Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He enters the lab then freezes.

Mike's radio was on, and through it he could hear the honeyed words that had flowed, first onto a paper then from his and Hector's lips.

"I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing, 

"Roman Calvary choirs are singing,

"Be my mirror, my sword, my shield,

"My missionaries  in a foreign field..."

Mike glanced up from the microscope. "You alright, John?"

He snapped himself out of his stupor. "Yeah, I'm alright."

Actually, more than alright.

One of their songs was playing on the radio.

He wanted to call Julian, Hector, Sherlock, Greg. He wanted to laugh his head off. Never in a million years did he even dream that their music would be playing on the radio any day, let alone barely a few weeks after it came out.

***

It started as a joke.

Hector always had little scraps of paper hanging around the flat with lines of almost, but not quite like, poetry on them. Sometimes it'll be barely a line, sometimes it'll be ten stanzas. Then John met Sherlock in the labs of the college he went to and he quickly wormed his way into their tiny, broken lives.

Sherlock was sitting on their worn-down couch one day, plucking a string on his violin when he frowned and fished out a scrap of paper from between the couch cushions. He read it out loud, "Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry, you don't know how lovely you are?"

John, making tea (And it really was unfair that Sherlock was lazing around--John had stuff to study) glanced up. "Oh, that'll be Hector. He gets little ideas from time to time, almost but not quite like poetry, and he likes to write them down and hide them around the flat. It makes us smile when we find them, so he keeps doing it. Sometimes they're the only thing that tells me that there is another person living here." 

Sherlock frowned at it. "It's...pretty, I suppose. Your brother has a way with words."

Sherlock frowned, and started plucking strings more vigorously. Almost an hour later he speaks again. "Can you sing the words to this tune?" And he plays a sort of sliding, melancholy tune. John raised an eyebrow but obeyed, not bothering to ask why. 

"Come up to meet- you, 

"Tell you I'm sorr-ry,

"You don't know how love-ly

"You arr-re."

Sherlock's lips quirked up into a smile. "I like the way it sounds. This is a bit fun-find me more of your brother's poetry."

John got up to give the flat a quick work-through to find more scraps of paper. (Honestly, why was he doing this? Oh right, Sherlock was destructive when bored.) He called over his shoulder, "It's not poetry. It's almost but not quite like poetry, though."

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand, but snatched at the month-old receipt John held out at him. He glanced it over, then started composing again. John commented idly, "Y'know, with your composing and Hector's almost-but-not-quite-like-poetry we could start a band. Me and Hector could play guitar, Julian can do the recording and stuff."

He didn't know it at the time, but the wide-eyed look Sherlock had given him had been the start of a glorious era in their lives.

***

The day they realized what exactly they had started was already a special day--one of the only days they all had a few hours off to just spend time with each other.

John was in the kitchen, water heating while he pulled open the refrigerator. He pulled out the carton of milk, then frowned. He called over his shoulder, "We're out of milk. Again."

Julian, plunking away at his laptop (they had scrimped and saved and gone without milk but oh boy was it worth it) didn't even look up. "I get my paycheck at the end of next week. I was promised a raise. If you want milk immediately, steal some from your boyfriend."

John scowled at him. "Besides the fact that it's probably contaminated with some sort of obscure bacteria, I'm not that desperate. And weren't you promised a raise last month? And the month before that?"

It was Julian's turn to scowl. "Not like I can complain, y'know."

Hector looked up from his book. "And if it weren't for your damned pride we could just steal things from Holmes all the time. Save a bit of money that way."

John transferred his glare to his twin, "I have too much pride, and you have way to little."

He received a sigh in reply. "Are you still sore about that? It's not that big of a deal--"

Julian cut in, "Yes, because I really want to find out about your extracurricular activities from a house call by the police. That makes me feel so much better about the situation-"

Hector stood up angrily. "Well, pardon me for having no marketable skills I can use without have a fucking college diploma. Quick and easy cash, I don't know why you're complaining-"

Julian roared, "THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS THAT CAN GO WRONG WITH FUCKING RANDOM STRANGERS FOR MONEY!"

