one day they're gonna make a sherlock show where the obvious gay subtext actually becomes text and sherlock delays a case because he's too busy exploring 140 years of neglected homoerotic tension
Warnings: no warnings mostly for this chapter but as always I advise 18+ 🔞 Swearing & General Shenanigans. Mild Violence. Alcohol Consumption. Tension.
Authors note: THE HOLMES SIBLING YOU'VE NEVER MET. My own little twist on the new young Sherlock series. because who isn’t obsessed?
What to expect? A Holmes sibling who is worse than Sherlock (yes, it’s possible). James Moriarty being utterly, shamelessly smitten (against his better judgment, if he has any). Banter. So much banter.
Sherlock Holmes has a sister. And she’s exactly the kind of person you’d expect to come from that bloodline,brilliant, ruthless, and entirely too fond of chaos. When Sherlock’s latest escapade lands him in jail, his only option is to flee to the one person Mycroft doesn’t control and apparently that no one knows about,his sister, Y/N Holmes. Problem? They haven’t seen each other in years. Bigger problem? James Moriarty finds her absolutely fascinating.
Word count: 3.4k
Escape from Oxford.
The cobbled streets of Oxford were slick with rain, the moonlight fractured by the twisting alleys. The prison guards rattling over over the iron bars. Inside, Sherlock Holmes sat with his wrists bound in his cell,his sharp eyes scanning the shadows,calculating, waiting.
Then chaos. A figure dropped from the rooftops, landing with a thud as he took down one guard. Then the other guard rampaged from across the prison floor, and James Moriarty grinned down through the bars at Sherlock. Dressed as a gods damm chamber maid.
"Miss me?…Now get dressed”
Before Sherlock could reply, James flung a maids outfit at Sherlock. How delightful. Then flung a smoke bomb at the guards coming their way. The night erupted into coughing, swearing, and flailing truncheons. James yanked open the lock with a twisted bit of wire “Honestly, they should really upgrade these” and hauled Sherlock out.
“You're insane,"Sherlock hissed as they sprinted into the maze of alleyways. Behind them, whistles shrieked.
"Obviously," James laughed, shoving Sherlock sideways as a guard lunged for them. He drove his elbow into the man’s ribs. “But insane keeps you alive! for now”
They ducked into a cellar, breath ragged. The sound of boots thundered past outside.
Sherlock glared. "You do realize every constable in England will now hunting us?"
James wiped blood from his split lip, grinning. “Then we’d better find somewhere they won’t look.”
Sherlock hesitated. "Not with Mycroft then."
"Obviously not Mycroft," James scoffed. “you got any bright ideas holmes?”
James notices sherlocks unease as he leans against the damp wall, catching his breath as he studies Sherlock’s tense expression. The flicker of hesitation in his friend’s eyes is unusual,Sherlock Holmes never hesitates.
"Alright, out with it," James says, flicking a loose button from his stolen maid’s uniform at Sherlock’s forehead. "You’ve got that look,the one you get right before you say something dangerously clever or stupidly noble. Which is it this time?"
Sherlock exhales sharply, then meets his gaze.
"There’s... somewhere.. and..someone..."
James arches an eyebrow. "Not a lover, surely. Unless you’ve been keeping far more interesting company than I thought."
Sherlock’s jaw tightens. "My…sister."
James blinks. Then laughs. "What? Since when do you have a—" He stops abruptly, registering the seriousness in Sherlock’s face. "...You’re serious."
"She lives with our aunt. Outskirts of London. If anyone can hide us without Mycroft’s interference, or anyone’s for that matter,it’s her."
James tilts his head, intrigued. "And why haven’t you mentioned this mysterious sibling before?"
Sherlock’s gaze darkens. "Because she’s worse than I am."
James grins, wild and delighted. "Now that sounds promising." The wheels of the stolen carriage creak as they bump along the darkened streets of London back roads and then the country roads. The moon casting eerie shadows through the trees. James sits at the seat opposite Sherlock, as he guides the horses,tossing a stolen apple in the air and catching it with a smug grin.
“So,” he muses, “tell me more about this sister of yours. ‘Worse than you,’ was it? That’s quite the claim.”
Sherlock scowls right back at him, his fingers drumming restlessly against the reigns. “She’s clever. Too clever. And utterly unrestrained.”
