━━━━ 𝘽𝘽𝘾 𝙎𝙃𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙊𝘾𝙆
Janet Watson, John's little sister, suddenly shows up on the doormat of Apartment 221B Bakerstreet, completely out of breath and not only with a black eye, but a big package of secrets locked inside her heart.
[S.H. x O...
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┏━━━━ ༄ ━━━━┓ so cold ┗━━━━ ༄ ━━━━┛
𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗𝗬 head was lying on the examining table downstairs in the pathology room, below it a white sheet to avoid the blood from spreading and getting supplies dirty. Molly Hooper had already taken several samples, now it was Sherlock's turn to investigate any further. He hovered above the dead body part, having his his head tilted; he took out his lens, scanning the facial part of the woman with it.
John was standing next to him, his hands folded behind his back, having fixated something that wasn't full of dry blood. After a while, he cleared his throat. When Sherlock didn't respond, he repeated his action.
"What?", snapped Sherlock, not willing to stop his examination. "I'm trying to focus here."
John's gaze wandered to his sister, who was standing at least five feet apart from them, talking to Molly Hooper about microscopic evidence. She seemed genuinely interested in Molly's evaluation of something that was inaudible to the men.
"Do you think she is like you?", asked John, after having overcome a moment of hesitation. "I mean... does she appear like ... you know how!".
Sherlock froze and looked up eventually. "Are you seriously asking me human things? I thought you were the one being an expert in that area. Besides, she's your sister. I won't want to get involved in a Watson war, will I?".
John couldn't hold back a slight grin, but there was a hint of sadness accompanying it. "But you are an expert in clever-ish things. You can figure out secretive people. You can see right through them. I've known Janet for almost all my life, and I've never known what she was up to."
"She's not that secretive", answered Sherlock, but his face turned doubtful. "She's not as smart as me, if you're implying that."
"No. I'm not. But when she just held this head in her hands... I don't know who she is any more, Sherlock. She is the emotional of us two. When she was young, she used to cry because everything. Other people mattered so much to her, she sometimes isolated herself completely, just so she wouldn't have to endure other's pain."
"Well. She got smarter. Feelings are only a weakness", said Sherlock, spreading his arms.
John bit his lip and put his hand on his forehead. "Wow. How could I really expect you to listen, for once? To actually care? No, not with the famous Sherlock Holmes. Always cold and ignorant, right?". He looked at Sherlock in expectation, raising an eyebrow.
"If you bring the famous as an argument, you should consider that it was you who got me famous. So don't try to make that my fault", responded Sherlock, while simultaneously parting the lower lip from the upper lip of the dead woman.
"Yes, yes, YES!", he shouted in joy, pulling a wet and curled piece of paper out of her mouth.
"Miss me?", he whispered, reading out the blurred letters. "Miss me, miss me, miss me."