There a long, pregnant pause, and John could tell that they were simply gearing up for a shouting match. Damn their family temper. He strode towards the door, grabbing his coat from the couch as he went. "I'm going out. I'll be gone, oh, twenty minutes? You two'd better be done by then or else I'm making you type up my lab reports and essays for the next week. Get it out of your system, 'kay?"

As he descended the stairs, he could hear a loud crash. He winced; hopefully Hector hadn't broken anything too expensive.

***

He was back eighteen minutes later. He dawdled for a bit, picking up their mail, so his brothers could get the full twenty minutes. As he ascended the stairs, he flipped through the mail, which mostly consisted of bills and spam, before a certain envelope caught his eye. He absently ripped it open, pulled out its contents, then stopped.

Julian and Hector both looked up when John burst into the room, Hector automatically rising from his position on the couch as John shoved the cheque into his hands. They both stared at it for a minute.

"You're fucking shitting me."

John shook his head and said breathlessly, "I heard one song. On the radio in the lab. Viva la Vida. It's getting fucking popular, Hector."

Julian started twisting around. "Phone. Phone. John, call Holmes, I'll call Lestrade. Then," he stopped moving and pointed at Hector, "you are quitting those terrible jobs of yours. I don't want you working there anymore now that we have a semi-steady source of income."

"Hey!" Hector folded his arms indignantly. "I'm not just going to sit on my arse all day, you hear me?"

Julian waved a dismissive hand. "Fine, keep your job at the pub. But you are definitely quitting your job at the club- now where is my damn phone..."

"You're not the boss-"

"Shut up, little brother." Julian raised his phone to his ear. "Hey, Lestrade. We got a cheque in the mail. It's not, like, a million dollars, but it's quite a bit for us- yeah, yeah, we should talk, John's calling Holmes- all right. See you."

As John finished up a similar conversation with Sherlock, Julian looked at his two little brothers and grinned, getting two identical smiles in return. 

"Little brothers, this could be the start of something beautiful."

Chapter Text

Peter stared at the scene he walked into for a long moment. Khan was currently holding back an irate Julian and John had tackled Hector to the floor before he could make a move. Arthur was helping a bruised, bloody-nosed Sherlock up from the floor while Oliver rushed towards him with a wad of tissues. 

When he started speaking, everyone looked up simultaneously. "What," he said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible, "is the matter?"

The icy silence held.

Peter heard a rustle behind him. When he glanced over his shoulder, Greg was standing there, open mouthed and awkward. He then shook his head, closed his mouth, turned around, and walked away.

When Peter turned back to face the rest of the room, Sherlock had the wad of tissues pressed against his bloody nose and Khan had forcibly steered Julian towards the couch, where Oliver promptly sat on his lap to keep him from moving.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Khan and I heard a commotion, so we came down here to find John sitting on Hector and Julian punching Sherlock for all he's worth. If one of you'd like to explain..."

Hector snarled angrily from the floor, "You wanna know what's the matter? Holmes decided that it'd be brilliant if he decided sneak some coke into this fucking flat! He was hiding it underneath the couch!"

Peter whipped his gaze towards his cousin. "Are you high right now?" He demanded. 

"Obviously not," Sherlock snorted as best he could.

Peter amended, "Have you taken drugs in the last few weeks?"

"I haven't taken drugs since I met John," he drawled in reply.

Hector snorted, but Julian cut him off. "Then why," he said, a dangerous tone creeping into his voice, "are there plastic bags filled with white powder sewed to the bottom of our couch?"

"It's only a few grams-"

"And there are undoubtedly more hidden around the flat!"

Sherlock sneered, "I have perfect control over it. I am not an addict. They are simply there for... backup. And besides, it's not as I'm the worst person in this flat, drugs or not-"

Peter threw up his hands. "I'm done dealing with this. Julian, Hector, don't hit Sherlock, no matter how much of a tosser he's being at the moment. Cool off, you two." John and Oliver both got up, but neither of the brothers moved. "It's okay, I'm calling Mycroft-"

"You wouldn't, Cousin-"

Peter spoke over him, "-but we'll probably need a long discussion later about anger management."

Julian got up from the couch and wordlessly disappeared into the hallway that led to the bedrooms, followed by Oliver. Hector, on the other hand, made an odd, guttural sound deep within his throat and stormed out the front door. (Peter did not take a minute to peek at his nice bum, thank you very much. He has some self control.