James takes a dramatic bite of the apple, juice dripping down his chin. “Delightful. I like her already.”
“You won’t,” Sherlock mutters. Almost protective, as if he knew he would.
Suddenly, the carriage lurches violently as a gunshot rings out,the horses scream. James lunges forward, grabbing Sherlock’s arm as the entire vehicle tips sideways, crashing into the ditch beside the road. Dust and splintered wood fill the air. Through the wreckage, James sees them: two mounted constables, pistols drawn.
James coughing, half buried under the collapsed carriage door. “Ah. Seems they’ve caught up."
Sherlock,yanking James free with a grunt. “Brilliant deduction."
The constables dismount, boots crunching on gravel as they approach. James wipes blood from his temple, grin sharpening.
James began whispering, fever bright “Give them one of your speeches, Holmes. Distract them."
Sherlock deadpanned “They have guns."
James was already reaching for a broken spoke from the wheel. “So do we. Just—less shooty, more stabby—"
Before he could finish, a WHISTLE cuts through the night,not police, but lilting, mocking. From the trees above, a figure drops onto the nearest constable’s shoulders, kneeing him squarely in the face. The man collapses like a puppet with cut strings.
James began blinking at the newcomer. “…Or stabby is optional, apparently we are kicking them now.”
The second constable then spins, pistol raised,only for the stranger to kick it from his grip, then plant a boot in his stomach, sending him wheezing into the mud. Silence.
“Honestly, Sherlock. Couldn’t even outrun these idiots?"
The figure steps into the moonlight, her wild dark hair, eyes glinting like a blade catching light. She twirls the stolen pistol before tucking it into her belt. Sherlock spun round to James, dusting off his clothes. “James Moriarty… meet my sister.. y/n”
She was smiling sweetly at James. “Oh good. You brought me a present."
James, who was still sprawled in the dirt, grins back like a man who’s just found fireworks in a library.
“I adore her."
Sherlock reached his hand out to James. Before pinching the bridge of his own nose. “You would." James takes Sherlock’s hand, pulling himself up with a wince. His gaze darts between the two siblings, taking in the likeness, the differences. Sherlock may be intense, but this woman—James couldn’t look away. Sherlock wipes mud from his sleeve, narrowing his eyes at his sister. "How the hell did you find us? Aunt's house is miles from here."
She steps over the unconscious constable, twirling a lock of dark hair around her finger with a smirk. "News spreads fast, brother dear. I heard of your misfortune”—her eyes flicker to James—"and I was already on my way to London. Imagine my shock when I learned there’d been a prison break. Surely,I thought, not my brilliant brother? He’d never be so reckless."
Sherlock scoffs.
She continues, kicking aside a discarded truncheon. "And yet... here you are. Leaving your usual sloppy crumb trail—torn coat snagged on a fence, footprints in the stable muck, that ridiculous maid’s costume—”
James gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. "Excuse you, that costume was a tactical masterpiece."
She sizes him up, lips curling. "Oh, was it? Because from where I was watching, you tripped over your own petticoats twice."
James grins, undeterred. "Admit it—you were impressed."
"By your ability to nearly strangle yourself with a bonnet string? Mildly."
Sherlock exhales sharply, cutting in. "Enough. We need to move."
His sister rolls her eyes. "Always so dramatic. Come on then." She gestures toward the trees to where there was a carriage hiding behind the trees. Sherlock opens his mouth. “how did you know…” but she silences him with a sharp flick of her finger against his forehead,like scolding a wayward child.
"How did I know you’d come crawling my way?" She smirks, pivoting toward the waiting carriage. "Oh, Sherlock. You couldn’t go to Mycroft with this mess could you?. So who else?" She spreads her arms, mock bowing. "Your ever charming, ever underappreciated sister."
James claps his hands together, delighted. "I’m adopting her."
Sherlock drags a hand down his face. "God help me”
She flings open the carriage door with a flourish. "Hurry up, unless you’d prefer another chat with the constables?". James vaults in first, sprawling across the seat like a satisfied cat.
The carriage door slams shut behind them as they settle into the plush seats. Sherlock glares at his sister from across the compartment while James lounges, examining the interior with amusement. Sherlock,leaning forward, voice low. “you surely couldn’t have known I’d come looking for your aid and you are very well prepared for someone just visiting”
Y/n began adjusting her gloves casually. “I was Anticipating trouble, I must always come prepared. You’ve always had a flair for trouble—just never this theatrical. I’m guessing this is down to your new company..?”
