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Chapter Text

They entered the flat and were both surprised to find that someone was already there. Sherlock froze in place as he stared at the man sitting in his chair. He was young, very early twenties, with short black hair and bright blue eyes that were sparkling with amusement. His sharp cheekbones and angled face made him the spitting image of Sherlock. 

John looked at Sherlock and saw him reach up and start rubbing his head, as if he had a headache.

“Hello Sherlock,” the man in the chair said cheerfully. “Long time no see.”

Sherlock kept on rubbing his head. “What do you want, Merlin?” He asked tiredly.

“Geez Sherlock, no need to get touchy. Oh, and you really should stop rubbing your head like that, it will only make it worse.”

Sherlock immediately took his hands off his head, glaring at them as if they had offended him in some way.

“I’m sorry, but who are you? And how did you get in here?” John asked, confused.

Sherlock sighed tiredly. “John, meet my little brother Merlin.”

John’s eyes practically bulged out of his head. “There’s another one!?” He asked loudly, turning to Sherlock. “How many siblings do you actually have? Is there any more family of yours I should be looking out for?”

Sherlock glared at him before turning sharply and walking into the kitchen.

“Don’t mind him,” Merlin said, directing his attention back to the living room, “He gets like this anytime I come around.” Merlin stood up, walked over to John, and offered his hand out to shake. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said with an amused smile on his face.

John shook his hand. Merlin’s resemblance to Sherlock seemed more muted, somehow, when he smiled. “You too,” John said. “And unfortunately this behavior seems pretty par for the course when it comes to Sherlock and guests,” John looked back toward Sherlock who was, again, rubbing his head and pointedly not looking at Merlin.

Merlin saw this as well and rolled his eyes. “No, trust me; he’s more than annoyed right now. I give him a headache.”

John raised his eyebrows, “why would you give him a headache? You’ve barely spoken to him since we got here.”

Sherlock looked up at them again, and took a deep breath before walking back over to where they were standing. “What are you doing here Merlin?” He asked.

Merlin sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I just need a place to lie low for a while. Someone came pretty close to finding me out two days ago; they might still suspect something so I need to hide for about a week or so.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and John was surprised to find that he almost looked worried. “How close were they to finding out? What did you do? Why don’t you just go to Mycroft?” The last bit was said in a whine. 

Merlin was starting to look a little annoyed. “They were close, but not dangerously so. I don’t need to change my identity again or anything along those lines. I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary; I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I came here instead of Mycroft’s because I wanted to see you.”

“But why do you have to stay here ?” Sherlock shifted like he wanted to stomp his feet.

“Because I trust you and it’s safer here.”

“What about staying with one of your little friends?”

“Arthur is still on his honeymoon with Gwen, and Gwaine is vacationing in Spain. Everyone else just isn’t as trustworthy as you are.”

Sherlock glared at him again and walked to his room, slamming the door without another word.

Merlin threw up his hands in frustration and walked back over to the chairs, falling into Sherlock’s with a huff.

John, still not sure what to make of this conversation, slowly followed Merlin and sat across from him. “I’m sorry Sherlock is in one of his moods today,” John said. “I can try to talk to him if you are really set on staying here for a few days, if you’d like?”

Merlin huffed, “Oh don’t worry, he’s already going to let me stay; it’ll just take a bit for him to accept it.”

“Why’s he so agitated?” John asked, curious.

“Because he can’t read me, and it frustrates him to no end.” Merlin replied with an amused smile on his face.

“What do you mean he can’t ‘read’ you?”

“You know him, the great detective that can take one look at you and know all your secrets. Well he can’t do that with me. Mycroft neither.” 

John’s eyes widened. “Seriously?” he asked, not sure if such a thing was possible.

Merlin grinned harder, “Yup! Well, I mean it’s not quite that he can’t read me, it’s just that he can’t trust what he reads.” His face grew thoughtful, “Think of it this way — if someone was trying to read your mind for something you didn’t want them to know, which would be easier: trying to wipe your mind of all thought, or just thinking of something else?”

“Well, I suppose it would be easier to just think of something else,” John replied thoughtfully.

“Correct,” Merlin smiled, “My brothers can’t read me, not because there’s nothing to read, but because I’m giving them something to read that isn’t always true. Sherlock knows this, and it gives him a headache trying to reconcile what he’s seeing with what he knows may or may not be real.”

John wasn’t quite sure what to think of this. The only other person Sherlock hadn’t been able to read was the Woman… and she was naked at the time. Well, Merlin thankfully wasn’t naked, but according to Sherlock it was impossible not to give something away. He was just about to ask Merlin about this when Sherlock came out of his room.

Chapter Text

“Alright,” Sherlock stalked over with long strides, coming to tower Merlin who was still sitting in his chair. “You can stay on two conditions,” Sherlock was now holding his finger in front of Merlin’s face, as if Merlin were a child that needed straightening out. Merlin was not impressed. “One, you get to tell Mycroft you were almost discovered and that you are going to stay here,” Merlin’s face remained stoic, waiting for the terms of his stay, “Two, you swear to me that you haven’t relapsed.”

At this, a flicker of emotion crossed Merlin’s face, almost like a grimace, but it was gone before John could know for sure. Relapsed into what? John asked himself. His first thought was drugs, but then, Merlin didn’t look like a drug addict. Neither did Sherlock , John reminded himself.

Merlin gave a weary sigh, but it seemed to be more out of annoyance than anything else. He thought for a few seconds, and then stood up to face Sherlock at eye level. “I will call Mycroft in the morning, if he doesn’t already know where I am by then.” 

John added this to his growing list of things to ask Sherlock when Merlin wasn’t around.

“And the second condition?” Sherlock asked coolly.

Merlin hesitated only for a moment, and then resolutely looked Sherlock dead in the eyes, “I swear that I haven’t relapsed.” Merlin said, absolutely serious for the first time since John had met him.

Sherlock stared long and hard into those blue eyes so similar to his own. He must have seen something there, because he finally relaxed and gave a curt nod before abruptly turning and stalking downstairs, calling for Mrs. Hudson.

At his brother’s agreement, some of the tension left Merlin’s body, and he slowly sank back into Sherlock’s chair with an unfathomable expression upon his face. 

John felt completely left out of the loop. He knew Sherlock better than almost anyone, and he could tell that whatever Merlin might have been liable to relapse into, it worried the detective greatly. There wasn’t much that could truly worry Sherlock, and when something did it was usually best for John to be concerned about it as well.

Mrs. Hudson came bustling up the stairs, tearing John away from his thoughts. Sherlock had obviously told her of the new guest in the flat, and she was never one to miss an opportunity to mother those around her. 

“Hello dearie,” she greeted Merlin warmly, “I’m Mrs. Hudson, the landlady. Sherlock tells me you are visiting from out of town and that you need a place to stay.” She carefully picked her way around all of Sherlock’s clutter, eventually reaching the linen closet. “Now I’m afraid we don’t have any extra bedrooms, so you’ll have to take the couch, is that all right?” 

Merlin smiled kindly at her, “Yes that would be perfectly fine ma’am. I do hope I won’t be in the way too much.”  

Both Mrs. Hudson and John smiled back at him. There was just something infectious about his smile, so open and friendly you just had to respond in turn. John couldn’t help thinking that the resemblance between the two men was getting harder and harder to parse. 

“Oh, don’t you worry your head about it dear, it’s no trouble at all! Now, here are the spare sheets,” she handed him a neatly folded bundle from the linen closet. “How about I just go down and make us all some tea?” 

Merlin’s smile turned thankful, “Yes, that would be lovely; I’m absolutely famished! Thank you so much for your hospitality.” He nodded his head at her in a small bow.

Mrs. Hudson’s eyes widened at the show of formality, “My, what manners!” Mrs. Hudson gushed, “If only there were more boys like you around, the world would have half as many problems if I do say so myself. That’s the trouble with the youth these days, no respect for others. I’m happy to see there is some hope for the future generations, at least…” Her voice faded away as she went downstairs to make tea, no doubt still talking despite there being no one to listen.

In the absence of Mrs. Hudson’s chatter, there was a somewhat awkward silence between Merlin and John. So much information had been given, yet John felt as though he were missing the larger part of a bigger picture. He had questions burning through his mind, but he had a strong suspicion that no matter what he asked, Merlin would not answer.

After nearly a full minute of the stifling awkwardness filling the room, Merlin suddenly stood up and walked over to the couch, apparently to start making it up to sleep on. The sudden movement startled John, and his eyes followed Merlin across the room.

The couch was practically buried under paraphernalia from Sherlock’s most recent case. There were papers on papers in folders, with a microscope balanced haphazardly on the arm of the couch, and a few old beakers that seriously needed to be cleaned out. 

Merlin seemed unfazed by the mess however. Without batting an eye he set the sheets down before starting to organize the chaos that was the couch. He set the microscope on the coffee table along with the beakers, placed in order from largest to smallest. 

Then he started looking through the papers. John knew that Sherlock had been meaning to put the majority of those papers up on the wall like he usually did with the longer cases, but hadn’t gotten around to it yet. John also knew how picky Sherlock was with how things were arranged, and that there would be hell to pay if Merlin messed up something important. 

“Maybe you should wait until Sherlock gets back before moving that stuff.” John suggested, “Where is he anyway? He didn’t come back with Mrs. Hudson.”

Merlin blinked once then smiled his wide smile, “Sherlock is probably prowling the streets and thinking through his next plan of attack.” There was definitely a twinkle of mischievousness in Merlin’s eyes at the last part.

“Plan of attack?”

“Yep, like I said, he can’t read me, but that won’t stop him from trying.” Merlin rolled his eyes, “He never succeeds, but at least it keeps him sane. As for all this stuff,” he gestured to the papers, “he won’t mind me moving it.”

John was skeptical, he had just opened his mouth to say so, but Merlin interrupted him.

“Trust me,” was all he said.

Merlin’s eyes were sure; John decided not to push it.

Merlin turned back to the papers once he saw that John wouldn’t protest, and started flipping through them rapidly. He scanned some papers while only glancing at others, his fingers moved rapidly as he went through the folders, every now and then his lips would move as read whatever paper was in his hand at the moment. All the while he was organizing the papers into neat stacks, this with that and that with those. At some point he began pinning the papers to the wall, using different colored pins seemingly at random, but when John looked at it from a distance he could see patterns forming. 

John watched it all, his awe only growing as the seconds ticked by, filled with the rustling of paper. Well, I guess they really are brothers after all, John thought as Merlin continued to sort through the ever shrinking pile. 

It was a common misconception among the people who knew Sherlock, that he lacked social graces and tact as a result of his intelligence. They tended to think that rudeness and cleverness came hand in hand, and there was nothing else for it. John knew that wasn’t necessarily true, but it could be easy to forget after the time he had spent with both of the Holmes brothers over the years. Even though John hadn’t known Merlin for long, he could already tell that Sherlock’s youngest brother was friendly, bubbly, and had what seemed to be nothing more than a normal bloke. John had even started to consider that the crazy intelligence had skipped Merlin, or that perhaps he was adopted. Looking at him now, however, John had no doubt about just who Merlin was related to.

Merlin finished pinning the last of the papers on the wall and stepped back to give a satisfied smile at the final product. In short, John thought, it looked like Sherlock had done it, and it had taken Merlin less than ten minutes. 

Now having all of the clutter moved off the couch, Merlin began spreading out the sheets to make it a little more bed-like.