Oh, fine, maybe he had. But it was barely thirty seconds.)

Peter glanced at the remaining people--Khan, standing stoic and silent, Arthur, fluttering nervously next to him (he was a very non-combative person--which was a relief, especially with so many short tempers in close quarters), Sherlock, bleeding all over the floor, and John, crouching next to him with a first-aid kit trying to patch up as much as he could.

Peter completed his mental tally: Greg was probably out for a drink, Julian was probably cooling off with Oliver (and he would not think about what that entailed) and Hector was god-knows-where, probably punching shit. Or whatever he got up to when no one was around (come to think of it, Peter didn't know a lot about him. He resolved to fix this later, after he called Mycroft)

As he dialed his phone and waited for Mycroft to pick up, he couldn't help but wonder how his life had gone so wrong, but still felt so right.

***

Actually, he could remember the start of his association with this odd band with near crystal-clarity.

It began with his second cousin Sherlock banging on his door at three in the morning.

When he opened it, his cousin came whirling in, with a pair of twins in tow. Peter didn't even bother wasting his voice, simply raising an eyebrow.

Sherlock flopped down on his couch. "We're crashing at your place tonight, cousin mine, I don't trust the area John and Hector live in especially at this time at night. Or, rather, morning; don't worry, we'll only be here a few hours."

Peter glanced at the twins. The one with the jumper that looked a bit too long for him was glancing around the flat and the one with the battered leather jacket that looked like it had seen better days was glaring at the floor, occasionally sneaking peeks at Peter. "Oh, I finally get to meet John, hm? Which one is he?"

The twin in the jacket jerked his thumb at the jumper-wearer, apparently John. "He's the nicer one."

Peter felt a little shock of glee shoot through him; although the twins looked exactly the same the jacketed one had a element of intrigue that was certainly attractive. And those tight jeans weren't helping matters. He managed to hide his pleasure as he remarked, "I've heard a lot about John, but apparently not enough about his brother. You are...?"

Jacket finally met his eyes. He gave a wide grin that didn't look friendly. "Hector Dixon. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Oh, you certainly will be, if I get my hands on you, Peter thought. Out loud he said, "A pleasure."

John prevented the awkward silence by asking, "Are you and Sherlock close?"

Peter chuckled. "Not in the way you're thinking; although we do find each other more tolerable than the rest of the family it's more of a 'birds of a feather flock together' situation."

Sherlock smirked. "Yes, the disowned Holmeses need to stick together. Now, as delightful as this is, we do need some sleep, especially John."

Peter nodded. As he went to his bedroom to search for blankets and pillows, he called, "You either get the couch, or sleep on the floor out there. Decide among yourselves."

Much to his surprise, John followed him to help carry blankets. When they entered the bedroom, John stopped him. "He's gay, single, and has a multitude of issues stemming from our parents, our living arrangements and his current job. I can tell you're interested, but if you're looking for a fling you can stop right there. If you're looking for something more long term..." Peter met John's steely blue gaze. "Tread lightly. Our older brother Julian and I will be watching you, and we're not afraid of getting our hands dirty."

Peter gave him a slight half-smile. "I'm not stupid enough to piss off a med school student and an expert hacker. We'll see how this goes."

John gave him a stiff nod, then took the blankets Peter handed to him and went back into the front room. Peter grabbed three pillows and the third blanket and followed him, out where Hector was doing a rather impromptu recital of act 1 scene 1 of Macbeth. Peter immediately joined him as Banquo, which earned him a slightly softer smile from Hector. 

In the morning, they bonded over Shakespeare and breakfast and the knife Hector carried in his back pocket.

And later he got to meet the older brother Julian who was an all right sort, and he and the three brothers (and by some extent, Sherlock) started a quite nice friendship, although the explosive fights were probably terrible for his blood pressure.

***

Which somehow turned into Hector turning up on his doorstep one day, announcing that he may have accidentally started a band and they needed someone to cover all that publicity bullshit and Peter was good at sweet-talking, would he please consider becoming a part of their crew?

His public reason for agreeing was that it seemed fun and not too hard and and the brothers were very good friends.

But really, it was because he can never say no to those ocean-blue eyes.