James straightens, meeting her gaze with a smirk. "Guilty as charged. I’ve always preferred making an entrance."
She arches an elegant eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching. "An entrance indeed. I can see why my brother finds your company so… entertaining. And who might you be, then?"
Sherlock interjects, a note of caution in his voice. "This is James Moriarty, a… friend."
Something in her expression sharpens. A surprise. James raises a hand in greeting. "Pleasure."
Her gaze flicks between them, skeptical. "A friend?" Her words are laced with disbelief. "I must say, I never would have expected my brother to be capable of making any kind of friend."
Sherlock pinches the bridge of his nose, a look of pained embarrassment crossing his face. "Thank you, dear sister, for that heartfelt vote of confidence."
She laughs, genuine humour lighting in her eyes. "I call it as I see it, brother. Never were the most social sort." Her gaze finds James again, sizing him up. "But you seem to have found an equally intriguing companion."
James leans back, folding his arms behind his head. A lazy grin on his face, “I like to think I have a certain charm." Sherlock can’t help but roll his eyes. Sherlock sighs, rubbing his temples. "Yes, well his 'charm' is the reason we're currently wanted fugitives with no foreseeable way out of this mess."
James scoffs. "Oh please, don't act like you weren't already knee deep in trouble before I showed up."
Y/N smirks, crossing her arms. "So—what’s the plan now, geniuses? Because unless you fancy spending the next decade in shackles, I suggest we move quickly”
James snaps his fingers, grinning. "First,we ditch this carriage before they track it. then make our way to.. your aunts yes?… Second—" He leans forward, mischief glittering in his eyes. "—tell me, darling,how good are you at forgery?"
Sherlock groans. "No. Absolutely not."
Y/N tilts her head, intrigued. "Depends. What exactly are we forging?"
James' grin widens. "Oh, just some diplomatic papers. Maybe a pardon or two. Nothing too illegal."
Sherlock glares at him. "Nothing too illegal,you realize that's an oxymoron, yes?"
James waves a dismissive hand. "Semantics."
Y/N leans in, matching James' energy perfectly. "I like him. He’s fun."
Sherlock looks heavenward, muttering, "Gods”
James winks at her. "See? She gets it."
Sherlock exhales sharply. "I hate both of you."
Y/N pats his knee, sweetly condescending. "Aw, don’t be like that brother dear”.
James flops dramatically against the carriage seat, clutching his chest. "You wound me, Holmes. After I broke you out in such style—"
"Style?" Sherlock hisses, gesturing at James' torn petticoat still tangled around one boot. "You nearly got us both hanged because you insisted on escaping dressed as a scullery maid."
James grins, utterly unrepentant. "And yet, here we are. Alive, uncaptured, and about to be very cozy at your dear aunt's” His eyes flick to Y/N with theatrical wistfulness. "Tell me, do you keep port in the cellar? I do adore a good vintage after a daring escape."
Y/n props her chin on her hand, studying James like he's a fascinatingly reckless specimen. "Oh, we have better than port. She's got a 1792 cognac hidden behind the false wall in the library."
James gasps, clutching the carriage door like a swooning maiden. "Marry me.”
Sherlock chokes on air. Y/N laughs,bright, unguarded and James feels something dangerous twist behind his ribs. Outside, the distant clatter of hoofbeats echoes. The game isn't over yet. But oh, what fun they'll have. The carriage lurches to halt, pulling into the dirt driveway of a secluded country estate. The house stands dark against the night, the only light spilling from a downstairs window.
Y/N opens the door, stepping out into the chill air. James follows, stretching like a satisfied cat after a long nap. Sherlock is the last to emerge, eyes narrowing at the building. "You haven't told aunt we're coming, I assume?"
Y/N scoffs, twirling the stolen constable’s keys around her finger. "Of course not. Do I look like an amateur? And with the recent events, I didn’t fully expect this either brother” She strides toward the house without hesitation. "Besides.. Aunt's off gallivanting in Vienna. Won’t be back for weeks."
James whistles low, nudging Sherlock as they follow. "You do realize your sister is terrifyingly competent, yes?"
Sherlock exhales through his nose. "Unfortunately."
