A/N: Alright, before you start reading, read this up here! I've made Sherlock's parents very, very OOC. In fact, they are absolutely nothing like the cannon. Just bear with me, and I'll explain things as the story goes on. I've also used the name "Byron" for Sherlock's father. In this chapter, I have referred to Sherlock's mother simply as "Mrs. Holmes." Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy my story.

"Sherlock?" John called out.

"Hmm?" Sherlock hummed, still entranced by his book on the decomposition of bodies.

"It's your mother, she's on the phone and wants to talk to you." John said.

"Tell her I'm very busy with a case." Sherlock said.

"Tried that already, she didn't believe it." John said. Sherlock groaned and put the book down.

"She says to stop groaning." John said. "And not to growl as she knows will come next." Sherlock threw his hands up in the air. He took the phone from John and held it to his ear.

"Yes mother?" Sherlock said, smiling sarcastically to himself, and in an overly sweet voice. John gave him a look tat said, That's funny, but you really shouldn't do that.

"Alright, yes Mum?" Sherlock sighed. "What do you want?"

"I have some news." Mrs. Holmes said. "And don't you dare hang up this phone! I'm not finished!" Fact was, the phone was already half way to the hook. Sherlock groaned and brought it to his ear once again.

"As you know, my two boys have both left the nest, and Byron and I have been getting very lonely." Mrs. Holmes said.

"The point, please, Mum?" Sherlock said, doing his best to remain polite for the sake of John. John was proud of Sherlock, he was making progress. He wasn't entirely rude when his mum called this time. Mummy didn't call as often as you would expect mothers to. This was the first time in eight months that she had called, the last time being to confirm that Sherlock wasn't actually dead when they received the news that 'The Great Detective' was back. John knew Sherlock and his parents weren't very close at all. His parents had attended his funeral and sent flowers, but they hadn't been there for the visitation, and they didn't stay to watch the casket get lowered into the ground.

John sat in his chair hearing only one side of the battle of wits. Then Sherlock went silent. Concerned, John looked over his shoulder from his position in his chair. Sherlock mumbled a goodbye out of habit before slowly lowering the phone from his ear and staring at it a moment and pressing the end call button.

"Sherlock? Is everything alright?" John asked. Sherlock didn't answer, just stared out at nothing and slowly brought the hand with the phone to his chest while breathing out. His complexion that already resembled that of a vampire paled even more, and the fingers on his left hand all twitched once, in rapid succession, as if he were tapping them on a table. He took deep, measured breaths.

"Sherlock, sit down." John said, rising from his seat. No response.

"Sherlock-" John grasped Sherlock's arm, and pulled him to face him, but Sherlock pulled out of his grip.

"I'm fine- John." Sherlock said. Sherlock walked past John to his chair, where he then sat down. He brought his hands in front of his face, pressing them together. They first went to his chin, then up to his forehead, then back down to his lips in smooth movements. He continued the measured breaths.

"Sherlock, what's happened?" John asked. "Are your parents alright? Did something happen to Mycroft?"

Sherlock shook his head, releasing a breath.

"My family is poisonous John." Sherlock said. "You don't think that, I know you don't. You always think the best of people. That's a good trait. It's something I've always admired about you." Sherlock turned his head and looked John in the eyes.

"But you haven't met them." Sherlock said. "At the funeral, yes, but not really. You didn't actually talk to them did you? They arrived late and left early. You remember, you noticed it, thought it was odd. You attributed it to overwhelming grief, you did. But did you see any tears? Of course not. My family is not one for the sentimental, or the caring in the slightest. Mycroft and I may have turned out half way decent at dealing with human beings if it was, but we're not, and they weren't. I was different from the start and how we were raised, despite their best efforts, did nothing to help that, even made it worse."

"Alright then… So why are you telling me all this now?" John asked. "It's not like you to beat around the brush."

