Brilliant {A BBC Sherlock Fanfic}

Chapter Thirteen: John Watson Needs to Shut Up

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: JOHN WATSON NEEDS TO SHUT UP

Amelia yawned, frowning when she saw Sherlock's sleeping form lying beside her. She took a lock of Sherlock's dark hair, curling it around a finger. "Hey," She murmured as his alert green eyes opened.

"Hey," He replied huskily.

"I want to go out for breakfast." Amelia said softly as she got up, stripping off her day-old clothes. "Would you like to come with?" She could feel Sherlock's eyes on her as she struggled to unclasp her bra. "Sherlock, could you-?" She turned to look back at him over her shoulder, corner of her mouth pulled up in a weak smile.

Sherlock got up reluctantly, deftly unclasping it for her.

"Thanks," she said as she pulled on another bra, grabbing Sherlock's white button up shirt. She turned to Sherlock as she buttoned it up, the black lacy bra visible under the thin, white fabric. She smiled as Sherlock raised his eyebrow, slipping into a pair of dark jeans. She tucked the hem of the shirt into the waistband of her trousers. Amelia wasn't quite sure where this sudden coyness was coming from but neither of them seemed to be complaining.  "Are you coming, or am I going to have to sit by myself?"

"Unlike you, I have the decency to change with no one else in the room."

"Ooh, shots fired." Amelia said with a smirk as she walked out to the living room. "Morning, John."

The oldest Watson didn't look up from his newspaper.

"Wow, you sure are sociable today." Amelia said sarcastically, just as Sherlock came out of the bedroom, shirt still half open as he fumbled to button it up. Amelia raised an eyebrow, "You change quickly."

John gaped at Sherlock. "You," He snarled.

Sherlock frowned, vaguely resembling a confused owl in Amelia's opinion. Sherlock glanced about, "Me?"

"Sherlock bloody Holmes," John folded his newspaper, and set it to the side before leaping to his feet. He swung a punch at Sherlock's face, "You slept with my sister!" He accused.

Amelia bit back a laugh although the situation was anything but funny. Sherlock easily stepped to the side, using John's momentum against him. Sherlock gazed at the doctor coolly, "John," He began.

"My sister, Sherlock!" John continued on. "I don't know what goes on in your head, but you don't just sleep with your best mate's sister!"

"Oh for God's sake, John, I didn't sleep with him." Amelia said, stepping between Sherlock and John, hoping that by interfering, John would stop attempting to hit Sherlock. Instead, she earned a swift-and entirely accidental, she'd find out later as John had been aiming for Sherlock-punch to the face, John's knuckles hitting her cheekbone.

Amelia reeled back, not prepared for the violent action, and by the time John had realised what he'd done, Amelia had retaliated, punching her brother with as much force as she could muster, sending him collapsing to the ground, unconscious. Amelia blew on her skinned knuckles, shaking her hand out.

Sherlock made a face at the cut marring Amelia's cheek. "Surely that cannot be pleasant."

"I've been hurt worse before, Sherlock. Broke all the bones in my left hand, my right foot, and cracked three ribs; jumped out of a car the wrong way. Well, technically pushed, but that's a long story." She prodded at John's limp form, "Sometimes my brother really needs to shut up."

"I don't think it was entirely necessary to knock him out, Amy."

"I don't think it was entirely necessary to not do so, Sher."