Chapter Text

Greg headed down the street towards the brothers' flat. Actually, it wasn't quite the brothers' flat anymore. It was more of a wayward point for the various members of their band where people can just come in and crash and leave milk and tea.

He nodded at Peter, who was coming in from the opposite direction, and let him enter the building first.

They immediately saw chaos.

Greg took one look at the scene and promptly left. He didn't get paid enough to deal with this bullshite.

***

He honestly didn't mean to join the band.

He worked with the police and got to know Sherlock after the first time he entered a crime scene. Then Sherlock started showing up at an alarming frequency and solving the cases right and left and then there was that mess with Sherlock's older brother and needless to say, he became more acquainted with Sherlock Holmes then he would have ever liked.

Luckily John came along once or twice and he was an alright chap, seemed at bit too tired for someone so young but they always ended up talking while Sherlock whirled around the crime scene like a particularly theatrical peacock.

One day they were talking about instruments and music and he mentioned, offhandedly, that he played the drums.

Then a few weeks later and John was texting him asking if he'd mind coming over so he could show him something, and he agreed.

He reached John's flat (in a bit of a sketchy part of town) where he ran into a tall blond man, who looked him up and down then handed him a piece of sheet music (hand-drawn, a bit crudely, on a bit of notebook paper) for drums.

The tall blond man turned out to be Julian and the sheet music turned out to be the second-best thing that ever happened to him.

***

Their little group grew and people started carving out individual places for themselves. 

Sherlock played the electric violin and sometimes piano, sweet melodies a startling contrast to the man himself. John and Hector (John's twin brother, and Greg was certain he's seen a picture of him the the bowels of the police precinct) played guitars and Hector took main vocals, with John occasionally singing backup when called for. John would take the slow, steady chords while Hector took the faster moving parts, which fit their personalities perfectly--John, steady and mild-mannered like a candle flame, and Hector, who burned like a firecracker and embraced his bad-boy attitude. Greg played his drums, providing backbone, which he supposed fit for the oldest member of their group. Julian didn't play an instrument, but he was the one recording and editing the songs on his laptop, which was the most expensive item Greg's seen in their flat.

They ended up collecting four new members--Peter, Oliver Arthur, and Khan. Peter showed up one day, introducing himself as Sherlock's second cousin and, when they started getting big, their new PR. Oliver was really Julian's boyfriend, but he started keeping an eye on their budgets and paperwork and stuff like that and they somehow ended up with a manager. Khan worked as a bouncer at the same place Hector worked at (No one had been very forthright with details) and his boyfriend Arthur was a good artist who came over to design their album cover art but ended up staying on as their friend and makeup/clothing. Khan didn't quite have a job yet, but Hector constantly joked that he could be their bodyguard. Not that they needed one.

It was an odd mismatch of people (which especially showed in the wall-shaking fights they could have) brought together mostly by accident (they really shouldn't be called the Nightingales, they should go by The Accidentals or something like that--really, that was a much more fitting name) but honestly, Greg has never felt happier in his life. 

***

He finished his fourth or fifth drink and decided it was high time he was getting on home.

As he stood up, he checked his phone. There was one text, from Oliver:

P called Holmes Sr. Finished yelling. Coming back or heading straight on home? O

He shot off his reply as he walked down the street:

Nah, had enough of those drama queens. Everyone all right? What happened?

Holmes Jr. was hiding drugs in the brothers' flat. J & H blew up,  John held back H,  K restrained J, but not before J got in a couple of good punches. Still unclear if it's just drugs or if there's something more to the story. J's calm now, H's out. H Jr relatively unharmed, John & A took care of him.

Greg stared at the last text, wondering how to replay. He decided to try for levity.

I'm sure J appreciated your method of calming him down.

Haha, funny. You're not wrong. Drop by sometime tomorrow, got some new music we've like to run through.

K

Greg allowed a small smile to spread across his face. Their entire group was really crazy, but they really were all right. They were doing more then just fine.

Chapter Text

Khan pounded down the hall, followed closely by his beloved, chasing the yelling and thumps into the front room. As soon as he entered, he immediately dove for Assange, who was perched on top of Holmes and was laying into him. If the circumstances weren't so volatile, he'd take a minute to admire his form, which was remarkably good for a man who sat hunched over his computer all day. 

