Chapter Text
“So, you’re telling me you have a cousin with the same name who does the same thing you do, except he’s in New York?” John asked as he looked up from the letter Sherlock had handed him.
Sherlock nodded. “We’re quite similar. Born within a day of each other, did everything roughly the same time, though I went into the profession first. And for a while we even worked together. You can ask Lestrade about the headaches he had dealing with two Sherlocks. Of course, my cousin never referred to himself as a consulting detective. He detested the name, simply preferring being called a consultant. But he’s a detective as well. Why he won’t just—“
“Sherlock, you’re rambling,” John said. “And it’s giving me a headache.”
“Sorry,” Sherlock said.
“So who is Joan Watson?” John asked. “And why would she be writing you the letter?”
“I have no earthly clue,” Sherlock said with a shrug. “But I suppose she got in touch with Mycroft as well, if the text message I received this morning is any indication. Whatever the issue is, she wants all of his family involved.”
“So what are you going to do?” John asked from his seat on the couch.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to take a trip to New York,” he replied. “Mycroft won’t be going, but…”
“She also wants to find out about Irene, from the letter. But Irene is dead.” Sherlock said nothing, and actually looked a little guilty. “She is dead, right?”
“Not exactly,” Sherlock said. “My cousin believes Moriarty killed her. That’s what Mycroft told him when he called to ask about her. They had a slightly more…intimate…relationship than I had with her, prior to my meeting her. I think if she couldn’t have him I was her second choice.”
“You have to tell him the truth,” John said.
“And what exactly would that accomplish?” Sherlock asked, though not in an accusatory way. It was more curious than anything else.
“Your cousin is looking for revenge. You read what Joan said he did to Moran. I didn’t even know there was a Moran out there connected with Moriarty.”
“There was. No matter what I did I wasn’t able to get him.” Sherlock sighed. “I’ll tell him, but I have no clue where Irene is now. And I don’t feel like searching for her. If he wants to see her again he can search her out.”
“And I thought my family was strange,” John murmured. “I’m rather thankful for Harry right now.”
“Yes, well, he’s not that bad, I suppose, my cousin,” Sherlock said. “You’ll know soon enough when you meet him.”
“Is he anything like you?”
Sherlock nodded. “Despite being raised by different parents we ended up quite similar.”
“Great. This is going to be fun,” John said with a sigh, reaching over for his laptop. “I’ll make the plane reservations.”
“First class.” John looked at Sherlock and raised an eyebrow. “I’ll cover your ticket, John.”
“First class it is, then,” John said with a slight smile. “When should we leave?”
“As soon as possible. I don’t have much family left. If I have to save him from doing something stupid, I’d rather do it sooner than later.”
--
“Why on Earth did you contact my cousins, Joan?”
Joan was sitting on her bed on her laptop when Holmes barged into the room. “Because when I did my research and found out about them I thought they could shed some light on Irene and that whole story.”
“You could have just asked me,” Holmes said in a huff, pacing at the foot of her bed.
“I did,” she said, without looking up from her laptop. “You won’t give me a straight answer.”
“How did you find out about my dear cousin, anyway?”
“His friend John has a blog.”
“It’s a good thing you’re just a sober companion and not a blogger. If there is one thing my cousin and I hate most it’s publicity.”
“Did he really fake his death to escape it?” Joan asked, finally looking up.
“I’m not sure. Mycroft won’t give me specifics, even when I called him directly. All I know is Sherlock was considered dead for a year and then suddenly he was back.” He stopped pacing and looked at her. “I still don’t like that you invited them here.”
“Well, Mycroft isn’t coming, but Sherlock and John are.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow night. I’m going to pick them up from the airport.”
“Good luck finding me while they’re here,” Holmes muttered under his breath.
“Oh, I’ll find you,” she said quietly, looking at him. He looked back at her intently. “It’s not the end of the world, Sherlock.”
“No, I suspect that would have been more enjoyable.” He moved towards the door. “Bringing my cousin and his friend into this whole mess just so you can get answers is going too far, Joan.”
“Then tell me the whole story about Irene and I’ll call John up and tell them to stay in London,” she said, looking at him.
“I…can’t.”
“Then get used to your cousin being around,” she said, going back to her computer.
Holmes looked at her for a moment, then sighed and left the room. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his cousin. The man was tolerable, so long as he wasn’t trying to show him up. But he didn’t want all the other reminders that having his cousin in the room would bring. Joan didn’t know that, though, and he supposed it was his own fault for not being clear about it. He just had to hope his cousin was forthcoming with answers quickly and then he could leave. He wasn’t sure New York could handle both of them, just like London hadn’t been able to him. That had been the real reason he’d left, but no one knew that except his cousin. And he had crashed and burned and now? Now his past was going to come back and stare him in the face, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.