Oh Brother.

John sighed at Sherlock, who was lain across his chair, staring blankly into space with his eyebrows furrowed. He had been still as a statue for more than ten minutes and John was starting to wonder whether he needed some medical assistance.

A knock at the door pushed his roommate into action. Sherlock glanced at the door, back to the wall and then at John. He gestured with his bow. “Get the door John.” John sighed and rubbed his eyes in exhaustion as Sherlock jumped up and went to his bottles on the kitchen table. John went downstairs to the door.

A girl not much younger than himself breezed past him and made it halfway up the stairs, before she hesitated and turned back to John.

“I do apologise Dr. Watson. That was rather rude, wasn’t it?”

“How did you know who I was?” He asked in confusion. The mail, she pointed at the doormat with her umbrella, where three letters were sat, two addressed to him, the other to Sherlock.

“That reveals two men, one a detective the other an army doctor, I know for a fact you are not Sherlock Holmes, which makes you Dr. John Watson. As for ‘army’, it is in the particular way you hold yourself, your clothes and your hair.” She smiled and narrowed her eyes, assessing him quickly. “I am going upstairs now.” John nodded, entirely confused. She carried on up the stairs, rounding the corner into 221B three moments before John caught up to her. “Shirley.” Sherlock looked up from the chair he had vacated moments before, John sighed, he was always doing that.

“Oh good God. You.” The woman smiled and held her hand over his eyes, pulled a LED from the back pocket of her jeans and shined it into each his eyes, individually.

“You’re not using. That’s new.” She turned her head to look at John. “And you’re a good influence. That’s also new.”

“How is that new?” John asked, bewildered.

“It makes Mycroft’s wrong. That’s very new.” Sherlock smiled faintly and turned his head away from her, picking up his violin and priming it to play. She talked to Sherlock without looking back to him. “Put that bow on those strings and you’ll have a bullet in your head faster than you can say arpeggio.”

“My dearest sister doesn’t like music very much.” Sherlock told John as he lowered his bow. She turned her head to look back at him.

“I don’t like your screechy violin playing. Those are two very different facts.”

“But both are true.” She smiled in agreement and turned to sit in the chair opposite Sherlock’s. John sat down on the coffee table and watched them.
They were studying each other like they were having a silent conversation. He rubbed his eyes.

“Sister? You never mentioned you had a sister.”

“I would hardly call her my sister.” Sherlock scoffed.

“What would you call her then?”

“Trouble.” She let out a laugh and placed her umbrella on the floor.

“Still calling me that then?”

“If the shoe fits.”

“My name is Charlotte.” Sherlock smirked slightly. She ground her teeth in annoyance. “Shirley finds it amusing that he and our brother have unique names. And I am stuck with Charlotte. What he doesn’t seem to understand, is that an uninteresting name is good for my business.”

“What business is that?” Sherlock said so quietly John almost missed it. He glanced at Charlotte who had smirked slightly.

“You already know. I’m not saying it again.”

“You’ve never said it.” Sherlock smirked now. “In the area long Charlotte?” She smiled, relaxing slightly into the armchair.

“A while. Longer than normal. So long in fact that I can pay a visit to Holmes manor. Mycroft has invited you along of course. Though I suspect the invitation is more courtesy than an actual request.”

“Isn’t it always with Mycroft? Was yours?” She smiled.

“Yes. Why do you think I’m going?”

“See you there then.”

“18th. He said to pass along that your pet can come.” She turned her gaze to John. “I assume he meant you. Sherlock is allergic to fur. Except dog.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“That has never been proven Charlotte.”

“Oh please. Kid someone else. You get rashes at the sight of a cat and the smell of a hamster. I’m your sister. You can’t hide anything from me.”

“Can I not?” Sherlock said quietly, placing his bow on the floor and picking up Charlotte’s umbrella, running his hands over the wooden handle.

“No. Oh, that reminds me. Mycroft wanted me to ask; should he invite Moriarty?” Sherlock looked up from studying her umbrella, then moved his eyes slowly to hers. She stayed where she was, unmoving almost. If John couldn’t see her chest moving he would’ve had thought she was a statue. Then she moved deliberately to stand over Sherlock. “We are not blind, deaf or dumb Sherlock. Do not imagine you can hide things from us.” She placed a delicate hand on her umbrella. “Let go.” He twisted the handle slightly and pulled, revealing a thin glass dagger.

“Same make as Mycrofts.” If John had only just met him, he would’ve thought he wasn’t intimidated, as it was; John recognised the slight deepening in his voice and the twitch of his eyebrows as he tried to stop himself frowning. Charlotte smiled and pulled it out of his grasp.

“Family heirlooms. Father left you one. You snapped it. They are very useful. You are an idiot Sherlock. Always have been.” They studied each other for a moment. Charlotte’s mouth twitched. “Goodbye Sherlock. Don’t be late.” As she walked past John she pushed two train tickets into his jacket pocket. John showed her down the stairs, at the bottom she turned to him. “Here.” She placed a small bottle in his hand. “It will knock him out within a minute. I assume you have your own syringes?” He nodded. “Good. Last resort you understand. I find it’s always good to have a last resort with my brother.” She smiled and made to leave. “Goodbye Dr Watson.”

“John. Call me John.” Charlotte looked back from the door. John caught a slight glimpse of Sherlock in her eyes.

“Goodbye John Watson.” She disappeared through the door. John smiled.