can get a location fix. Unlikely, but worth a try.” John sighed.

“Why don’t you just ask her where she is staying? And how do you know what shes hacked? If she’s hacked anything.”

“She knew where to find me. She will have hacked either Scotland Yard or possibly MoD. Charlotte tries to avoid MoD, she thinks their firewalls are so easy it’s almost shameful.” He made a face. “I can almost agree with her.” John rolled his eyes and rose to make a cup of tea.

*

After about an hour Parker let out a cry of confusion. Sherlock looked at him.

“Mr Holmes sir!” Sherlock jumped to his feet and was looking at the screen in seconds.

“Ah.”

“What ‘ah’?” Sherlock smiled slightly and gestured for John to go over. Written across the screen in bright blue lettering were the words ‘Nice Try Block-head’.

“That has my sister written all over it. Blue: favourite colour. And she is such a big fan of idiomatic words.” He looked at the screen in annoyance for a few moments. “What were you doing to trigger that?” Parker looked confused.

“I was following a direct link, right into the police database. She wasn’t very clever about it, that thread could be followed by anyone.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the screen. “Right into someone’s account.”

“Whose?”

“Uh,” Parker did a bit of clicking on the page. “A Sergeant Donovan.” Sherlock met John’s eyes, narrowed his eyes again. He could almost see the cogs whirring in Sherlock’s head, almost as clearly as he could hear the police siren outside.

“Out. Parker, now. Go. Window.” Parker nodded, sprinting to the kitchen window and swinging out of view to the pipe situated to the side of it. Sherlock took John’s half-drunk cup of tea out of his hand and tipped it onto his own laptop; which sparked, fizzed, then the screen went blank as Lestrade appeared in the doorway.

“Sherlock Holmes. I am arresting you-“

“It was John.” John looked at Sherlock in horror. He’d seen Sherlock Holmes be many things, but a liar and a grass was not one of them. Then he caught the look in his eye.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Lestrade looked between me and Sherlock in a dubious confusion.

“Fine. John Watson. I am arresting you on suspicion of-“

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you Gregson.” Charlotte had appeared behind Lestrade. He turned to look at her.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” She smiled charmingly at him, Lestrade rubbed his head. “For goodness sake Sherlock. Control your sister.”

“Would that I could.” Charlotte smiled again as Sherlock made a face that looked vaguely entertained. “You were going to let him arrest me.”

“No shit.”

“But not John.”

“No. He’s an innocent bystander in our sibling madness.” She cocked her head at John and smiled faintly. “And a Doctor. He’ll be useful one day.” Sherlock shook his head in annoyance.

“When the family banter is over; Lottie, stop hacking our databases. It’s not good for image.” She waved him off.

“Yeah, yeah. Since when did you have a gun permit?” Lestrade frowned, then glanced down at his belt. It was empty. Charlotte was studying his gun with interest. “You asked for a special service revolver.” She studied him for a moment. “Why?” he took it back from her.

“I could arrest you for that.” She smiled.

“I’d like to see you try.” Lestrade raised his eyebrows, placing the gun back in the holster at his waist. She immediately took it off him again and stepped out of his reach. He sighed.

“I asked for a special service because I wanted one.”

“Rubbish.” Sherlock commented, moving across the room to help Charlotte inspect the gun, she moved it out of his viewpoint, without looking up at him. “Charlotte.” He said, in a faintly threatening way.

“Sherlock.” She said in an identical tone.

“Lottie, can I have my gun back now?” She shrugged, passing it over to Lestrade, who clenched his teeth and put the gun away. Charlotte continued to study him.

“Why do you call her Lottie?” John asked Lestrade in the silence that followed.

“Because they slept together.” Charlotte growled and rolled her eyes at Sherlock’s comment. Lestrade looked a little embarrassed.

“Shut up Sherlock. It’s none of your business. And none of Mycroft’s either.” Sherlock smirked.

“Who’s Mycroft?”

“Their brother.” John replied, “He works for the government.”

“They have a brother?” He said disbelievingly. “Good God, there’s three of them.” John laughed, Charlotte looked faintly amused and Sherlock looked offended.

“Anyway, I’m off. Stop trying to follow me Shirley.” Sherlock made a slight growling noise. He reached out and twisted her arm, causing her to gasp.

“Stop. Calling me. Shirley.”

“Sherlock.” Lestrade said, in a warning tone. He let go.

“I will continue to call you Shirley until you stop being such a child.” Charlotte slapped him hard across the face and stepped out of his reach before he could retaliate. “And if you ever do that again; I will shoot you in the head and blame it on Mycroft before either of you can do anything.” Sherlock smirked as Charlotte stormed out.
Lestrade put his hands on his hips and shook his head at Sherlock.

“She will win Sherlock.”

“No she won’t. And she’s taken your gun again.” He said very quickly, while picking up his violin and sitting in his chair.

“Oh for goodness sake.”