hatesdeerstalkers | IC INBOX FOR DAYBREAK

There's something I found while examining our respective blood.

Are you sitting down?

Just finished streaming - what is it, Holmes?

Well, the results were - not what I expected.

[Moriarty will get a notification of a file labeled "Results.PDF" - if Moriarty looks at it, he'll see what's clearly the genetic charts of two individuals with notes on identical markers... which there is a lot of them.]

Now before you asked, I ran it multiple times on different machines.

[He opens it, expecting something about deterioration or regen, something alarming but not anything that would shake his worldview.

Instead, what he gets...is something he could have never imagined.

He's not stupid - though now, he desperately wishes he can't understand what the identical markers are telling him.

Yet...it all makes sense. Horrible, horrible sense - the reason Holmes was the only man who could ever rival his genius, was...

Because they'd come from the same goddamn womb. More than that, they were -]

...We're Twins.

[He sends that without thinking about it.]

get over here now

[For that to be entirely lowercase and without punctuation?

Well, that's pretty much a massive sign as to how much this is effecting him.]

I'll be right over.

[He was there not more than a few minutes later, knocking to be let in, before folding his arms over his chest.]

[Well, it doesn't take long - once a single knock happens, Moriarty opens the door - wordlessly ushering him inside and taking a seat on his couch.

He runs his hands down his face, sighing once before managing to speak.]

...You're....my brother.

[It almost seems to hang in the air.]

And Mycroft was my brother, as well.

Yes... another brother.

[He stated sotto voce, his fingers curling against his arm, still standing for the moment]

To think that...

[Then he just trails off]

[There's a silence, before he speaks again.]

....It seems Flat was right after all.

[A murmur, but it's something.]

I - knew that I was adopted, of course. I didn't look like the rest of my family, but...I'd merely assumed I was sold or that my family died.

[...Wait. He looks up for a moment, focusing on Sherlock.]

...Was I? Sold, I mean. ...I assume you wouldn't know, considering, but...

I was - wondering if someone had noticed.

[Their similarities was the unspoken part, as he paced, stopping mid-step at the question, starting]

No - I do not believe so. We weren't in any financial hardship - not wealthy, but not bad off. ...It wouldn't make sense, but -

[He's now not entirely sure]

Then...what happened? You're - clearly just as taken aback by this as I am, so...

[He furrows his eyebrows, trying to think back...but god, it's useless. His memories before the Falls are hazy and fragmented as it is - trying to remember his childhood beyond the happy, fuzzy memories of mostly emotion and snippets of places and voices is a fool's errand.]

How - was I just...assumed dead? Was it a switch with an unhealthy baby at birth? Or...perhaps some sort of supernatural meddling?

[He actually takes a seat now, exhaling as his fingers slide up his face]

I... I suppose child theft was not that rare? There are too many unknowns.

[The man wracked his brains, his memory had sharpened thanks to his vampirism, but even things from early childhood were hard to pin down exactly]

Why would they make no mention?

Well, yes...but I would assume if a child of theirs got stolen when they weren't a baby that they would be contacting the authorities, at any rate. And if they'd presumed me dead, then I see no reason not to tell you, or mention it...?

[Something...something is wrong? None of this makes sense, and -

Cold tired hungry scared so scared

- what was that snippet of memory? Nothing in it was distinct - only the emotions - and yet...?

Britain. There was plenty of nature in their day, and -

-Was...was that it?]

...Holmes? Was there - ever a forest around your childhood home?

There... was.

[He leans back, lifting his head up, his voice still very soft, drawn out as he searches his mind]

I got in trouble many times for going into them.

[It was what let him to his lifelong dislike of serpents among other things]

...I. I remembered having an imaginary friend when I was quite young - my father telling me I was.

[He stops, making a low noise of disbelief]

[And at that, everything - terrifyingly - slides into place.

An imaginary friend.

That was - all his existence had come up to. A fake being, a fantasy Sherlock made when he was a child, all because -

God. They hadn't wanted to talk about a son of their dying at all, had they? Or, at least, if they had been young when it happened...not wanting to get into death with their surviving son and go through the grieving process.

He had been swept under the rug - and his eyes go wide as he realizes it, hands shaking where they're still on his face.]

...I...see.

That's - Ah.

[He doesn't have words for any of this. How could he?]

....

[He covered his mouth with his hands, the sound he made behind them was strangled as his green eyes snapped shut, shoulders hunching up]

All this time.... all this time.

[The words were muffled and strained, then he falls into silence, how does he even focus? What can he even do with this? His mind kept racing, replaying the what-ifs, if he had known]

...All this time.

[It's a soft echo of his words, but he's not reacting as viscerally - while it's a shock, it's...

...perhaps he's so shocked that it hasn't yet sunk in. Perhaps it's due to that he and Sherlock are twins, but -

No. There's a reason - and it's because just like most of his life, he was rejected and then forgotten.

It's almost hilarious that this was the center of it all - he feels like chuckling, if it wouldn't make him start laughing hysterically.

So he just - sits, in silence, letting Sherlock work through his shock and horror.]

[He went through the motions of breathing, calming himself down - realizing Moriarty had gone so quiet.

...So very quiet - a strange thought seized him as he jerks his head up, looking - just to make sure he was still there, wondering for a moment why the thought he'd vanish just popped into his head]

What now?

[Still here, still real - and at the question, Moriarty just...laughs, cold and mirthless.]

...I have no bloody idea, Holmes.

[He leans back, listlessly staring at the ceiling.]

But I know that I can't think of your family as my own. Though I don't remember them well anymore...my adoptive family took me in and loved me for many years. They...are what come to mind when I think of 'family.'

But for the immediate future? I want a damned drink.

Edited 2020-01-20 19:24 (UTC)

[He nods, speaking through clenched teeth:]

I can barely think of them as mine after finding this out... and damn, being able to get drunk would be damned good right now.

I suppose we could test if the bond also carries intoxication through.

[He mutters, but then just...sighs.]

...I suppose that's why we're even both alive now, hm? Identical twins, unknowing, from the opposite paths in life - facing each other down on top of a waterfall and determined to kill each other.

It's a miracle nothing else happened, with that much raw magic that must have resulted from it.

It seems likely - bodies of water were often thought to be portals to other worlds... and twins, there always something about twins having special abilities or connections.

[His fingers steepled together, lips pursing]

If he found you - you would not be in your unusual state but -

[he didn't trail off rather he snapped his mouth closed, refusing to finish whatever it was that came to his mind]

...Either a truly immortal human, or a Vampire like yourself.

[Sadly, Moriarty is smart enough to pick up what Sherlock is trying to say - and he doesn't mind.

He was just unlucky, like most of his life.]

I suppose if I had been able to speak, your sire would have seen me. Before I broke...well. I did see his back and he left with you slung over his shoulder.

[God, he wished he had his standby in his mortal days: hot tea with a shot of scotch mixed in.

It's still disconcerting to hear Moriarty speak of his 'break' so easily, but again the man had over a century to mull and analyze over it, while it's new to him.]

Which was about what I recalled - he was a brute, and I was in poor shape.

IC INBOX FOR DAYBREAK

After surgery recovery

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