The sound of the front door opening echoed up the stairs, followed soon after with footsteps on the slightly creaky stairs. Sherlock entered his coat collar up and his scarf tied around his neck. Merlin had been at least partially right; Sherlock had indeed gone walking.

John inwardly cringed as he braced himself for the coming tirade that happened whenever someone moved Sherlock’s things without his consent. John knew from experience how brutal those could be. Even if he secretly knew Sherlock felt a little bad after he had calmed down.

To John’s immense surprise, Sherlock didn’t even blink at the organization of his papers. He just glanced at Merlin, and started to reach his hand up to rub his head before jerking it back down again. 

Merlin, seeing this, sent a cheeky wink to Sherlock before he continued to arrange his bedding. Sherlock replied with a glare, and then glanced at the newly papered wall. He gave a small nod and walked into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. John decided he would go and see what was keeping Mrs. Hudson, and maybe ask her what she knew of the mysterious Merlin Holmes.

Chapter Text

“Well that was enlightening.” John thought sarcastically as he ascended the stairs to the flat. Mrs. Hudson had known nothing. She didn’t even know that Sherlock had another brother. At least John wasn’t the only one left out of the secret.

John entered the flat to find Sherlock sitting in his chair and plucking the strings on his violin like he was wont to do when he was thinking. 

“Where’s Merlin?” John asked once he realized the man in question wasn’t to be seen.

“He went back to his flat to grab a few things.”

John nodded, then walked over to his chair and sat down across from Sherlock. Then he waited. John knew that if he were to ask Sherlock any of the questions burning in his mind then he would learn nothing. However, if Sherlock were to speak first then there was a better chance of getting some answers. 

Nearly five minutes crept by, and John never stopped staring steadily at Sherlock, who had yet to look up from his violin strings. Finally, Sherlock gave a long suffering sigh and set aside the violin to look at John. “I suppose you have questions.” 

“Yeah, just a few,” John said sarcastically.

“Well I suppose we may as well get this tedious conversation over with then.” Sherlock pressed his hands together and looked expectantly at John.

John quickly ran through his list of questions. “Why haven’t I heard of Merlin before? Neither you nor Mycroft have ever mentioned him.”

Sherlock thought for a moment. “Merlin is different. He does things no one else can, and because of this we try to keep him as under the radar as possible, to protect him.”

“What kind of things?” John asked, curious. 

A slightly panicked look flashed across Sherlock’s face for a split second before he sent a glare at John and completely ignored the question.

“On top of this, Merlin is the baby of the family. You’ve seen how protective Mycroft is of me?”

“Yes,” John replied, eyes narrowing at the change of topic, but he decided to let it go. For now.

“Well, Mycroft is twice as protective of Merlin. Constant surveillance, intimidation and bribes to any acquaintance Merlin happens to make, wiretaps, etcetera.” Sherlock looked amused, “Not that it has done much good.” 

John was confused, “What do you mean?”

A smirk crossed Sherlock’s face, “Merlin easily has greater intelligence than Mycroft, and maybe equal intelligence to me. He stays under Mycroft’s surveillance because he doesn’t really mind it, but if and when he wants to do something in secret, then he finds a way.”

John remembered something Merlin had mentioned earlier, “Merlin said that he can hide things from you and Mycroft, is that really true?” 

Sherlock’s amused expression disappeared immediately, and his face took on a much more serious edge. “Unfortunately, yes.” He replied.

John’s eyes widened, he opened his mouth to say something but Sherlock spoke first.

“Mycroft and I didn’t always know it though. It wasn’t until the summer Merlin was sixteen that we found out he could keep anything from us.”

“What happened?” John asked. 

Sherlock appraised him seriously for a moment before he leaned back in his chair. “This is a long story, and we only have so much time before Merlin gets back, so no questions until I’m finished.”

John nodded.

“Even when Merlin was a small child he was ‘likable’, whatever that means. He had the cleverness of Mycroft and I, but seemed to be without the personality that went with it. When he was four we found out that he had a talent we feared others would take advantage of, so we kept him away from other kids. I could always tell more about him than Mycroft because I was around more often, and I knew that while Merlin didn’t particularly like being isolated, he understood and seemed happy regardless.” As he went through the memories, Sherlock’s face took on a far off look. 

“When Merlin was eight he started going to public school, only to excel faster than Mycroft and I combined. While we found school tedious and not worth our time, which often resulted in poor grades due to neglect, Merlin put effort into everything and he soaked up knowledge like a sponge. He started college when he was twelve, and graduated when he was sixteen.” At this point Sherlock became far less wistful and far more pained. He looked at John. 

“You’ve met him; he looks like a happy, lighthearted person, yes?”

John nodded, confused.

“Well he was the same throughout the whole first sixteen years of his life. Neither Mycroft, nor I, nor our parents ever suspected anything else.” Sherlock took a deep breath before continuing. 

“Two and a half months after Merlin graduated college, he attempted suicide.”

Chapter Text

Two and a half months after Merlin graduated college.

Sherlock walked up to the front door of Merlin’s flat and knocked briskly. He wondered for the thousandth time why he was even here. He tried to convince himself that the strange feeling that compelled him to pay his younger brother a visit was nothing more than indigestion from the pure idiocy he had been subjected to recently. But he still couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding that had settled into his bones. 

It all started a little under an hour ago when he had received a call from Merlin. He had been busy checking the biometric compounds on a toenail clipping (for a case of course), so he let it go to voicemail. A highly annoying nagging at the base of his skull had led him to listen to it a few minutes later. 

He wouldn’t be able to explain why the message from his brother had filled him with such dread. By all accounts Merlin had seemed perfectly fine. The call may have been a bit sudden, but then Merlin always had been a little more spontaneous than his brothers. Plus, Merlin was one of those ‘keep-in-touch’ kinds of people. So all in all, the entire message was completely innocuous… or so it would seem. 

Five minutes after he had listened to the voicemail, Sherlock gave up attempting to concentrate on his work in favor of pacing. Why wouldn’t this stupid irrational feeling leave him alone? By now his annoyance was brimming on the edge of pure frustration. Eventually, he just gave up and resigned himself to the horribly tiresome task of a ‘social’ visit.

So here he was, waiting for Merlin to come to the door so that Sherlock could finally get some peace and get on with more important things. The only problem was that Merlin wasn’t coming to the door.

Sherlock knocked again, the anxiety creeping through his veins strengthening in intensity. When there was still no response, he pounded on the door urgently once more, and then started pacing in small circles. 

He knew that Merlin was home. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he trusted his instincts, and right now his instincts were telling him that his brother was home and that something was wrong.  

Sherlock dug the key to Merlin’s flat out of his pocket, having taken it with him on a whim. He had stolen the key from his brother years ago and made a copy (not that Merlin wasn’t aware). Merlin knew he had it, and Sherlock knew that Merlin knew he had it.  Neither ever mentioned this fact. 

His fingers trembled as he slotted the key into the lock and turned; it unlocked with a click. He quickly let himself into the flat and closed the door behind him. It was eerily silent, and almost completely dark, the shades drawn and the lights off. But it wasn’t those things that turned the pit of dread in his stomach into fear, it was the smell. A smell Sherlock knew all too well. Blood.

Immediately, Sherlock followed the smell. Through the living room, past the kitchen (where he subconsciously stored the fact of a missing knife), and into Merlin’s bedroom. He followed the smell all the way to the master bath; where he found Merlin. 

Now the fear had progressed even further into something icy that Sherlock had never experienced before. Shock might be a close word, but it probably didn’t fully encompass the horror that had flooded him. Sherlock was not uncomfortable with blood; he dealt with it on a day to day basis. But he had never dealt with it in this way before, on such a personal level, and he was sure the image before him would be forever seared into his memory.

Merlin was slumped in his bathtub, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his legs crossed. There were tear tracks running down his face. He was unconscious… and sitting in a pool of blood. It was flowing steadily from the angry wounds in his wrists, and a knife had fallen just past the fingertips of Merlin’s left hand. The blood, Merlin’s blood, was pooled around his limp form, soaking into his clothes and painting his arms and hands a sickening shade of red. 

Sherlock couldn’t breathe. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t possible. He would have seen this! The thoughts swirled through his head, paralyzing him with a deep feeling of shock and horror. 

The knife sat by his brother’s hands, taunting him, showing him what he hadn’t noticed. Why!? His mind screamed, why would Merlin do this? He frantically searched for an explanation, but soon realized that only Merlin would know. Is he even alive?

It was this thought more than anything that spurred him into action. He lunged forward and knelt by the bathtub, pressing two shaking fingers to Merlin’s neck. A weak, thready beat echoed against his skin.

His vision started to fade at the edges, and Sherlock distantly realized that he was hyperventilating. He forced his emotions back; this was not a time to panic. 

Sherlock pulled out his phone and started dialing the number for an ambulance. Wait, no, he couldn’t do that. He stopped dialing. He knew for a fact that Merlin had blood like no one else’s. His brother would become an experiment. There was only one person Sherlock could call.

“Sherlock, what do you want?” Mycroft picked up on the third ring. 

Sherlock was a little disgusted at the wave of relief that washed over him at the sound of his brother’s voice. “It’s Merlin,” he said.

Mycroft’s tone changed in an instant, “What happened?” He asked seriously.

“He’s…” Sherlock couldn’t say it, the words refused to move past the thing in his throat. “He’s hurt.”

“What happened?” Mycroft repeated.

Sherlock glanced at the knife and breathed out shakily, “He’s unconscious and bleeding heavily. He’s alive but needs medical attention now. Someone you can trust to keep a secret.” At the thought of secrets a bud of anger started to blossom in Sherlock’s chest. But he forced it back down, he could be angry later.

There was a pause on Mycroft’s end, Sherlock waited impatiently. 

“They’re on their way.”

Sherlock gave a sigh of relief, but he knew it wasn’t over yet. A sudden thought crossed his mind. “Mycroft, don’t tell mum and dad until you’ve seen him first.”

“Sherlock, what happened? ” Mycroft’s voice was demanding, and the very real concern had made itself known.

A choking sound made its way out of Sherlock’s throat. “Just get here soon,” was all he could say. Then he hung up.

Chapter Text

An ambulance arrived within ten minutes. Sherlock would later think that these were the longest ten minutes of his life. A team of what Sherlock knew were Mycroft’s personal physicians loaded Merlin onto a stretcher and then into the back of the ambulance.

Sherlock was told he had to follow them in a separate car, which he did after a short but heated argument with the doctor in charge. Anthea was waiting in the back of one of Mycroft’s noiseless black cars. For once, Mycroft’s PA wasn’t looking at her phone, but seemed just as concerned as Sherlock. Anthea always did have a soft spot for Merlin. 

The drive to the hospital was tense and silent, but Sherlock couldn’t have cared less. All he could think about was why? Why did Merlin do this? Why didn’t Sherlock notice? Why didn’t anybody notice? How could Merlin hide something like this? Why did Merlin have to hide something like this? Why?

None of these questions had obvious answers. For the first time in his life Sherlock was completely clueless. 

Mycroft was waiting when they got to the hospital. Merlin had already been rushed inside by the time Sherlock got out of the car and went to stand by his older brother.

Mycroft was frozen. He had seen Merlin as he was being taken inside, and it didn’t take long for him to realize what had happened to his youngest brother. Sherlock had never seen Mycroft look so confused, so lost. It was very similar to how Sherlock felt. 

