#her jacket is part of an elaborate prank with her twin brother that she carries with her in foreign lands

[isaacathom]

me, holding my primary ttrpg oc in my hands: im giving you so mcuh family trauma :)

[thebeethathums]

Home - 1

Pairing: John Watson x HolmesTwin!Reader

Warnings: The reader in this fic is a TWIN to Sherlock Holmes and as such shares some physical features to him. Please read at your own discretion with this in mind.

A/N: Bolded text indicates John’s Blog Posts

221B Baker St.

Home.

You wondered if your brother, Sherlock, would be surprised to see you or if he would have anticipated your return. You hoped he’d be surprised as you adjusted the duffle over your shoulder. You rummaged around in the pocket of your military issue camouflage pants for the set of keys you always carried.

You hadn’t bothered to change when the plane had landed, instead opting to go straight home in uniform, pulling off your jacket to reveal the white tank top underneath so you could enjoy the cool London air.

Quickly unlocking the door, you forced yourself to take the stairs slowly and with the utmost stealth even though you were itching to bound up them excitedly. You carefully skipped the squeaky step, holding your dog tags so they wouldn’t clink together as you did, and came to a stop in front of the door. You caressed the knob lightly with a slight smile- Home.

It was unlocked you noted, meaning he was home or that Mrs. Hudson was cleaning, but the latter was unlikely as you had seen her own flat was locked. He had to be home. You took a deep breath and swung the door open calling, “Guess what, Sherly, I’m home!”

The flat was quiet and you assumed he was in another part of it so you dropped your bag to take stock of the damage he’d manage to do while you were gone. Leaning to peer into the kitchen you smirked at the fact that it was a mess, as usual, and then hopped up on the couch to trace the bullet holes on the wall, his aim was getting sloppy.

John stumbled in to find you standing on his couch and wondered briefly if he should grab some sort of weapon… that is until he noticed that your arm was in a sling.

You heard a noise behind you and were too ecstatic to realize it wasn’t Sherlock, as you normally would have, “Please at least pretend to be surprised to see me, Sherlock. I know it’s not in your nature but still.”

You spun and frowned when you found someone you didn’t know and not Sherlock like you’d expected, “Oh sorry. Hello, you must be the flatmate… and I’m awkwardly standing on your couch.” You looked down at it for a second as John just gaped at you.

You stepped down carefully, a little embarrassed to have been caught standing on the furniture, and examined him with intelligent eyes and a tilted head in a way that reminded him so much of Sherlock he wanted to slap you.

You raised an eyebrow slightly, “ Army Doctor. Afganistan… possibly Iraq. Medically discharged. Not recently as you’ve been here for a while. Impressive considering Sherlock’s tendencies. Seems he finds you useful. I’m inclined to agree. He needs more friends…”

You paused for a moment, brows furrowing, “Your eyes… they are incredibly sad. Not over something recent but rather a deeper hurt that sticks with you even as time passes. The loss of someone close. It intensified as I began, I remind you of them…”

You had a sudden realization and a hand went to your mouth, as you murmured, “No. No, I’m wrong. That can’t be.”

You turned from him to think, closing your eyes to put together every detail and John realized you didn’t know.

Whoever you were, you didn’t know that Sherlock Holmes was dead.

You took a sharp breath, “No. This is all some elaborate and cruel prank to get back at me for enlisting. It has to be.”

John took a step forward, unsure of what to do, when the door swung open and Mycroft stepped in. He took one look at you and let out a sad sigh, “I was hoping to get here before you. I asked you to let me pick you up when your plane landed.”

“How long?” you asked softly.

“6 months.”

You spun to him, your voice raising a few decibels, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You would have become reckless, (F/n). I did not want you to lose focus and jeopardize your life or the lives of others.”

“I missed the funeral. I could have at least been here for that on temporary leave. You were supposed to tell me if anything happened. You were supposed to keep an eye on him.”

“(F/n) I-“

“Get out.” You yelled and then spun and went into John’s room, slamming the door behind you, only to open it again, grumbling “Right. Flatmate. Not my room anymore.” As you went into Sherlock’s room and slammed that door as well.

John looked from the closed door to Mycroft and Mycroft let out a heavy sigh, “That went better than I expected.”

John cocked an eyebrow, “Better…? What did you expect then?”

“I rather expected to her to hit me.”

John nodded, “Right… Now, what exactly is going on?”

“Ah… I take it she didn’t introduce herself then. You have just made the acquaintance of the third and youngest Holmes, (F/n). I expect you to keep an eye on her.”

John blinked a few times in shock, “Youngest Holmes… so she’s your sister. That explains before when- Wait a minute. What’d you mean keep an eye on her?”

Mycroft was already partially out the door, “She’s not leaving anytime soon and as I value my well being, I am not going make any attempt to remove her. It would seem you’ve acquired a new flatmate, Dr. Watson.”

John didn’t have time to protest as Mycroft swiftly left, so he turned and looked at the door you’d slammed just minutes ago and sighed, he was still grieving himself. The last thing he needed was a grieving Holmes that he barely knew.

The New Flatmate

It would seem Sherlock has a few surprises for me even from the grave as today I emerged from my room to find a young woman standing on my couch. Apparently, he had a sister he never told me about. I know right? Who saw that coming? I should be angry I guess but, seeing as he didn’t exactly tell me about Mycroft at first either, I suppose I should have expected it. The Holmes family is quite interesting, to say the least.

She didn’t know.

That Sherlock is dead.

Mycroft claims he didn’t tell her because she would have lost focus in the field. Oh, that’s right- I forgot to mention that she’s military of some sort, at least that’s what I would assume from the uniform and dog tags. After a short row and multiple door slams, Mycroft appointed me to take care of her for the time being. Can you believe that? As if I don’t have enough on my mind already. That man thinks he can do whatever he wants and I hate to say it but he very likely can. The odd thing is he seemed afraid of her, which I find worrisome.

She has currently shut herself in Sherlock’s room and I doubt she plans on coming out anytime soon. As annoying as the whole situation is, I can’t help but feel bad for her. Coming home from all that to such terrible news can’t be easy. If I had come home to the news Harry had died in that fashion, I would have… well, I don’t know but it probably wouldn’t have been good. Is it awful that I’m actually hoping she’ll be as fascinating as he was? They were related after all and she certainly doesn’t lack for intelligence. I could really use some adventure in my life again.