He did, however, take a second to search for Dixon--if Assange was attacking Holmes then chances were it was bad enough to cause the younger brother to attack him as well. Luckily, he was pinned down by his twin, which made him one less thing to worry about.

He managed to yank Assange up, restraining him with his arms behind his back as Arthur and Chamberlain helped Holmes. Then came in Guillam and Lestrade, although Lestrade almost immediately left. Wise man. He took the opportunity to sit Assange down on the couch, and Chamberlain assisted him in restraining Assange by promptly sitting in his lap.

There was a bit of talking (he zoned out for a minute) then Dixon, Assange and Chamberlain were leaving and Arthur was by his side again.

He turned his head so he could bury his nose into his boyfriend's hair and sighed. This entire group was a fucking disaster.

***

He was a bouncer at a certain male strip club.

Well, first he started out as a aggressive man with a history of assault and bar fights. And Arthur was his guiding light, offering warmth and affection that soothed his tempers.

When Arthur got a job at the club (as a bartender, thank god, although the skimpy outfit he wore during work was annoying, to say the least) Khan spent so much time hanging around and growling at anyone who got too close to Arthur that the manager (a rather interesting man named Ford) threw up his hands and declared, "Fuck it, I'm hiring you, you're our new bouncer. Can you start tomorrow?"

Well, there was that entire mess with the lecherous original bouncer whom Khan beat up and kicked out onto the curb, but that's a different story.

Anyways, they worked there for a bit, and lovely, maternal Arthur eventually started getting a bit protective over the strippers who worked there. He started helping them with makeup and clothes and Khan, being the wonderful boyfriend that he was, started keeping an extra eye on the dancers to make sure they were all right. It was his job, after all, but he started doing it a bit more diligently.

So he was bound to notice tired Dixon, who was one of their best performers despite the constant shadows under his eyes, disappearing mysteriously in the middle of his shift and reappearing sometime later, which could be anywhere between five minutes to half an hour.

He came up to him the next time he saw him returning from wherever he goes, cornering him in the hallway leading to the dressing rooms. He demanded, "Are you alright?"

Dixon sidestepped him, glaring, and snapped, "I'm fine."

***

The next time, he did it again, but now he was equipped with a small jar of bruise cream that Arthur handed him after listening to his tale. "Are you alright?"

Hector, once again, replied, "I'm fine."

But he took the cream, so Khan counted that as a win.

***

It became a bit of a routine. 

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

***

It broke one day, when Hector came back with red-rimmed eyes and a limp.

He tried to be gentle. "Are you alright?"

He got a sigh in response as Hector leaned his back against the wall and thumped his head. "No, but it has little to do with what I'm doing out there."

***

They figure out that Hector won't accept charity, but he will take cookies and sandwiches that Arthur makes as long as he insists that they're for everyone.

They pretend to not notice when Hector takes two or three or four and wolfs them down like he hasn't eaten in weeks.

***

Khan felt a sort of oddness when Hector came up to them (backstage during one of their breaks) and declares, "I'm quitting this job."

Arthur smiles at him. "I'm glad."

Khan says nothing but, "Take care."

As he began to leave, Arthur called out, "If you ever need a makeup and clothing for the Nightingales, you know where to find me."

Hector chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like that'll ever happen."

***

A while later, Arthur gets a call from Hector that amounted to, "Yeah, I think I'll take you up on that offer. Bring Khan, too, he's fun."

***

A even longer while later, Khan's pushing back fans trying to sneak a peek backstage, but he can't find it in him to regret this.

Chapter Text

Hector ended up on a park bench next to a pond with exactly three ducks sitting in it. A cheap sandwich (turkey, tomato, lettuce, cheese that was an alarming shade of orange, wrapped in plastic with a sticker that announced its sell-by date (today) and the price(suspiciously cheap)) had somehow managed to wander into his grip.

He ended up nibbling on a crust of bread while tearing up the lettuce into small pieces for the ducks to eat. The rest of the sandwich went back into his pocket, to give to John or Julian later.

God, Holmes had really fucked up, didn't he? What in the world was he thinking, leaving drugs in their flat? And John defended the little arsehole! Come to think of it, it was probably because Holmes was his first non-family friend in forever. God, that sort of codependency was kind of fucked up.