They went inside and sat in a private waiting room. Neither of them had spoken since Mycroft asked that they not be disturbed until there was news of Merlin. Sherlock was pacing in circles, wearing a rut into the plush carpet. Mycroft was sitting tensely in the chair best positioned to watch for approaching doctors, he had his hands pressed together and a deep wrinkle sat on his brow. 

The silence was broken after an hour when Sherlock couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Why?”

Mycroft looked up to see his brother staring at him with confusion in his eyes.

“Why didn’t we see this?” Sherlock asked pleadingly. “I don’t understand.”

Mycroft sighed, “We didn’t see because he didn’t want us to see.”

Sherlock thought for a moment, “Why didn’t he want us to see?” he amended. 

“Only Merlin can answer us that, Sherlock.” 

They held each other’s piercing gazes for a few moments, before Mycroft’s eyes shifted to something behind his brother. Sherlock turned around and saw a doctor walking toward them.

Merlin was going to be okay, physically at least. The doctor had said that he was going to be weak for a while, and the scars would always remain, but Merlin was going to live. They didn’t know when Merlin was going to wake up. A blood transfusion was impossible, which the doctors didn’t like but Mycroft had his methods of convincing them not to make a fuss. A normal person in this situation would take a few days to recover enough to regain consciousness, but Merlin wasn’t a normal person. If Sherlock had to guess, Merlin would take less than twenty-four hours to wake up. He could be wrong of course, but that was highly unlikely. 

So here they were; he and Mycroft had both taken seats next to each other at the side of Merlin’s bed. The sounds of only the hospital equipment in the heavy silence were oppressive, but neither seemed to care in light of the still form in front of them. 

Merlin looked like hell. He had deep, bruise colored rings under his eyes, and his normally pale skin was now almost translucent. Most horrible of all were the scars marching up and down Merlin’s arms. Apparently this hadn’t been the first time Merlin had taken up a knife. Some of the lines were covered by the bandages on his wrists, but most were left bare by the short sleeved hospital gown. 

The scars were a shock to both Sherlock and Mycroft. Sherlock hadn’t seen them when he first found Merlin, for they had been covered with blood at the time and he hadn’t exactly been thinking clearly at the moment. So when he walked into the hospital room and saw those scars his stomach twisted and he almost fled. 

It wasn’t the scars themselves that had turned Sherlock’s blood to ice; it was how old some of them were. Sherlock took his job as a detective very seriously, and if there was one thing he had made himself proficient in, it was recognizing the age of injuries. Some of these scars were years old. After a few painful seconds of study Sherlock could see that the oldest looked to be about four years old. Twelve, Merlin would have been twelve at the time. 

Sherlock turned to his older brother. Mycroft was extremely pale and had fallen into the chair without his usual grace. They shared a grim, shocked expression. Did they know their brother at all? The Merlin they knew was the happiest person in the world. He had a kind heart and could always see the bright side. There had always been a light in Merlin’s eyes, an innocence that was precious in such a messed up world. Merlin couldn’t hurt a fly, let alone himself. Was that person a lie? How could they have missed this ?

It was these unvoiced questions that filled the silence. Nothing was asked aloud, for there was nobody that could answer. So they waited. 

It wasn’t until the next afternoon that Merlin started to shift in his sleep. Sherlock nudged his dozing older brother in the ribs, jerking him awake. Sherlock had assumed that Merlin would recover faster than normal, and here he had his proof. Merlin was waking up. It was a good thing Mycroft paid the doctors so well to not ask questions. Someone suffering from major blood loss waking up in less than 24 hours would normally cause some attention. 

Merlin kept shifting, slowly rising out of unconsciousness. Sherlock leaned forward slightly, and Mycroft sat up straighter, they knew it wouldn’t be long now.

They watched apprehensively as Merlin’s eyes slowly blinked open to stare fuzzily at the ceiling. It took a few moments for the haze of sleep to leave his eyes, for him to realize where he was. When he did his eyes widened slightly before shutting tight and then opening again. He didn’t seem to notice his brothers watching him silently.

“No.” Merlin’s voice was rough with pain. Even Mycroft winced at the pure sadness in it. Neither of the older brothers moved as they watched the youngest. 

Merlin’s eyes filled with tears that soon started to fall from the corners of his eyes and seep into the fabric of the pillow. “No, no, no, no, no.” He lifted a fist weakly and dropped it back onto the hospital bed in a sign of frustration. He closed his eyes once more and gave a weary sigh. 

Sherlock didn’t know what to make of this. Seeing such despair in his usually lighthearted little brother made his heart ache strangely. “Merlin?” he asked softly, trying his best not to startle him. 

Merlin’s eyes snapped open and he slowly turned his head to fix Sherlock with the most poignant gaze Sherlock had ever seen.

“You,” Merlin’s voice was deadly in its quietness; “It was you wasn’t it?”

Sherlock was confused; he didn’t know what Merlin was accusing him of. “What?” 

“It was you that found me.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied. He still didn’t understand where Merlin was going with this. He glanced at Mycroft, who was watching Merlin silently.

Merlin looked angry now. Sherlock had never seen his little brother angry. Frustrated, yes; annoyed, most definitely; but never angry. 

Merlin’s eyes blazed as he glared at Sherlock, “Why?! Why did you save me?! I could have been with her! I wouldn’t have to be alone anymore! Why couldn’t you just let me die?” 

Sherlock had to take a step back even as Mycroft stiffened in his seat. It wasn’t just the words which hit Sherlock like a punch to the gut, it was the true fury and desperation behind it. Merlin was angry, really and truly angry. Lying in a hospital bed, pale and weak from blood loss, his kind little brother was easily the most intimidating thing Sherlock had ever seen. 

Mycroft had come close to inspiring this level of fear a couple times in Sherlock’s life, but it had never made him want to back down like he did now. This was fear that his little brother shouldn’t be capable of inspiring. This was something Sherlock hoped to never see again.

“Merlin!” Mycroft’s voice was sharp and commanding, causing Merlin’s piercing glare to shift to his oldest brother. 

Sherlock saw with no small worry that Merlin’s hands were starting to glow at the fingertips, and a faint breeze had started to swirl around the room. He quickly checked behind him to make sure there were no doctors or staff near. 

Merlin seemed to see this and realized what he was doing. He collapsed back onto the bed, closed his eyes, and took several deep breaths. The glow faded, the wind died and silence made its home. All three brothers could feel the sorrow permeating the air.

“I fell in love.”

Merlin’s voice cut through the silence, causing his brothers to startle. 

“What?” It was Mycroft that asked, not sure he had heard right.

“Well it’s painfully obvious that you both want to know why I tried to off myself, so I’m telling you.” The dead monotone in which the words were said was almost more painful to hear than the fury that had been there earlier.

“When?” Sherlock asked after a few moments of silence.

Merlin sighed, “About a year ago, I met a girl. Freya,” his voice cracked when he said her name. He turned his head to look his brothers in the eye. “She was like me.” 

Both Sherlock and Mycroft’s eyes widened. They knew for a fact that people with the same abilities as Merlin were extremely rare. Most of the time those people weren’t even aware of what they had. 

Once Merlin saw that they understood his meaning, he turned back to stare glassily at the ceiling. “She was so lost, so scared. I found her hiding in an alley in the rain. Even when she realized that I saw her, she didn’t ask for help.” Merlin’s voice was wistful, distant. “She was so brave…”

Merlin trailed off, he seemed to be lost in memory. Sherlock couldn’t help but wonder at the longing in his little brother’s voice. Merlin had never seemed interested in love or romance while they were growing up. Now that Sherlock thought about it, however, he realized that he didn’t know why he hadn’t seen that as unusual. Merlin always had a capacity for love that surpassed both of his brothers combined. After a few moments Mycroft cleared his throat, startling Merlin back to reality.

Merlin glanced at his brothers out of the corner of his eye and sighed before continuing his story. 

“I helped her. I gave her my jacket and brought her some food. Even then she wouldn’t let me get close to her. She had been hunted for a while, and was so fearful to trust. It made me so angry, so sad that anyone could want to harm such a kind soul as Freya.” A flash of that anger passed through Merlin’s eyes, and Sherlock remembered the fury his little brother had displayed earlier; he suppressed a shiver at the memory.

“Who was hunting her?” Mycroft interjected. Merlin slowly turned his head to appraise his brothers, searching their faces for something unknown.

After a few seconds Merlin sighed and momentarily closed his eyes, as if steeling himself. 

“I told you Freya was like me. Well, she wasn’t exactly like me. She couldn’t control her abilities. In fact they only showed when she was angry or very scared. About six months before I met her, Freya was in New York City visiting her aunt. One night she was attacked. She just reacted, and killed her attacker in self-defense.” Here Merlin stopped and fixed his brothers with a hard look. “It wasn’t her fault; she couldn’t control it and was only defending herself.” He spoke firmly, his voice not allowing any disagreement. 

When neither of his brothers spoke, Merlin continued. “Unfortunately, the man who attacked her was the son of a powerful and very corrupt man. Freya tried to apologize, to explain, he wouldn’t listen. He sent out people to find and capture Freya, in order for him to exact his revenge. So she ran. She was still running when I found her in that alley.”

Once again Mycroft broke through Merlin’s monolog, an indignant expression on his face. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I could have taken care of the situation easily enough.”

Merlin shot a glare at his oldest brother, “And betray her trust?”

“Surely it would have been preferable to her being ‘hunted’ as you so put it.” Mycroft stated dryly.

Merlin just rolled his eyes, “Do not patronize me, brother, I am not an idiot. I asked Freya if she wanted your help, but at the time she was so used to betrayal that she was wary of strangers. By the time she trusted me enough to trust you the man hunting her had almost completely lost her trail, so there was no need.”

Mycroft said nothing, but continued to stare at his youngest brother. Merlin just shrugged and continued to talk. 

 “I helped her with her abilities as well. She was so scared of them; she thought that she was a monster.” Here Merlin took a deep breath, “I understood how she felt, but I could never say that she was anything other than the kindest, most beautiful person I had ever met. It didn’t take long for me to fall in love with her.”

It was quiet for a few moments. Merlin had turned once again to stare at the ceiling. Sherlock saw tears gather in his eyes though they did not fall. Merlin took a shaky breath before whispering so softly Sherlock almost didn’t hear it.

“We were going to elope, and run away together.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened, and Mycroft froze in his chair. Merlin glanced at them and then sighed and closed his eyes. 

“She wanted me to finish college first. I would have left for her, but she didn’t think she was worth it and insisted I stay.” A soft smile touched the corners of his mouth, “She was always worth it to me. I would have done anything to make her happy. We were going to go somewhere where no one could find us. Where we could be free and be ourselves together.” Merlin’s eyes opened and his smile faded. “But fate had other plans.”

“What happened?” Sherlock asked after the quiet had stretched for a few minutes.

Merlin’s voice was flat even as tears started to fall from the corners of his eyes to seep into the fabric of the pillows. “Four days after I graduated, two days before we were going to get married, we were going to meet at a restaurant. I was waiting for her outside and saw her coming from across the street. I waved at her, and she smiled at me.” Merlin took a deep breath, “She stepped off the curb into the path of a car. The car tried to swerve to avoid her, but it was too late. I held her in my arms as she died.” Merlin’s voice was tight with pain and grief. 

Sherlock’s heart broke at the despair in his brother’s voice.

“I tried to heal her. I tried so hard.” Merlin’s voice choked on the words, like he wanted to stop talking but wasn’t able to. The floodgates had opened and there was no stopping now. “I couldn’t do anything. I was helpless. I failed. She died in my arms two minutes after she was hit by the car. I left before the ambulance got there.”