Y/N flings open the front door with a flourish, revealing the darkened foyer. "Welcome to your temporary hideout, gentlemen." She smirks, gesturing grandly.
James clasps his hands together as he walked the halls.
Sherlock slumped in the armchair. “I need a drink."
Y/N grins, tossing him a knowing look, then to her new acquaintance James. "Cognac’s in the library. Try not to burn the place down while I’m gone."
James gasps, clutching his chest. "You’re leaving?”
She winks. "Only to fetch supplies. Play nice, boys."
Sherlock watches her vanish into the night, then turns to James. "You’re grinning”
James sighs dreamily. "She threatened me with arson and promised me fine liquor. I think I’m in love."
Sherlock shoves past him toward the library. "You’re insufferable."
James skips after him, undeterred. "And yet—" He slings an arm around Sherlock’s shoulders. "—here we are!"
Sherlock shrugs him off with a glare. "Against my better judgment."
James laughs, already halfway to the false wall in the library. "Oh, come now—where’s your sense of adventure?"
Sherlock deadpans. "It died. In a ditch. Outside Oxford."
James uncorks the cognac with his teeth. "To resurrection, then." Sherlock scowls but accepts the offered glass. The cognac is rich, sweet fire on the tongue. James hums appreciatively, swirling his tumbler.
Sherlock watches him from the armchair, still nursing his own drink with a pinched expression. "You're enjoying this far too much."
James plops onto the rug, sprawling amidst the stacks of dusty books. "Can you blame me?"
Sherlock doesn't answer, just watches the amber liquid in his glass with hooded eyes. The silence settles, the only sounds the crackling fireplace and the distant hoot of an owl.
James breaks it. "May I pose a question?"
Sherlock's gaze flicks up, wary. "As if I could stop you."
James grins, propping his head on an elbow. "I'm curious about dear little Y/N."
Sherlock raises an eyebrow. "And what, pray tell, piques your curiosity about my sister?".James feigns innocence, swirling his drink. "Oh, just wondering how such a charming creature could come from such a stoic line."
Sherlock groans, rubbing his temples. "Don't even entertain ideas."
James bats his lashes, all faux-offended. "Who? Me? I have nothing but the purest intentions."
Sherlock scoffs. "Of course. You're a paragon of virtue." James gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "I am wounded, Holmes. Deeply wounded."
Sherlock rolls his eyes, taking a generous sip of his cognac. "You'll manage."
James leans back on his elbows, a sly grin spreading across his face. "She's quite the firecracker, your sister is."
Sherlock tenses, narrowing his eyes. "Where are you going with this?"
James shrugs casually, his expression too smug to be nonchalant. "Oh, nowhere. Just appreciating her… spirited nature."
Sherlock rises from the chair, setting his glass aside. "James," he warns, voice lowered. "Whatever you're thinking, don't."
James holds up his hands, all faux-innocence again. "Can't a man admire a strong, intelligent woman without suspicion?"
Sherlock advances, looming over James. "Not when it's my sister."
James doesn't budge, looking up at Sherlock with an infuriating smirk. "Ooo Holmes you are protective. is this why you’ve never mentioned her?”
Sherlock stiffens, caught between irritation and resignation. "Of course, I'm protective. She's my sister!"
James sighs dramatically, flopping back onto the rug with a grin. "Fine, fine. I’ll behave."
Sherlock narrows his eyes. "You’ve never behaved a day in your life."
James winks. "True. But for you? I’ll pretend."
Sherlock exhales sharply through his nose, muttering something before following with "please James.." before turning away—just as the front door swings open again. Y/N strides in, arms laden with said provisions. There was bread, cheese, a bottle of wine, and James squints—is that a second pistol tucked into her belt?
Y/n tosses the bag onto the table with a thud. "Supplies," she announces, then pauses, catching James’s stare.
He’s not hiding it well. Not quite blank, not quite neutral,something warmer flickers in his gaze as he looks her up and down: wild hair still dusted with night air, coat lined with hidden weapons, that sharp little smile playing on her lips like she knows exactly what he's thinking.
Y/n smirks. "See something you like?"
James grins lazily. "Possibly several somethings."
Sherlock gives James a glare.
Y/n steps closer to James, seating herself beside him on a chair,"You’re trouble aren’t you?”