Actually, their entire family was really fucked up in general.

***

Hector measured his life in people coming and going.

First, there was John and Julian and them.

(hatehatehateyou butJohnandJaywe'llmakeeverythingokay)

Then she took John and Julian away and it was just him and Hector, alone together.

(nonononostoppleaseiithurts'msososososcaredsomeonesaveme)

Then Jay and John came back, but without her.

(thankyouthankyouthankyou)

Then seventeen-year-old Jay came into their room, stony-faced, told them to pack their bags and then they left him.

(what?where?doesn'tmatter,we'restillkindofalright)

For a while it was just like that, the three of them, alone, fighting to survive long enough to protect each other.

(loveyouloveyouloveyou ifithinkhardenoughwillyouwhatican'tsay?)

Then John started drifting, but at least he was still there

(Jay'sjealousbutit'sokayyoudogoodinschoolwe'resoproudofyou)

Julian came home with Oliver one day and they were so happy--still are, thank god

(shouldbejealousbutheiswonderfulandsmartandfunnyandJayhasgoodtaste)

And John started running around with Holmes, and by all rights he should hate him but John thought he was clever and handsome so Hector kept his mouth shut

(shouldhatehimbecarefultookindtoogood)

And then Arthur and Khan, who showed him such kindness

(???idon'tunderstand)

And then he was stumbling, slightly drunk, into Holmes' stupidly perfect cousin, who was sharp and tall and stunning and perfect

(ohgodlookatthosecheekbonesthoseeyeslooklooklookperfection)

God, he was fucked up really badly, but he found the first group of people he was close to in what seemed like forever and he didn't deserve something like this but they built a fragile kind of peace.

(ithinkthisishappy?doesn'tmatter,doesn'tmatteranymore)

***

He does a pretty good job of hiding everything under a thick layer of bravado and devil-may-care attitude. But it still perks up in small ways.

Not eating, then eating as much as he could snarf down in one sitting, the way he avoids certain types of people on the street, the way the trio remain close despite their hot tempers and close quarters (one of John's exes remarked that their relationship had a slightly incest-y feeling. Hector couldn't quite hide his chuckle at how right yet so wrong she was). The way they can never express their love for each other, the way emotional expression still hovered far beyond their reach.

Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if John and Julian hadn't returned, hadn't been there to help pick up the pieces. He'd probably become a serial killer or something.

But they had come back to him, had stayed in that hellhole with him, and now he was sitting in a park, fuming about John's dickwad of a boyfriend and writing music so he wouldn't have to become a whore again. He wasn't quite sure if he'd rather have this or be a murderer. (actually, that was an easy question, but hey, a guy can dream, right?"

His elaborate fantasy of eviscerating Holmes was interrupted by Peter gingerly sitting down on the bench besides him.

Hector pretended to not notice him, but Peter only tolerated the awkward silence for a few moments before he cleared his throat softly. Hector graced him with a glance out of the corner of his eye. "What is it, Guillam?"

Peter nodded at the sandwich in his lap. "Are you going to eat that?"

Hector shrugged. "Nah, ate an apple earlier today."

"Well, you should. At least a little bit."

Another thick silence settled between them. This time, Hector broke it first. "How badly was Holmes injured?"

"Bloody nose, bruises everywhere and that lip'll probably scar."

Hector allowed himself a small, vicious smile. "Good."

Peter licked his lips and Hector steeled himself for what would come next. "Do-"

"Yes, our family is seriously fucked up, yes, we may have overreacted but we have a very good reason, and no, I don't want to talk about it."

Peter blinked at him, but replied calmly, "I wasn't going to ask. I was, however, going to inquire if you'd like to come out for a drink or two. I think we need it."

Hector raised an eyebrow in surprise, ignoring the jolt in his belly at the thought of he and Peter, alone together, getting drunk. He would've thought it was a come-on if they didn't go out together for something every three days or so. "Sure. But I must say, I'm surprised that you weren't going to try and poke around in our affairs."

Peter's lip quirked as he rose, offering Hector a hand. "You'll tell me, or you won't. Me asking won't change that."