“Why?” Sherlock asked without thinking; Mycroft shot him a glare which he ignored.

Merlin gave a tremulous smile, “I had promised to keep her hidden, safe and secret. I was going to keep that promise.” Merlin’s smile fell and Sherlock inwardly cringed at the self-loathing in his little brother’s eyes. “But I am weak. Her loss is eating me away inside. It just hurts so much. I see her in everything; I feel her absence in every second of every day. She died and I failed to save her.”

“You can’t possibly blame yourself.” Sherlock said softly, even though he could clearly see that Merlin did.

Merlin gave a bark of laughter that had no humor in it. “Who else is there to blame? It wasn’t Freya’s fault; it wasn’t even the driver’s fault. The driver had tried to avoid her and ended up crashing into a light pole and going to the hospital. No. There is no one to blame but myself. That’s why I started to do this,” Merlin motioned to the many scars on his arms, “as punishment.”

Sherlock suddenly felt cold at the mention of the scars. He fixed his little brother with a piercing stare. “I know scars, Merlin. I know what old scars look like and some of those are over four years old. Those aren’t something you made recently.” 

Merlin grimaced. “No, you’re right. The first time was maybe a week after I started college. Apparently college kids don’t appreciate being corrected by a twelve year old. Neither do the teachers. I just wanted to fit in; I wanted them to like me. I also had to try even harder to keep my secret. At home I could let it out sometimes, and keep it from building too much inside of me. But at school?” Merlin shook his head, “I had to keep such a tight rein on it all the time. And it was so much. Between the people at school, and the building pressure, and the isolation,” he sighed, “I just wanted to let some of it out, and the knife helped.” 

Merlin paused to yawn, “Freya helped even more, though, with her company and kindness. And as I helped her learn to control her own powers, I got a better grasp of my own as well. I stopped cutting after I met her. She knew about it, of course, I kept no secrets from her. But after she was gone, I felt more powerless than ever, and it all came back.”

Merlin’s voice was weary. He was obviously exhausted. Now thinking about it, Sherlock was surprised Merlin had managed to stay awake as long as he had, considering the amount of blood he lost.

Mycroft had clearly come to the same conclusion, “Go to sleep Merlin, we can talk more once you’ve rested.”

Merlin gave a small nod and let his eyes drift shut for a moment before opening them blearily and asking in a tired voice, “Hey Mye?” 

Mycroft gave a soft smile at Merlin’s rarely used nickname for him. “What, Merlin?”

“Please don’t tell mum and dad.”

Mycroft frowned, “They are your parents; they deserve to know.”

Merlin shook his head slowly, “No, it will only hurt them. I don’t want to hurt them. Please Mye.”

Sherlock watched as his older brother considered his younger brother’s plea.

After a few moments of contemplation Mycroft sighed, “I won’t tell them on the condition that you see a therapist until she deems you not a danger to yourself.”

Merlin stared at Mycroft for a second, and then nodded his head tiredly, agreeing with the condition. 

Sherlock breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He considered most therapists to be terribly boring, but Merlin needed to talk to somebody . Just this once, Sherlock trusted that Mycroft would pick the best somebody .

Merlin turned to Sherlock next. “I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier, Sherl. I was just angry, I didn’t mean what I said.” He gave Sherlock a sleepy smile, “Thank you for saving my life.”

Sherlock couldn’t help the small smile that came unbidden to his lips, “You’re welcome Merlin.” He said softly as his little brother’s eyes drifted closed and he fell asleep at last.

A week later, Merlin was finally ready to leave the hospital. His wounds had healed exceptionally well, much to the consternation of the doctors. Merlin also seemed to be recovering mentally, but Sherlock couldn’t help but have his doubts.

When Sherlock had first found out that Merlin was capable of hiding things from him and Mycroft, he hadn’t considered what it meant in the long term. However, it didn’t take long for Sherlock to realize that his belief in his deductive abilities had been shaken. As was his trust in Merlin’s behavior. 

When Merlin woke up the next morning he had seemed clearer headed than the night before. He had acted completely normal, if a little withdrawn. The depressed, angry person that Merlin had been when he first woke up was almost completely hidden. He made jokes with the nurses, and was polite with the doctors. He was witty as usual and kept up a constant chatter about nothing. Merlin’s first therapy session went so well that the therapist asked why she was needed. Mycroft fired her that same day. 

Three therapists later, Mycroft stopped trying. Both of the older Holmes brothers tried to talk to Merlin about Freya, or depression, or really anything at all. They hadn’t gotten far. Apparently Merlin’s night of honesty had come at the urging of a morphine drip.

Their problem was seemingly solved, however, when on the fourth day Merlin accidentally bumped into Arthur Penn: the driver of the car that killed Freya. 

Arthur had indeed been injured when the car crashed, and as the son of an extremely wealthy politician (whose archaic ways Sherlock had heard Mycroft complaining about more than once), he was taken to the same private hospital as Merlin. Arthur had been coming in for the doctors to replace his stitches when he literally ran into Merlin, knocking them both to the ground. Merlin called Arthur a prat, Arthur called Merlin an idiot. Their conversation somehow came upon the topic of why they were at the hospital, and they discovered how their stories were linked. 

At first, Sherlock was worried that Merlin would hold animosity for Arthur’s part in Freya’s death, but his fears were unfounded. Apparently the mutual guilt in her death gave both Merlin and Arthur some closure. Realizing that neither blamed the other went a big step in the right direction for both of them. It wasn’t long before they were fast friends. It helped that Arthur wasn’t cowed by Merlin’s intelligence, in the same way that Merlin wasn’t cowed by Arthur’s arrogance. 

Still Sherlock was unsettled. He watched from across the street as Merlin and Arthur left the hospital together, arguing good naturedly. Sherlock tried to deduce Merlin, and he came up with the same thing he always did. Merlin was a happy carefree kid with a sharp wit and a good brain. Yet the other half of his mind argued that he saw the same thing before the incident , and it wasn’t true then. He didn’t know what to think. He tried to reconcile the two views of his younger brother, but found it almost impossible.

Sherlock absentmindedly reached a hand up to rub his head. He felt a headache coming on. 

Chapter Text

Words and past conversations that now made so much more sense rang through John’s mind.

He never would have guessed that the Merlin he had seen only moments ago, in his very room, was the same man in the story Sherlock had just told. John certainly had some experience with depression, but he couldn’t see any sign or history of it in the youngest Holmes.

Really he shouldn’t be surprised, if Sherlock of all people could miss something like that in his own brother, then John didn’t even stand a chance. 

Footsteps sounded and jerked John out of his shocked reverie as the man in question walked into the flat carrying a duffel bag. Merlin took in the room with a glance, obviously noting John’s slightly stunned expression and Sherlock’s vaguely guilty one. Sherlock’s expression never went beyond vaguely guilty, even for the worst of things, so Merlin correctly assumed the detective had just appalled his flatmate with the rather gritty details of his past.

Merlin just rolled his eyes and stalked past Sherlock and John, dropping his duffel bag next to the couch while muttering to himself; of which John only caught,

“…stupid brothers…just can’t let things go…”

He turned into the kitchen, and the telltale sounds of a kettle being put on sounded through the flat. After a few minutes of Merlin clattering about with the cutlery and Sherlock and John awkwardly staring at various pieces of furniture, Merlin walked back into the living room with a freshly made cup of tea. He settled into the couch and stiffly took a sip.

The quiet and tense atmosphere was more than a little stifling. Suddenly a beep that John recognized as the sound of a pager shattered the silence, causing both John and Sherlock to jump a little. 

Merlin pulled the beeping pager out of his pocket and heaved a sigh before setting down his tea with a quiet clatter He pushed himself up off the couch and turned to Sherlock,

“Could I borrow your phone for a moment?"

“Why can’t you just use yours?” Sherlock asked in a bored tone of voice.

Merlin rolled his eyes, “Mine’s out of charge. I won’t need it long, but I have to answer this.”

Sherlock sighed, but took out his phone and handed it to his brother. Merlin nodded to him in thanks and walked into the hallway to make his call.

“Why…would he need a pager?” John wondered aloud to Sherlock.

His flat mate turned to him with a blank look on his face. 

“Merlin is a trauma surgeon.” Sherlock said simply.

“Isn’t he a little young?” John asked, eyebrows lifting in surprise. It was rare to find a doctor Merlin’s age, let alone a surgeon .

Sherlock shook his head, “I told you he graduated college at sixteen. Well, after the incident ,” Sherlock gritted his teeth as he said the word, “Merlin decided he wanted to be a doctor. He apprenticed under an older surgeon and managed to become a qualified doctor within two years. A year after that he became a surgeon. He’s pretty well known in medical circles as the youngest and brightest trauma surgeon in Britain.”

 John was momentarily taken aback by Sherlock’s uncharacteristic- well, on anyone else it would be considered bragging. Huh. It took the rest of his mind a moment to process what Sherlock had actually said. Only then did his mouth fall open in astonishment as the phrase ‘youngest and brightest trauma surgeon in Britain’ struck a chord in John’s mind. He thought back to an article that he had read a few weeks back, and soon recalled how many times that phrase had been repeated in all the medical journals he’d read over the past few years; and always associated with a single name.

“You have got to be kidding me…” John said under his breath, eyes widening as Sherlock just smirked. “You’re telling me Merlin is bloody Emrys!” 

“Oh no,”

Both John and Sherlock snapped their heads toward Merlin, who was now standing in the doorway.

“You just had to tell him...” Merlin groaned dramatically before he flopped into a chair and glared at Sherlock for a moment.

John just continued to look at Merlin in shock. “So you’re really him?” John asked with a little bit of awe, which only grew when Merlin nodded, resigned. “But Emrys... he… you…You’ve personally saved hundreds of lives thought beyond saving! You’ve performed operations that were nothing short of miracles! You're the most respected trauma surgeon in Britain!”

As John listed his accomplishments Merlin’s face slowly turned red with embarrassment. Sherlock had leaned back in his chair and was watching his little brother with a smug and widening smirk on his face. When John stopped talking Merlin said in a stage whisper, “Alright, yes! I’m Emrys! But there is a reason I use a pseudonym. I don’t like the attention, so will you please stop shouting!”

There was a pause for a moment before John mumbled, “I still feel like I should ask for an autograph or something…” 

Sherlock snorted and Merlin huffed, though both had small smiles on their faces. Of course, Sherlock’s was still really more of a smirk, but what else was new. 

A newly comfortable silence reigned as John reflected upon Merlin, Sherlock contemplated who knows what, and Merlin resumed sipping his tea. 

A phone rang, breaking the silence once more, and John recognized it as Sherlock’s ringtone. The detective started to reach into his coat for his phone before remembering that Merlin still had it. Sherlock shifted forward to take the ringing phone from his little brother’s hold, but Merlin just gave a mischievous smirk and stuck out his tongue, evading his older brother’s grasp. In one smooth movement, he pulled out Sherlock’s cell phone, glanced at the number, and then cleared his throat before answering without hesitation.

“Lestrade, what do you want?”

John had to fight to keep a startled snort in. Merlin had deepened his voice and slightly altered his intonation, doing a near perfect imitation of Sherlock, even right down to the tone which sounded bored with an underlying irritation. It was actually a little creepy.

Sherlock scowled and glared daggers at his brother, to which Merlin once stuck out his tongue and then gave a broad, triumphant grin.