“Trouble is subjective.” He says watching Sherlock from corner of eyes “And sometimes very rewarding”. Sherlock finally snaps. "James," Sherlock snaps, exasperated. "Stop trying to flirt with my sister."
Y/N chuckles, clearly amused by her brother's irritation. "What's the problem, Sherlock? nervous she might actually like me?”
Sherlock glares at her. "More like im worried for you, she’s a reckless lunatic." He turns to James. "And you. Have you no self preservation at all? You're flirting with my sister for one and someone who could cut you to shreds without batting an eyelash."
James raises an eyebrow, unaffected by Sherlock's concern. He grins like a Cheshire Cat. “and what a way to go”
Y/N laughs again, pouring herself a glass of wine. "Oh, please. Don't mind my brother. He's just jealous anyone might prefer me over his brooding brilliance."
Sherlock rolls his eyes, slouching back in his chair. "Jealous of your blatant disregard for consequences, more like."
Y/N smirks. "As if you're the picture of consequence management, brother dear."
Sherlock grumbles something about "pot calling the kettle black" as he refills his glass. James, thoroughly enjoying the banter, jumps in. "Ah, the Holmes siblings, the epitome of maturity and well adjusted behavior. we just need Mycroft now”
Sherlock winces as if the mere mention of Mycroft physically pains him. "God forbid. He'd have this place fortified with security measures for the royal family within the hour."
Y/N stifles a laugh. "And we all know how much you adore his overbearing paranoia."
Sherlock grimaces, taking a large gulp of his drink. "He's a pest."
Y/N hums, swirling her glass. "A pest who loves you dearly."
Sherlock mumbles something under his breath, something that sounded vaguely like "the sentiment is not returned"
Y/N smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "Well, yes. You do have a way of showing your siblings your endearing affections, brother."
The words hang there—lightly spoken, but with an undercurrent of something sharper. Cold. Familiar. Then Y/N rolls her eyes at her brother's stubbornness. "we know how you loathe expressing affection."
Sherlock glares at her. "I express affection. In my own way."
Y/N raises an eyebrow. "If you call ignoring our existence and making sarcastic remarks 'affection', then yes, you're positively overflowing with it." The words hang in the air. Sherlock's eyes flicker with something, not just guilt but something quieter. "I wrote to you when I could."
Y/N sets her glass aside, standing up. "Yes, when you could find time between the danger and the endless self destruction it seems."
Sherlock's jaw tightens. "That's hardly fair."
She doesn't look at him. "Fair? Hardly. But this is a conversation for another time, I…am going to bed” Y/N exits, leaving Sherlock to his brooding. James, ever observant, eyes Sherlock cautiously.
Sherlock notices the look. "Not a single word."
James raises his hands in surrender. "Wouldn't dream of it."
Silence hangs between them until James breaks it with a sly grin. "But… I have a question."
Sherlock gives him a sidelong glance. "Of course, you do."
James leans forward, voice low. "Why didn't you visit her, or mention her?"
Sherlock's grip tightens on his glass. "That's none of your business."
James smirks, but there's a rare softness beneath it. "Come now, Holmes.—I think we’ve moved beyond 'none of your business'."
Sherlock stares into the fire, jaw working silently for a moment.
"...She reminds me," he says finally, quiet."Of home before everything fell apart."
He doesn’t say more.But James understood anyway,the guilt in every unanswered letter,the fear in facing someone who knew him deeper. Just her brother. James exhales slowly, his usual mischief fading into something quieter. He swirls his cognac, watching the liquid catch the firelight.
"...I get it," he says finally, voice uncharacteristically soft. Not pressing too much.
Sherlock glances at him, brow furrowed.
James shrugs, half smiling, nudging Sherlock’s boot with his own. "Besides. She's clearly the superior Holmes. It's only natural to be intimidated."
Sherlock scowls, but there's no real bite to it. "Shut up, Moriarty." Sherlock meets his gaze, and something passes between them,an understanding, maybe even gratitude, buried beneath layers of stubbornness and pride. Then James grins, sharp and familiar, breaking the moment. "Well, if you won't drink to reconciliation, drink to surviving another day. That, at least, is worth celebrating."
Sherlock sighs, but clinks his glass against James'.Outside, the wind rattles the old house. But for now, they drink. The fire burns low. The night stretches on.
And tomorrow? Well. Tomorrow's trouble will have to wait.
