Secretly I Think You Knew

The Shadows Whisper Back

John collected some fresh clothes from his room, trying to take his time so that Harry could get finished and get out before he went to shower. But alas, when he got to the bathroom door, pajamas in hand, the door was still shut.
"Harry, hurry up!" John called, banging on the door in annoyance.
"Ya, ya, shut up John!" Harry yelled back. John groaned, leaning against the wall and waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
"Harry what are you doing in there!" John groaned.
"Go away!" Harry insisted. John wiggled the door handle impatiently, there was no other shower in this house, unless he wanted to take a bath in the attached bathroom in his parent's room, which he didn't.
"John oh my god, can't I get a little bit of privacy around here?" Harry groaned, opening the door in annoyance. At first John thought she had been rolling in some blood as well, but then he saw a brush in her hand and a box on the counter, hair die. Her hair was bright red.
"Oh my god." John muttered in amazement, trying to contain his laughter.
"What, I'm my own person!" Harry growled.
"Well at least I'm not in trouble anymore." John laughed. Harry looked confused for a second, before her face snapped right back into the familiar scowl.
"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked in disgust.
"It means they're going to be so busy yelling at you that they'll forget that I didn't come home." John decided.
"Oh shut up, they might fall for your idiot stories, but I don't. You didn't go to anyone's dinner last night, you went partying." Harry laughed. "My own little brother hitting the club scene."
"I didn't go partying, I'm not you, I don't want to go 'clubbing'. I went to dinner at Sherlock's house; it's what normal people do with their friends." John insisted.
"You're not normal John; you're a preppy white school boy with rich parents." Harry snapped. John groaned, here we go again.
"Harry, our parents aren't rich, and you're my sister, and you're white as well." John pointed out.
"So what, my skin color doesn't define me!" Harry insisted. John just looked at her in confusion, nothing that came out of his sister's mouth ever made sense.
"And it defines me for some reason?" John asked. Harry groaned, but nodded.
"Yes it does." She agreed.
"That's stupid. Now can you get out of the bathroom, I need to shower." John insisted.
"No, go away; I still have thirty two minutes for the dye to settle in." Harry snapped.
"Can't you do that somewhere else?" John growled.
"And risk getting my hair dye on mother's beloved carpeting? I think not." Harry laughed.
"So what do you want me to do?" John asked.
"Wait thirty two minutes, oh wait, not it's only thirty one. Time really does fly, bye now." Harry decided, closing the door quicker than John could stick his foot in it, resulting in John slamming his bare toe against the wooden door and growling in pain, throwing his clothes on the floor and going back to his room in defeat. He couldn't wait until Harry went off to college, away from this house forever.
"John, Harry, dinner!" John's mother called just as John was drying off his hair over the sink/hair dye murder scene. Harry may have spared the carpeting, but the sink and the counter, that was another story. There was red everywhere, staining even the mirror for some reason, as if Harry had really wanted to see what her hair looked like up close. What a psychopath. John trotted downstairs, joining his father at the table as his mother finished up on some sort of chicken soup they were having. Harry wasn't down yet, but John considered that a good thing, he got to see the moment both his parents blew up.
"Ah, John, good to see you." Mr. Watson muttered rather coldly.
"The honor is all mine." John said with a sarcastic little smile. His father just stared at him, unimpressed, moving the silverware around on his napkin and thinking about what he might say.
"Where were you last night? Harry seems to think you were partying." Mr. Watson pointed out.
"Harry's gone crazy, I'm sure she'll assure you of that fact in a little bit. I was at Sherlock's, we were watching a movie, we all sort of fell asleep, and I woke up in the morning and panicked because I was late for school." John decided.
"Sherlock, the boy that I met the other day?" Mr. Watson asked.
"I wouldn't classify one word as meeting him, but yes." John agreed.
"He seems like a nice boy." Mr. Watson decided. "Maybe a little bit odd, but nice."
"Don't tell mom that, she has a blood feud against him for some reason, convinced he's very rude." John laughed.
"I don't pretend to know him; maybe he's a lot worse than I thought." Mr. Watson shrugged.
"Honestly I think I know him better than anyone, and I still don't know him enough to tell you whether he's nice or rude. He's just Sherlock; I don't think there's another word to describe him." John decided. Their conversation was interrupted by a shrill scream coming from the kitchen; obviously Harry had come down to see what was for dinner.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR BEAUTIFUL HAIR!?" Mrs. Watson exclaimed. Mr. Watson rushed to his feet, scrambling into the kitchen to make sure nothing was seriously wrong. John just stayed in his seat triumphantly, listening as Harry got yelled at, tried to defend herself, got grounded, insisted that she was a free person and they couldn't take her phone away, and then started screaming because they took her phone away. It was all a very nice experience, because John was sure both of his parents would forget everything that had happened with him and focus purely on Harry's artificially red hair, looking like a very moody cheery as she sat across the table from John with a large scowl on her face.
"That's only temporary, right? I mean, it'll wear off eventually?" Mrs. Watson asked worriedly, looking over at Harry's red mane once again.
"Nope. It's forever; it actually goes into the roots of your hair and genetically modifies them to look exactly like Elmo." John pointed out. Mrs. Watson gasped, nearly dropping her fork in shock, but John just laughed.
"It does not look like Elmo!" Harry defended.
"I'm kidding mom, I'm kidding, it's probably only temporary." John assured. "Most dyes are."
"Why didn't you tell us Harry, we're your parents we deserve a vote." Mrs. Watson insisted.
"You're my parents and you whine too much. I knew that if I had let you in on it that you wouldn't let me, and I was already set myself. And besides, I'm a grown adult; I don't need your permission." Harry decided.
"Harriet you live in our house and you will abide by our rules. Either get a job and move out or go to college." Mr. Watson snapped. John laughed happily, whenever they address Harry by 'Harriet' he knew something was about to go down. Harry just groaned though, and to John's disappointment, there were no more arguments or scream fights or shattered plates. So when dinner was over John washed the dishes and headed back up to his room, sitting on his bed and watching sports while his mind wandered elsewhere. What was Sherlock doing right now? Had he already burned his house down in an effort to cook himself pasta? The boy must be going mad, alone in his house, no one to protect him, it almost made John want to crawl out of his window and drive over there right now, but even he knew that was a bad idea. The parents were against Harry right now, and John had to somehow keep it that way. As long as they were mentally scarred by Harry's choice of hair dye, John would be alright.