It didn’t last long though, and Merlin’s smile disappeared as he listened to Lestrade’s voice at the other end.

“We’ll be there soon.” Merlin said into the phone, his voice still imitating Sherlock’s. He ended the call and tossed the phone to Sherlock who caught it deftly.

“What does Lestrade want?” Sherlock demanded.

“One of the warehouses by the docks caught fire. They put it out just fine, but there was a dead body found inside.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “So, why was I called?”

“I’m getting to that part if you would let me finish,” Merlin teased before continuing, “There was another man found knocked out just outside the building, and when he came to he claimed that he was sure the dead man had died hours previously, even though the man supposedly died of smoke inhalation. Lestrade wants our opinion.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, “ Our opinion?”

Merlin looked surprised, “Well, I’m coming too of course.” He said it like it was obvious.

“Wrong.” Sherlock said, “You are staying here. John and I don’t need any help.”

“Nooooo, I’m going with you. I’m a doctor, and two doctors are better than one. Right John?”

Both Holmes looked at John, who now looked slightly panicked. John held up his hands in a surrendering gesture, “Hey, don’t get me involved in this.”

Sherlock turned his glare back to his brother, who matched his glare with equal intensity.

“You. Are. Not. Coming.” Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

Merlin raised an eyebrow.

Merlin, Sherlock, and John arrived at the crime scene just in time to see a couple of Lestrade’s officers leading a handcuffed man from a burnt husk of a building. The warehouse was blackened and was missing most of its roof. The handcuffed man was covered in soot, but seemed to be just fine physically, and Sherlock’s eyes scanned him from head to toe, assessing. From what they could see of his face he was fairly young, maybe mid to late twenties, and had shaggy brown hair, covered in soot, which reached his shoulders.

Sherlock started towards Lestrade. Merlin kept pace with his brother, but John trailed behind just slightly, still looking around. As they got closer to the man in handcuffs, they could start to make out what he was saying.

“Look mate, I don’t know what’s going on. I just woke up in a burnt up building with my hair all singed at the ends, and now I’m being arrested! Honestly it’s just adding insult to injury. The least you people could do is get me a drink. Now that I think about it, we all need drinks. Why don’t we all just go to the pub down the street and get a beer. And apples. We should go get apples. You know what they say: an apple a day keeps the doctor away. A rule I live by.” The man nodded sagely as if he were giving some invaluable advice, shaking his head slightly in a fruitless attempt to rid his hair of some of the soot.

Lestrade seemed to be getting more annoyed by the second. His face was starting to turn pinched and red as the man continued to ramble.

John glanced at Merlin out of the corner of his eye and was surprised to see that he was grinning hugely. 

Sherlock started to open his mouth to speak, but Merlin beat him to it.

“Now what doctor would you be trying to keep away, Gwaine?” Merlin asked as his grin turned into an amused smirk.

The man looked up sharply and broke into a smirk of his own as he saw who had spoken. “Well, that would depend on what doctor is going to try and get me to stop drinking again, Merlin.”

Chapter Text

John was confused. It seemed to be a pretty common emotion today. Merlin and the soot covered man in handcuffs, Gwaine apparently, were still smirking at each other. “So you two know each other then?” He asked, though it was really more of a statement than a question.

Merlin rolled his eyes and said sarcastically, “No John, I just have magical powers that let me know the names of complete strangers.”

Sherlock went into a sudden coughing fit just as the man, Gwaine, snorted in laughter.

Lestrade, who was probably even more confused than John, had had enough of not knowing what was going on. “Okay Sherlock, who is this? Why is he here? And how on Earth does he know this guy?” Lestrade jerked his head to indicate the handcuffed man.

Sherlock gave a long suffering sigh, “This is my little brother, Merlin.” Lestrade’s eyes widened, but Sherlock continued without pausing. “I don’t really know why he’s here but it certainly wasn’t my decision. And I have absolutely no idea how they know each other, but I do intend to find out.” The last of this was said pointedly while staring at the man in question.

Merlin and Gwaine looked at each other and seemed to have a quick, silent conversation before Merlin turned back to his brother. 

“Gwaine and I met in Wales about five years ago. I was taking a bit of a vacation after my stay in the hospital,” only John noticed Sherlock twitch at this, “and Gwaine was there for a job. It was right around the time that the whole Blaidd Drwg fiasco was going on.” 

Gwaine smiled, “Ah yes, good times. Strange times. Almost magical .” 

Merlin sent a glare at his friend, and John noticed Sherlock’s eyes widen before quickly looking between his brother and Gwaine. Lestrade looked just as confused as John felt.

“Merlin,” Sherlock said through gritted teeth, “can I talk to you for a moment?”

John could tell that it wasn’t a request so much as an order; something which was confirmed when, without waiting for an answer, Sherlock grabbed his younger brother by the arm and dragged him just out of earshot.

Gwaine, Lestrade, and John watched bemusedly as Sherlock spoke quickly and quietly to Merlin. Sherlock had obviously asked his brother something, because Merlin crossed his arms almost petulantly before giving a sharp, curt nod. Sherlock let a hiss through his teeth before angrily running his hands through his hair. The detective again started speaking quickly and harshly, it looked as though he were scolding his brother, whose expression grew darker and darker the longer he stood there. After almost a minute of this, Merlin seemingly had enough. He uncrossed his arms and straightened his back before speaking firmly and loud enough to be heard over Sherlock (which was incidentally loud enough for the three onlookers to hear as well).

 “Give it a rest Sherlock. It’s my life.”

Merlin left a shocked Sherlock behind as he walked back toward the onlookers. After a couple of seconds, Sherlock shoved his hands into his pockets and followed his brother. 

“Right!” Merlin exclaimed with false cheeriness, clapping his hands together as he rejoined the group. “Back to business. First things first, detective Lestrade, will you please release my friend?”

Lestrade looked like he still didn’t know what to make of recent developments, but answered anyway, “Sorry, can’t do that. He is still suspected of a crime and we need to take him down to the station to be questioned.” 

The youngest Holmes rolled his eyes before turning to his soot-covered friend, who had been watching everything with interest, “Gwaine, did you start the fire and kill the man found inside?”

Gwaine gave a slightly inane grin, “Sir no sir, doctor Merlin sir.” 

John saw him shift his arms in Lestrade’s grip, as though he was going to salute or some other such motion.

Merlin groaned and ran a hand over his face, “Look, I can vouch for him, and Sherlock can vouch for me. Gwaine is a miscreant, I’ll give you that,”

“Hey!” Gwaine cried indignantly, though John could see the corners of his mouth tipping up in amusement.

“But if he tells me he didn’t burn the place down, then I believe him.” Merlin continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

Lestrade hesitated for a moment, but then firmly shook his head, “No, I’m sorry but no, we can’t just let a suspect go free without questioning just because a friend asked us too.”

Sherlock, whom as far as John could tell had been pouting since Merlin dismissed him, gave a loud huff and said, “Make an exception then. Count this as one of those ‘favors’ you keep saying you owe me if you must. I’m sure Merlin and I can find some way to make Mycroft take responsibility if it all ends in disaster.”

“When doesn’t something you do end in disaster of some sort or another?” Lestrade asked wearily. After a few seconds of tense, contemplative silence, Lestrade gave a heavy sigh, “Fine. Fine you can take him, just this once; but only because I owe you, and only if you swear he isn’t going to go and kill anybody, or rob a bank, or anything else I’m going to end up being blamed for if they found out I had him in custody and let him go.”

Out of the corner of his eye John saw Gwaine open his mouth to say something only to be cut off with an “oomph” by Merlin elbowing him hard in the ribs. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “yes, yes I take full responsibility blah blah blah,” he gave a vague gesture to Merlin who smiled brightly at his brother before whipping out a pair of keys and unlocking his friend’s handcuffs. 

Lestrade’s eyes widened before he quickly began to pat his pockets only to find his keys missing. Merlin gave a slightly embarrassed grin and sheepishly handed the DI his keys and the handcuffs.

“I am so going to regret this,” Lestrade said as he stared balefully at the objects in his hand. “Right, well then, on to the crime scene I suppose.

Chapter Text

“Okay Gwaine, and now that the police aren’t here let's go over this one more time,” Merlin said, walking into Sherlock’s flat. 

John could see Sherlock roll his eyes. The crime scene hadn’t been very informative, or at least John wasn’t able to get much out of it. He and Merlin had examined the body and determined that the man most likely had died of smoke inhalation, although the final autopsy results wouldn't be finished for a few days at least. 

Sherlock brushed past Merlin and Gwaine to stalk over to his chair. He sat and assumed what John liked to call his ‘thinking position’. 

Gwaine had not been particularly helpful at the crime scene. His story was patchy at best, and he had managed to neatly sidestep most of Lestrade’s questions. Even John could tell, after observing a few minutes of Gwaine’s very frustrating interview, that the man clearly did not want to tell the whole story while the police were there. 

Gwaine walked toward the kitchen, “Do you have anything to drink here? I feel like we might need it for this story.” 

“No,” John said, “we try not to keep alcohol here for Sherlock.” 

Now it was Merlin’s turn to roll his eyes as he followed his friend. He leaned against the kitchen doorway and watched Gwaine start to rifle through the cupboards. “Check in the cabinet above the sink, there should be a hidden panel back there.”

“Aha!” Gwaine exclaimed, finding the panel and revealing a stash of alcohol and…

John shot a glare at Sherlock, “Seriously? We talked about this, Sherlock, and you said you didn’t use anymore.”

“I don’t,” Sherlock said defensibly, “the stuff in there is from well before we met.”

“Then why is it still in the flat?” John paused, “wait, are you telling me that that stuff was actually here back when Lestrade was doing his drug bust?”

Sherlock ignored him, “Look, Galahad…”

“ Gwaine,” Merlin said, exasperated, “I know you know his name.”

“Galahad,” Sherlock said again, “are you going to tell us what actually happened now, or must we continue this ridiculous charade.”

John threw up his hands, mentally giving up.

Gwaine twisted the top off of a beer bottle, “Right, okay so Merlin do you remember back a few months ago when I called you for help with that one project?”

Merlin glanced at Sherlock then back to Gwaine, “yes. I thought you would have already finished that up by now though.”

“Unfortunately, it’s still ongoing,” Gwaine said, pausing to take a sip of his beer. “Yuck,” he made a face, “I forgot how much warm beer sucks.” After a moment’s contemplation he shrugged and took another sip. “Someone apparently stole the artifact we were looking into, and the seller ran before we could get any more information out of him.”

Merlin rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “so how did you end up outside a burning building with a body inside?”

Gwaine grimaced, “Cedric, the dealer trying to sell the artifact, had disappeared not long after we first got in contact with him. We finally managed to track him down to a flat in Barcelona. I had been doing surveillance on the place for a few days, and just when we were about to actually go in to get him smoke started pouring out of the windows. I ran around toward the back of the building in case he tried to escape out that way, but something clocked me over the head and knocked me out.” He grinned at Merlin, “and you know how hard my head is, so it was a hell of a hit.”

“Okay, but how could you know that the dealer died there, and not in the warehouse fire here in London?” Merlin asked.

“Because I next woke up on a cargo plane with the bloke laid out next to me. At first I thought he was just unconscious, but I managed to get my hands around to check his pulse and he was definitely dead. I guess whoever took us must have heard me moving, because something hit me upside the head again and the next thing I know I’m waking up next to a burning building. It’s been a long day.”