"My parents have adopted another child, John." Sherlock said. "He is to be the 3rd Holmes brother." John's eyes widened.

"So… You've got a new baby brother then…" John said. "Wow- um…"

"No, not baby." Sherlock muttered, just as much to himself as to John. "He's fourteen years old. They've had him for two months now, and never said a word about it to me, but apparently Mycroft knew from the start. He probably even helped to speed up the adoption process."

"And they tell you this through a phone call?" John asked.

"That's not the problem, John." Sherlock said. He was about to go on when John cut him off.

"It really is." John said. "You've had quite a shock, and you're pale as a sheet, though I'm really not quite sure why."

"John-" Sherlock looked John in the eyes, incapable of voicing what he was thinking. He didn't know how. There was so much power in that gaze. So many unspoken words and repressed emotions.

"Tell me what you need, Sherlock." John said.

"I need that boy safe, John." Sherlock said after a moment. His voice shook ever so slightly.

"He's not right now?" John asked. "Why?"

"I told you John," Sherlock said, now much more passively. He seemed to have regained control of himself. "My family is poison."

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"My parents don't actually want another child, John. It's a fad among the higher ups, adopt a child who came from a bad situation, give them a home, schooling, and manners. It's kind of a game they play to see who is the 'best'. This isn't the first time they've done this. They can't have him, John. They'll ruin him."

"Ruin him?" John asked. "Ruin him how?"

"Look at me John, and note my worst characteristics. My near in ability to empathize, inability to categorize, recognize, and react to even common emotions, difficulty displaying and expressing those emotions, dislike and irritation with social interaction of almost any kind, and excessive arrogance." Sherlock said. "To say all of these traits weren't born in me to a certain extent would be lying of course, but when I was sent to the Holmes family these traits were unintentionally and unknowingly supported to the point that it embedded these traits into my personality."

"So- wait- When you 'went' to the Holmes family?" John asked, thoroughly confused by now.

"I'm not a Holmes by birth, John. I was adopted. " Sherlock said. "I fit in well though, just as cold and heartless as the rest of the lot. That's why I can't let him be my parents' son. It would destroy him."

"So- you're adopted." John said. He still hadn't finished processing that.

"Yes John, keep up!" Sherlock said, letting a little exasperation show through.

"What's your actual last name then?" John asked, after clearing his throat.

"I don't know, I must have deleted it." Sherlock said.

"You deleted your name." John said in disbelief. "Why?"

"John… Where I came from, it was… not good." Sherlock said. "I was young when I moved in with the Holmes, and still stupidly optimistic. I thought things were looking up for me, so I deleted it. Everything about my former home. I had a new one."

"Everything?" John asked, "You deleted everything. You don't remember it a bit now?"

"I do, sometimes John." Sherlock said. "I can never actually delete anything, that's just what I call it when I throw it in the dungeon of my mind palace. That's where I throw bad and/or useless information, but every once in a while, it sneaks out. I don't know how it does, but it does, and I can't always stop it."

"So you do remember it then?" John asked, still confused.

"Parts, John, only parts." Sherlock said.

"Which ones?" John asked.

"Every single one that I don't want to." Sherlock said. "Now back to the point. What in the world am I supposed to do, John? This boy has been through so much already, the last thing he needs is this."

"Well, when are you supposed to meet him?" John asked.

"We're invited for Supper Saturday." Sherlock sighed.

"Pardon, 'we?'" John asked.

"I haven't seen my parents face to face in 12 years, John." Sherlock said. "If I must go you're going with me. Plus, Mum wants to meet the person who's finally befriended her sociopathic son." John raised an eyebrow.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" John asked.

"I don't know, and I don't like not knowing." Sherlock took to pacing back and forth across the room.

"It's alright Sherlock," John said.

"We'll get through this."

A/N: Any and all OOC-ness in Sherlock's character will be explained in the following chapters. Thank you for reading, and I hope to put up the next chapter soon. Review please!