Hector responded with a head tilt of acquiescence. "Not many people see it that way."

(thank you for understanding)

Chapter Text

Julian sighed and shut his laptop.

Like pretty much every other rehearsal, this one devolved into a screaming mess. At least the drama queens managed to get in a good half hour of practice today before Lestrade was leaving 'to get some air' and Holmes and Hector were sulking in their respective corners, occasionally sending another snippy comment.

He felt someone appear behind him and he leaned his head back so he could rest it on Oliver's stomach. "Did you catch what they're screaming about now?"

Oliver leaned forward so he could look Julian in the eye. "Something Sherlock said about Hector being sexually frustrated and how he should get off his arse and at least try to get laid soon. I don't know, I wasn't really paying attention."

Julian groaned again. "I don't want to think about my little brother's sex life."

Oliver quirked an eyebrow. "You don't have any qualms about making fun of Sherlock and John's."

He shrugged in response. "John can take care of himself; he's pretty emotionally stable. Hector...not so much." It was a bit hard to explain to someone who only knew barest details about their family, so he left it at that.

Honestly, he probably needed to come clean soon about their odd family dynamic, especially if he wanted to avoid some hard questions, but he wanted to put off the inevitable pity fest for as long as possible.

Oliver looked confused. "I can see that, but I could never figure out why that was. They're identical in pretty much every single way except that. I can understand the temperament differences, but they should be either messed up or perfectly fine, not one of each."

Julian shook his attempt at digging off. Here came the hard questions. "Eh, it's a long story. I'll tell you later."

But Oliver barreled over his brush-off. "Not only that, but John acts more like an older brother then a twin to Hector. Is that part of it too? And also-"

"Drop it!" Julian barked, much louder then he intended. Oliver froze mid-sentence. Holmes and Hector stopped their bickering to glance over, too. Feeling all of their gazes on him, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell. Just...please. I'll tell you later."

Oliver nodded, but his guilty look flashed across his face. "I'm sorry too, for pushing."

"No, you deserve to know. It's all right. Just...not now."

He turned to Hector and Holmes. "And I hate to say this, but I agree with Holmes. You should really stop mooning over him and tell him-"

"Tell who what? And who's Hector mooning over?"

Ah. And there was Guillam. Julian smirked at him over his shoulder. "It's his right to tell you if he wants to." He sent a sidelong glance at Hector, who was glowering at him.

Guillam also immediately glanced at Hector, who growled, "No. It's nothing. I'm not mooning over anybody, the rest of these guys are just being little shits." Then he mumbled under his breath something that sounded oddly like "Little shits who are getting laid."

Julian couldn't resist adding, "Methinks the lady doth protest too much."

Hector turned an interesting shade of pink. "Number one: you said it wrong. Number two: shut the fuck up!"

Guillam shook his head. "It's not important. Well, the misquote is, but my question isn't. Aren't we going out for lunch, Hector?"

He perked up. "Right. I forgot. Hang on, let me go grab my jacket."

The second he left the room Julian turned around and scowled. "Stop staring at his arse."

Guillam's eyes snapped up rather tellingly. "I wasn't."

Luckily, he was spared from defending himself further when Hector reentered, pulling his jacket on as he went. "Are we going?"

"Yeah, let's go."

Julian scowled at their backs as they left. He knew it was smothering of him to want to squirrel Hector away from everyone, protect him from anyone who'd so much as look at him, but he felt he was slightly justified. He couldn't protect him when it mattered, so he needed to make up for it now.

"Stop scowling at them. They're cute together." Oliver tapped him on the head lightly with a file folder. "D'you know why John missed practice?"

"He's at school, I think. Probably. Hopefully. And it's just that..."

Oliver moved around so he could sit on the arm of the couch. "I know. It's that protective thing going on. I won't ask again."

"Thank you." Julian absently began to slid his hand up Oliver's thigh. When he looked up, Oliver was biting his bottom lip. He smirked. "I really should start putting together 'Paradise'..."

Oliver suddenly stood up. "Yes, you do. Get to work."

Julian pouted. "You're supposed to tell me to take a break!"

Oliver cocked his head to the side and deftly stepped out of the way of Julian's groping hand. "If you get this done before dinner tonight we'll go dancing."

"Deal."