Gwaine went to take another sip of his beer, but Merlin hurried over and yanked it out of his hand. “You probably have a concussion if you’ve been knocked out twice in the past twenty four hours, you idiot. No more alcohol till I check you out.”

He dragged Gwaine over to the couch and pushed him down to sit on it. Gwaine whined, “You are much meaner than I remember. Lance never pushes me around like this.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Merlin teased as he started checking Gwaine’s pupils, “Lance is just nicer about it.”

Merlin paused, “Where is he, anyway?”

“Probably still back in Spain,” Gwaine shrugged, “I actually need to get in contact with him as soon as possible, let him know that I didn’t just ditch him in the middle of an operation.”

“I’m sure he knows you didn’t ditch him,” Merlin said, “I’ll send him a message. You definitely have a minor concussion.” 

Sherlock spoke up, “While Lance is definitely the friend of yours I despise the least, must you really invite even more people to my home?”

“Aw, common Sherlock,” Merlin looked at his brother pleadingly, “I just want to make sure all of my friends are safe, and I know it’s safe here with you.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, “that’s not going to work on me. We aren’t kids anymore.”

Merlin kept looking at him, John didn’t know how it was possible for someone to look so dejected.

“No, no you’re not winning this one. I won’t be broken so easily.”

“...”

“... ugh. Fine! Fine, you can call up your little friends if it’s so important to you then.”

A smile broke across Merlin’s face, “Thanks Sherlock! You’re the best big brother!”

Sherlock folded his arms and John could just barely hear him mumble, “going to tell Mycroft you said that.”

Merlin grabbed his phone from where it had been charging and started typing rapidly. It made him look like a much more smiley version of Sherlock, in John’s opinion.

Gwaine had sunk further back into the couch and was starting to list to the side. Merlin looked up at him and then at the dark sky outside, “Go ahead and take a nap, Gwaine,” he said, “I’ll stay up to make sure you wake up every hour tonight.”

“Do you want me to go and check if Mrs. Hudson has an extra cot laying around?” John asked.

“That would be great,” Merlin sent him a thankful smile, “it’s probably best for all of us to get some sleep,” he looked at his phone, “Lance received my message and he should be here sometime tomorrow. We’ll be able to get more of the story then.”

Sherlock stood, “I’m going to my room, try not to burn the place down while I’m sleeping, would you?”

Merlin waved him off and went back to his phone. John started downstairs to find Mrs. Hudson and couldn’t help but wonder what tomorrow might bring.

Chapter Text

John woke up the next day to a startled yell coming from the living room, followed by a loud crash. He shot up in bed, heart racing, before remembering that they had houseguests and he was most likely not being attacked. He made his way into the living room.

Merlin was sitting on the floor, where he had obviously rolled off of his cot, and was rubbing his head where he seemed to have knocked it against the ground. Mycroft was standing over him, leaning on his umbrella.

“What the hell Mycroft!” Merlin glared at his brother, “don’t you know it’s rude to stare at people while they sleep?”

Mycroft’s eyebrows raised, “Excuse me if I wanted to check on my dear baby brother after he suddenly took a leave of absence at his job and abandoned his flat. You’ve been getting sloppy; it only took me a day to track you down.”

Merlin sighed and heaved himself off of the ground to sit on the couch, which John could see was conspicuously absent of their other houseguest. 

“I wasn’t trying to hide from you, and I was going to call you this morning to explain.”

Mycroft hummed, “yes, I know.”

“Stop bugging my flat, Mycroft,” Sherlock came out of his room and didn’t even spare a glance at his brothers as he stalked to the kitchen, “you know I hate it when you do that.”

“If you really cared that much you would have gotten rid of the bugs when you found them, brother mine.”

“You only would have found another excuse to enter the flat and replace them,” Sherlock poured himself a cup of coffee from the full pot on the counter, “I didn’t have the energy to deal with you then, and I still don’t now.”

Steps thudded their way up the stairs before the door flew open, just barely missing John, and two men came bursting through. One was Gwaine, looking much better after having rested and cleaned up some, and the other was someone John didn’t recognize. 

“What’s going on? I heard a crash,” Gwaine said.

Merlin shook his head, “It’s fine Gwaine, Mycroft was just being a creep as usual.” He brightened when he saw the other man in the doorway, “Lance! I’m glad you made it, how was your flight?”

“Slow,” Lance said. He was staring intently at Mycroft, “the earliest flight I could get didn’t even leave until this morning, or else I would have been here last night.”

Mycroft was also staring at Gwaine and Lance, “do I know you?” he asked, standing up straighter and hooking his umbrella over his arm.

Gwaine gasped at the movement, “Umbrella man? Lance look!” he nudged his friend with an elbow, “it’s umbrella man!”

John heard Sherlock snort into his coffee mug.

“You know each other?” Merlin asked.

“Yeah!” Gwaine said, “he gave us our last assignment. Or at least his assistant did while he stood menacingly in the background.”

“I’m so lost,” John said, looking between the men, “do you work for Mycroft? What exactly kind of assignment are we talking about here?”

A clack came from the kitchen as Sherlock set his mug down and strode back into the living room. “Oh, isn’t it obvious John? You can plainly see the calluses on their hands and the way they hold themselves. Based on these alone I would say they were military, or recently ex-military, if it weren’t for the added fact that they are seasoned liars, occasionally diplomatic, and clearly have training in anti-interrogation techniques. That combined with the most blaring fact that they are familiar with Mycroft and his kind tells me that they are secret agents. Hit-men, assassins, hired guns, spies, whatever they’re needed for. Most likely under some marginally-secret service such as MI-5. Their job is clearly to participate in nefarious activities under the jurisdiction of the government.”

Lancelot, who had been sending worried glares toward Sherlock throughout this entire speech, hissed loudly through his teeth, “Good, yes, right you figured it out. But we are also undercover so if you could not shout it from the rooftops that’d be great!”

John shook his head, “Wait, okay so that explains how they know Mycroft, but how do you guys both know Merlin, again?”

“Merlin saved our lives,” Gwaine said. Lance nodded.

“Oh, come on, I was just in the right place at the right time,” Merlin said, looking embarrassed.

Gwaine held up a finger, shushing him, “Nope! We were gonners, and you rushed into what was practically a gunfight to save us.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Sherlock asked, whipping around to glare at Merlin.

Merlin held up his hands, “I’m a doctor! I was helping people! Look,” he gestured to Gwaine and Lance, “they both survived, and I obviously survived. So it’s fine.” He grinned nervously.

“And now we are your ever loyal minions forever,” Gwain said, holding a hand to his heart and dramatically swooning back against Lance.

“I never agreed to that,” Merlin pointed a finger at his friends, “minions are Mycroft’s schtick, not mine.”

Sherlock rubbed at his forehead with both hands. “Okay, we’ll come back to the very obvious danger you’ve been putting yourself into later. You said yesterday that Galahad here called you for help on one of their cases?”

Now it was Mycroft’s turn to glare at Gwaine and Lance, “you what?”

“Whenever they need help with objects of a certain nature they’ll call me in for my expertise,” Merlin hastily explained, “a consult, kind of like what you do, Sherlock.”

“ I don’t go running into gunfights,” Sherlock gritted between his teeth.

“Bullshit,” John said, “you absolutely would go running into a gunfight if you thought there was a clue there.”

Now Mycroft was also rubbing his fingers against his temple, “How would they even know that you have expertise with certain objects?”

Merlin pressed his lips together. Gwaine and Lance glanced at each other and then carefully avoided eye contact with anyone else.

John was very confused. It was practically a permanent state of being at this point.

“It’s not important,” Merlin eventually responded, “what matters is the case at hand.”

“And what is the case at hand?” John asked, “Even Gwaine’s explanation yesterday feels like it’s missing some key details. I’d like to at least know what we’re getting into with this one.”

Lance spoke up, “we’ll tell you what we know. If Merlin trusts you then I do too,” he paused to look at Mycroft, “that is, if we have your permission, sir?”

Mycroft sighed and unhooked his umbrella from his arm; he tapped it against the floor. “Very well, I will leave this to you all. But rest assured that I will be keeping tabs on everyone here.” He started towards the door, stopping by Merlin to rest a hand on his shoulder, “It is good to see you again, baby brother. See that you make it home for Christmas dinner this year; I want to have a chat with you about certain secrets.”

Merlin grimaced, but patted Mycroft’s hand. “It’s good to see you too Myc. I’ll do my best. Give my love to Mum and Dad when you see them next.”

He nodded, and then quietly brushed past Gwaine and Lance and out the door.

A few seconds later the sound of a phone chime rang through the room. 

Lance pulled out his phone, “uh, Merlin?” Lance said, “your brother is threatening to hurt me if we put you in any more danger.”

Merlin tilted his head back in exasperation, “Yeah, he does that. Don’t worry about it.”

Gwaine clapped his hands together, “Well then! The nice old woman downstairs has made quite a lot of food, shall we have this conversation after breakfast?”

Chapter Text

A half hour later, they all sat crowded around the living room. 

“Now,” Merlin said, steepling his hands under his chin, much like Sherlock, “Could we get the whole story this time?”

Gwaine nodded, “right, so a few months ago Mr. umbrella man sent us to look into a black market artifact dealer known as Cedric, who was rumored to have acquired an artifact with supposed mystical properties.”

“Mystical like… magic?” John asked.

Lance nodded, “it was a myth, of course, but we still needed to make sure it didn’t fall into the wrong hands either way. We called in Merlin here, who is familiar with these kinds of artifacts, so that he could confirm for us that we weren’t getting sold a fake.”

“I was curious about the crystal as well,” Merlin said, “I’d heard about it before, but like Lance said, I thought it was only a myth.”

“We went in undercover as potential buyers,” Gwaine continued, “Cedric was a slimy little weasel but he did eventually let us get a close look at the crystal. Once Merlin confirmed that it was legit, we told Cedric that we would be in touch to purchase it from him.”

Lance sighed, “but something went wrong, and apparently someone else stole the crystal from Cedric before we could organize a full sting to get it ourselves. Cedric was pissed, but before he could retaliate in any way he just… disappeared.” 

“He was kidnapped?” Sherlock asked.

“Or he ran,” Gwaine said, “it took us months to track him down to Barcelona. We had been watching the flat he was staying in for a few days and were about to bring him in for questioning when the fire broke out, and then, well, you know the rest.”

Merlin hummed thoughtfully, “was there anyone else in the running to buy the crystal from Cedric? Maybe they could have stolen it? Or maybe they kidnapped Cedric to find out who stole it instead?”

“There was someone,” Lance replied, “We never actually saw them, but while we were meeting with Cedric he mentioned that he had another potential buyer.”

“Did he tell you the buyer’s name?” John asked.

Lance shook his head, “he didn’t say, but while we were tracking down Cedric, our teammates, Arthur and Percival, were working on finding his identity.” 

“Arthur?” John turned to Merlin, “didn’t you say you had a friend named Arthur that’s on his honeymoon?”

Merlin grinned, “yeah, that’s him. He and Gwen got married ages ago though, so I guess it doesn’t really count as a honeymoon anymore.”

Lance had taken out his phone and was typing something on it, “I’ll send him a message and see if they’ve found anything about the other buyer. Maybe it’ll help us figure out who took Gwaine too.”

“There’s something I’m missing,” Sherlock mumbled. 

John sent him a questioning glance.

“I don’t know what it is yet,” Sherlock continued, “but there’s a piece missing from this story.” He closed his eyes in thought.

Merlin stood up, “Hey Gwaine, Lance? Could I talk to you guys in private real quick while we wait for Arthur to get back to us?”

“Sure, mate,” Gwaine said.

“I’m using your room, Sherlock,” Merlin said over his shoulder as he led his friends in that direction. 

Sherlock waved his hand in agreement. 

“He’s hiding something,” Sherlock whispered to John as soon as they heard the door close. 

“Who? Merlin?” 

Sherlock nodded, “He must be! He doesn’t look like he is, he’s not giving anything away, but there’s something missing here and it must be him!”

“He might just be worried about his friends,” John hedged, not really believing it himself.

“No, there’s something else. Something I’m not seeing. Or something Merlin doesn’t want me to see,” he rubbed his head, “I need to think. Be quiet for a moment.”

“But I wasn’t even-” 

Sherlock shot him a glare.

John sighed, then settled back in his chair to wait. 

Merlin led Gwaine and Lance into Sherlock’s bedroom, quickly shutting the door behind them. 

He spun to face his friends, “I have a confession to make,” he said.

Gwaine raised his eyebrows excitedly, “ooh really? Do tell. What mischief have you been getting up to since the last time we saw you?”

“This is serious, Gwaine,” Merlin hissed, “I did a bad, bad thing.”

Gwaine opened his mouth but Lance pulled him back a step before he could say anything. “What is it, Merlin? Lance asked, “you know you can tell us anything. We trust you.”

Merlin grimaced, “That’s the problem Lance. I betrayed your trust. I did something and then lied to you about it and now it’s gotten completely out of hand,” he started pacing. “I don’t even know why I did it. I just saw it and I panicked and it was such a stupid decision to make and I’m so, so sorry.” He reached into his pocket and pulled something out.

“Oh shit!” Gwaine said, stepping back.

“Merlin,” Lance said quietly, when he saw what it was, “tell me you didn’t…” 

Merlin nodded, looking down in shame, “I stole the crystal.”

Chapter Text

“Why?” Gwaine said, quietly for once. 

Merlin looked at the crystal, still half wrapped in a piece of cloth and glinting in the light streaming from the window. “It was calling to me,” he said slowly, “I touched it just that once, months ago when you brought me to see it, and I…” his voice hitched, “I saw something in it that I didn’t want to see, and now I can’t unsee it.”

Lance set a steadying hand on Merlin’s shoulder, “What was it? What was so important that you would jeopardize the investigation like this?”

Merlin felt tears blur his vision, “I…”

“I’m not going to lie to you, Merlin,” Lance said, “this isn’t great, and I’m hurt that you hid this from us. But I know you, and you wouldn’t have taken the crystal without a hell of a good reason.” 

Merlin opened his mouth, then closed it, and then, “I saw Sherlock,” he finally managed to choke out. “I saw my brother and he was on a roof, looking down. He was saying something but I couldn’t hear what it was.” He closed his eyes, tears breaking free and rolling down his cheeks, “He jumped, and I saw him fall all the way until he hit the ground.”

Gwaine came over to grasp Merlin’s other shoulder. 

Merlin wiped angrily at his face, “I panicked. I saw it, and then it was over but I could still see it. Every time I closed my eyes, every time I fell asleep. It was haunting me, and I just… I couldn’t let it happen.”

“Why didn’t you just tell us?” Lance asked, “we probably could have let you study it more after we brought Cedric down.”

“I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk the other buyer getting it first, and I didn’t even know when or how or if the vision would come true. I mean, what if it was going to happen the next day and I was too late?” Merlin brushed off his friend’s hands and went to sit on the bed, carefully holding the crystal between his hands.

“Well,” Gwain said hesitantly, “it obviously didn’t happen the next day, because he’s still out there being a prick.”

Merlin huffed, crooking up the corners of his mouth. “Yeah,” he said, “I’ve been studying the vision every spare moment I’ve had, and I can’t be sure but I feel like it’s going to happen soon. So I made an excuse to come and visit, to see what I can do to stop it from happening.”

“Does the vision ever change?” Lance asked as he came to sit next to his friend on the bed. 

“No,” Merlin shook his head, “It’s the same every time.” He turned the crystal in his hands, staying careful not to touch it directly. 

Lance could see his hands shaking.

Gwaine reached for the crystal, and Merlin carefully handed it over. “Careful, it’s sharp,” he said.

“It doesn’t look like anything special to me,” Gwaine said after a moment of study, even touching the tip of one finger to the crystal itself.

“Oh, it’s magical, no doubt about it,” Merlin replied. 

Gwaine shifted to hand the crystal back to Merlin, but the cloth around it slipped against the smooth surface and it started to tumble toward the ground.

“No!” Merlin gasped, darting forward to snatch the crystal out of the air. As soon as his fingers touched the surface it was as if something had cut all of the strings holding Merlin up. He collapsed, barely caught from slamming his head against the ground by Gwaine. 

“Get it away from him!” Lance yelled, grabbing at the crystal.

“Wait!” Merlin said, his voice thin and strained, “something’s different now, I’m seeing something else.” His whole body was shaking, “there’s someone else up there with him… I can’t… I can’t see his face though, it’s all blurry.”

Merlin’s brow furrowed and smoke started seeping out between where his fingers were clutching the stone. 

“I don’t care what he’s seeing, it’s hurting him,” Gwaine snarled at Lance before starting to pry Merlin’s fingers off one by one. 

“No!” Merlin said again, “I’ve almost got it, just a little more time!” 

The crystal was glowing brighter and brighter through the shroud of smoke now pouring off of the surface. 

“It’s hurting you,” Lance said, helping Gwaine pull Merlin’s finger’s away, “we aren’t going to let-”

A loud crack split the air. 

Gwaine and Lance met eyes in the brief silence that followed before the crystal shattered with a percussive force that blew them clear apart. Lance had only a brief moment to hear Merlin scream before his head slammed into the wall and everything went dark.

It had barely been five minutes since Merlin had gone to talk to his friends. John was just about to get up and make himself some tea while Sherlock continued thinking when he heard the sound of yelling start from Sherlock’s bedroom.

Concerned, John stood from his chair and saw Sherlock sit up straighter as well. But before he could go and check on their guests, they both heard a crack followed by a great boom which shook the entire flat. John stumbled and Sherlock jumped out of his chair to start rushing toward his bedroom. Smoke was pouring from underneath Sherlock’s door. John regained his footing and ran after the detective. Before they could reach it, the door burst open and Merlin pitched forward toward them. 

Sherlock stopped in his tracks and John nearly ran into him at the sudden halt. Merlin’s arms were covered in cuts, littered with bits of shining glass and running with lines of blood. 

“Sherl…” Merlin rasped weakly, “Sherl I think I really messed up.”

Sherlock burst forward, grabbing Merlin’s shoulder with one hand and his arm with another. “Merlin, you promised me! You swore!” Sherlock choked on the words, “You swore that you weren’t doing this again.” 

Merlin shook his head desperately, tilting to the side as it made his head spin, “No, no Sherl you’ve got it all wrong, it’s not-”

Sherlock snarled, “No, you promised me!”

Tears streaked down Merlin’s face and he gasped as his brother accidentally put pressure on the cuts. John had seen enough. 

“Sherlock,” John commanded, “I’ll take Merlin, go check on the others.”

The detective turned his snarl to John, but John could see the desperation in his eyes. “Give him to me,” John repeated, holding out his hand. “Trust me, I’ll take care of him, but I need you to go and make sure the others aren’t dying in there.”

Sherlock stared at John for a second, and then slowly loosened his grip. John gently reached out and tugged Merlin from his grasp. “I got this,” John repeated, “go.”

Sherlock gave a dazed nod and stiffly moved forward into his room.

John looked back at Merlin, and started tugging him toward the couch, “What happened in there?”

“I.. I don’t know what… It was just so close and… It’s never done that before… and…” His head shot up, “Oh my god, Gwaine! Lance! Are they okay? I need to-” 

John pushed him firmly back onto the couch. “Oh no you don’t! Sherlock is checking on them and you’re bleeding. He will call for me if they need immediate care, but you’re the one in danger right now.”

Merlin shook his head, frantic, “No, no I’m fine. I’ll be fine but the explosion must have hurt them and-”

“You are not fine,” John said. “You are covered in cuts and some of these are bleeding…” He paused, “wait, they were bleeding. What…?”

The cuts had started healing right before John’s eyes. He watched as bits of glass worked their way out of the skin with sickening squelching sounds, and the wounds themselves seemed to stitch back together within seconds. One after another they closed until the blood on Merlin’s arms covered nothing but smooth, scarred skin. 

“What…” John breathed again, staring at the miracle happening in front of him. 

Merlin stood up again, yanking his arm out of John’s slackened grasp. “I need to check on my friends,” he said, and ran back to Sherlock’s room.

John sat there a quiet moment more, before shakily getting up to follow him.

Chapter Text

Gwaine and Lance were fine, if a bit bruised and sore. They had a couple of minor cuts from the exploding crystal, but nothing more than surface wounds. Even those were cleared in seconds once Merlin got ahold of them. 

John had walked into the room just in time to see Merlin hover a glowing hand down the length of an unconscious Lance’s body. Sherlock was already pulling Gwaine up off the ground. 

“I definitely did not need a third concussion in two days time,” Gwaine groaned as he was helped into the living room.

John silently went to Merlin’s side as Lance startled awake with a grunt. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Merlin whispered. He started levering Lance off the ground as well and John moved to support his other side.

Merlin didn’t say anything; he just gave John a grateful glance and started moving them back out of the room.

They got both Lance and Gwaine quietly settled on the couch with Merlin between them. Once Merlin had the chance to make sure they didn’t have any other major injuries, John took a deep breath and asked in the calmest voice he could manage, “What. the. hell. just happened.”

Sherlock dropped his head into his hands, “do you want to tell him, Merlin, or shall I? Because there’s no hiding it now.”

Merlin avoided John’s eyes and picked at his nails. “Um, well, you see the thing is that I have this, um, gift, and it’s, well-”

Gwaine groaned, tilting his head back, “We’ll never get anywhere like this.” He sat up straighter and looked at John, “Merlin has magic.”

“Okay, I got that,” John said, waving his hand through the air. “I kinda figured that out after he healed himself right in front of me. But I’m talking about the explosion. What the hell caused that?”

“Wait, wait what?” Sherlock said, looking dumbfounded at John. “You don’t have any questions about magic? About the fact that magic even exists?” 

“Nah,” John shrugged, “I already knew about that.”

Everyone blinked at him. “Seriously?” Lance asked.

“Well, yeah. It kinda runs in my family so I’m pretty familiar with the concept.”

Sherlock coughed, “I’m sorry, what ? Do you have magic too?”

“No,” John laughed, “It only tends to crop up every other generation or so. My sister, Harry, got it though.”

“And you never told me!” 

“Well you didn’t tell me!”

“Guys, guys,” Merlin grinned, “I think you’re even. You apparently both have magical siblings. Congratulations, you’re even more alike than you thought.”

Sherlock folded his arms and pouted, but John could tell he saw the humor in the situation as well.

“I’ve never seen anything like what you can do though, Merlin,” John said.

Merlin blushed as Gwaine patted him on the back with a grin. “That’s our Merlin,” he said, “even among the special few with magic, he’s exceptional.”

“Mycroft and I have searched for others with Merlin’s gifts, and while we’ve found a few there haven’t been any with his level of power and control.” Sherlock said.

John nodded, “I could definitely see that, even Harry can only really do parlor tricks.”

“Merlin was doing parlor tricks when he was still in diapers,” Sherlock bragged.

“Okay, okay, we’ve established that I’m powerful,” Merlin held up his hands in a placating gesture; his face was bright red. 

“So did you cause the explosion?” John asked.

“Kind of,” Merlin said with a grimace, “I didn’t mean to, but I did inadvertently cause it. I maybe might have…” he sighed, “been the one who stole the crystal in the first place.”

“Aha!” Sherlock pointed triumphantly at Merlin, “I knew you were hiding some part of the story from me! I bet your minions here didn’t know about it either, or else they definitely would have given you away.”

“Hey!” Gwaine pouted. Lance patted his arm consolingly.

“They’re not my minions,” Merlin folded his arms, “and yeah, they didn’t know. I was trying to tell them and then the crystal accidentally slipped, and then, well…”

“It hit the ground and exploded?” John asked.

He shook his head, “no, it’s more complicated than that. See, the crystal shows visions of things that have happened, and things that will happen. I’m especially drawn to it due to the extent of my powers, and I’ve seen something that I didn’t really want to see.” Merlin looked down at his hands, clenching them.

Sherlock stared at his brother for a moment, “What did you see?”

Merlin took a deep breath, “you,” he said, “dying.”

Now it was John’s turn to have a coughing fit, “You saw Sherlock die?! How? When?”

“I, I don’t know when,” Merlin hedged, “as for the how… I thought I knew what I saw, but after this most recent version I’m not so sure.”

“You said you saw something, or someone, else?” Lance asked.

“Yeah, at first, all I saw, over and over again, was Sherlock jumping off a roof somewhere here in London.

John didn’t even know what to say to that. He sank back into his chair and just looked at Merlin, at a loss. There had been a lot of revelations in the past half hour, but this… It was all just too much. He couldn’t even imagine a life where Sherlock would choose to do something like that. Not now, when he seemed so happy with John.

Merlin looked at his brother, despair in his eyes, “you saved me last time Sherlock, even when I didn’t want to be saved. I never… I never apologized for that.”

“You did, though,” Sherlock looked uncomfortable, “you apologized for yelling in the hospital.”

Merlin shook his head, “no, not for that. I never said that I was sorry that you had to be the one to find me. I didn’t realize how much it must have hurt to see me like that. I couldn’t even imagine, until I saw that vision in the crystal. I would do anything to keep that from happening to you. So when I saw that the vision had changed, was more complete, I couldn’t just let it go. I had to at least try and figure out what was going on.”

“What changed?” Sherlock asked, tense.

“I couldn’t see it very clearly, but it looked like there was someone up there with you. I never got a look at his face, but he had a gun I think, and dark hair.” He looked away, “I wish I could have seen more, but the harder I looked the fuzzier everything became. I tried pouring some extra power into the crystal, but then, well, you saw what happened.”

A phone chimed.

“That’s me,” Lance said, pulling out his phone. “It’s Arthur, he says that they only got one name to work off of, and they think it’s an alias.”

“What’s the name?” Gwaine leaned over across Merlin to look at Lance’s phone.

“Carl Powers.”

“Moriarty,” Sherlock growled.

Chapter Text

“It all makes sense now!” Sherlock was pacing around the room, running his hands frantically through his hair. “This is it!” he said, “the final piece I was missing.”

John was exhausted just watching him, “walk us through it here, Sherlock.”

Merlin was also running his hands through his hair, “I’m starting to see it now too. I was so focused on the vision, on what it meant and how to stop it, that I never looked at the full picture.”

“Sherlock,” John repeated, “care to enlighten us?”

“It’s so obvious; the pieces are all falling into place.” He turned to Gwaine and Lance, “You were investigating the crystal, likely because Mycroft knew Moriarty had some kind of special interest in it.” He pointed at Merlin, “then he stole the crystal before either of you could get it.”

“Okay,” John said, “I’m following you so far.”

“Moriarty must have been incensed. He hates losing, especially when he doesn’t know who he’s losing to. So he takes Cedric, questions him, tries to figure out for himself who the thief was. Cedric probably wasn’t smart enough to know what clues to even look for. He obviously isn’t very intelligent if he was considering a business deal with the likes of Moriarty.”

“He was pretty stupid,” Gwaine agreed.

“Once Moriarty figured out that Merlin was the most likely one to take the crystal, he must have connected him to me.”

“How could he have figured that out, though?” Lance asked, “It’s not like we ever gave Cedric Merlin’s name.”

Sherlock shook his head, “no, but Merlin is very recognizable in the medical field, and Moriarty is very, very clever. Merlin didn’t start to use the name ‘Emrys’ until he was getting his doctorate. It wouldn’t have been too difficult for a man as determined as Moriarty to find the connection between us. Then the only thing he needed to do was draw Merlin out. And what better way than to use his friend.” Sherlock looked pointedly at Gwaine.

“Me?” he asked.

“Yes. He kidnapped you and purposefully did a sloppy job framing you for Cedric’s murder, making sure to place both of you in Lestrade’s jurisdiction. It’s the perfect bait for both Merlin and myself, drawing us both in like flies to a spider’s web. Only waiting for the right time to strike and steal the crystal back.”

“But the crystal is broken now,” Merlin pointed out, “he can’t steal what doesn’t exist anymore.”

“You’re right,” Sherlock said, steepling his hands under his chin, “but if he knew that the crystal would be here then he would have some way to keep an eye on its position.”

“You think he bugged the place?” Lance glanced around the room, alarmed.”

Sherlock rushed to grab his phone, dialed, and put it on speaker. 

“ Why hello, brother mine, didn’t I just speak to you earlier today? ”

“Mycroft,” Sherlock snapped, “how many bugs did you put in my flat?”

“ I don’t know what would give you the idea that I’d give you a true answer to that question, Sherlock. Checking to see that you’ve gotten them all, are you? ”

“This is important Myc,” Merlin said, leaning over the phone, “I’ll help you replace them later; I’ve even found some new spots he won’t find right away.”

Sherlock gave Merlin a betrayed look.

“ Very well ,” Mycroft said cautiously, “ Last I checked there were five still placed around the flat .”

Sherlock hung up the phone. 

“I’ve counted seven since I’ve been here,” Merlin said quietly.

“Eight,” Sherlock responded, “there’s one in John’s room too.” His phone rang, but he ended the call before it could ring a second time

“What… eight!?” John had jumped out of his chair, “You knew there were eight bugs in the flat, one of them in my room and you didn’t think to tell me?”

Merlin’s phone also rang a moment later. He rolled his eyes at Sherlock. “You just had to hang up on him. You know he hates that.”

“I thought they were all Mycroft!” Sherlock yelled back at John, already sweeping through the flat haphazardly, throwing anything in his way onto the ground in his rush and pulling the bugs out one by one. 

Merlin also got up and started picking through cupboards and drawers, though much more carefully than his brother. He had answered his phone and was having a very rushed conversation with his oldest brother.

“That doesn’t make it better, Sherlock!” John watched despairingly as a small pile of now-broken bugs accumulated on the coffee table.

Sherlock went into John’s room and came back a few seconds later with another bug, which he threw onto the pile. “Fine,” he said, “I’ll make sure Mycroft doesn’t bug your room anymore.”

“That’s not the-” John sat back down, “you know what, fine, that’s good enough for me at the moment.”

Merlin, having finally hung up the phone, came back from Sherlock’s room a minute later with the eighth bug and also tossed it onto the pile. 

It could have been a trick of the light, but John could have sworn he saw Merlin’s eyes shift bright gold for a moment before the entire pile fritzed and fizzled until they were lightly smoking.

“So now what?” Gwaine asked, also looking at the coffee table. “Moriarty knows the crystal is destroyed, but he also knows about Merlin’s magic.”

“And Harry’s,” Merlin mumbled, glancing at John.

John shook his head, “Harry will be fine. Like I said, she can only do parlor tricks, and nobody is going to believe that actual magic is real just because of that. I’ll still give her a call though, and make sure she keeps a lookout for anything suspicious.”

“You’re right, it’s the same for me then,” Merlin said after a moment’s thought, “magic is so fantastical sounding to the average person, they most likely wouldn’t believe it without a very showy and convincing presentation, which I definitely don’t plan on giving anytime soon. I’m not worried about my powers being exposed.”

Gwaine barked a laugh, “Can you even imagine? Anybody accusing the great Emrys of magic would get laughed out of the news office. Nobody would buy it.”

“He’s still going to make a play for you, though,” Sherlock warned, “he’s mad and power hungry. He will want to use you both as a means to get under my skin, and for his own gain.”

Merlin grinned viscously, “I’d like to see him try.”

Chapter Text

A month later, Merlin and Sherlock stood side by side and stared out at the busy London streets. They were in Sherlock’s flat, waiting for John to come back from the grocers. It had been three days since Moriarty was arrested after breaking into the Crown Jewels. 

“The game has officially begun, Sherlock,” Merlin said quietly, careful not to disturb the temporary peace that had settled over the flat. “Do you think we’re ready?”

“I think that between the two of us, and Mycroft, we have plotted the moves out as precisely as we could.”

Merlin took a deep breath, “I’m scared. What if it doesn’t work?”

“It will,” he said with confidence, “it has to.”

“You know,” Merlin paused, “back then, when Freya died, I didn’t think I would ever recover.”

Sherlock turned sharply to look at his brother. They hadn’t spoken of Freya since that long night in the hospital, all those years ago.

“I was so young back then, Sherlock,” he continued, “young, and stupid, and naïve.”

“You haven't been stupid a day in your life,” Sherlock admonished.

Merlin shook his head, “No, I mean that I had such a romantic and hopeful view of the world, of what I wanted my world to be.”

Sherlock watched Merlin rub his hands over the scars under his shirtsleeves.

“Looking back on it now, I can see that what Freya and I had wasn’t healthy. We were so codependent on each other, and neither of us had good support systems beyond our relationship.”

He hesitated as Sherlock reached over to stop Merlin’s fidgeting hands. 

“Why didn’t you come to us, then? Mycroft and I may not be the best at… expressing ourselves. But surely you knew that we would support you if you needed us?”

“Like I said, I was naïve. I thought that I could handle everything by myself, that I had to handle everything by myself. And after she was gone I had already pushed you both so far away in my mind. I was terrified of being alone, but I didn’t know how to be anything else without Freya.”

Merlin leaned carefully against his brother, “I’ll always love her,” he said, “but I’ve learnt to move on, for myself. And as afraid as I was after she died, nothing could compare to the fear I have at losing you, Sherl.”

Sherlock slowly wrapped his arm around Merlin’s shoulder. 

“I’m not going anywhere anytime soon,” Sherlock said, “our plan is going to work flawlessly.”

Merlin nodded, rubbing his cheek against the fabric of his brother’s coat, “I know, but I still want you to know that just like you were there when I needed you most, I’ll be here for you as well, if you need it.” He grinned, “and John  would too of course. After all, he has already agreed to literally follow you to the ends of the earth.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Dismantling a criminal empire isn’t going to be near as much fun as he thinks it will be.”

“No, but I don’t think that will matter all that much to him if you’re there.”

“What about you?” Sherlock asked, trying to change the subject. “Anybody you’re following to the ends of the earth these days?”

Merlin grinned, the setting sun glinting in his eyes, “oh come now, Sherl, you must let some of the mystery remain. After all, both of us have secrets we keep.”