Oh Brother.

John made to wake Charlotte and her brother up, but as he did so they both woke instantly. “Honestly.” He said, “We’re you two even asleep?” Sherlock shrugged. Charlotte smiled, understandably.

“We’re a family of light sleepers.” She cocked her head at him in thought. “Did you not sleep yourself Dr Watson?”

“John. And no. I slept fine last night. Sherlock was up all night though.”

“Sleeping pattern madness again Sherlock?” Charlotte addressed to her brother as he stood to retrieve his and John’s cases from the baggage holders. He returned with the cases a moment later, staring at them in interest.

“Someone been through these.” He looked at the zips and moved around the cases. A look of annoyance passed his face. “Charlotte. Really?” John glanced at her. She was frowning, looking in the opposite direction down the train.

“It wasn’t me.”

“Charlotte.”

“Incorrect data remember?” Charlotte said, in a voice that made it clear she was distracted. She made to move down the train but Sherlock grabbed her arm.

“Don’t. You’re not working now.” She shook her arm free of his grip.

“Of course I am. Why did you think I came here?” Charlotte turned to John, “tell Mycroft I’ll be there later. There’s a cab outside. And make sure he,” she gestured to Sherlock, “doesn’t follow me. Keep him in your sight at all times until you see me again.” Sherlock growled in annoyance. She turned to him. “It’s a necessary precaution. These people are dangerous. More dangerous than you.” Charlotte disappeared down the train. John turned to Sherlock, who was already moving in the same direction. He put a hand out to stop him.

“No. You heard her.”

“John.”

“Sherlock.” They stood for a moment, glaring at each other. “Come on. We’ll miss the car.”

Sherlock spent the entire cab ride scowling out of the window. This was interspersed with moments where he looked almost angry. John sighed. It was going to be a long week, with three siblings at odds with each other.

---

John, as promised, watched Sherlock for the rest of the night. He was walking up and down for most of the night. If he didn’t know Sherlock, he would say he was worried about his sister. As soon as this thought passed his mind, Sherlock looked at him with a look of kindness on his face. This was so confusing that he had to take a double take to check he wasn’t hallucinating.

“Why don’t you go to bed John, you must be tired; not sleeping all day and everything.” John narrowed his eyes.

“She told me to watch you for the rest of the night. I’m not a complete idiot Sherlock.” Sherlock dropped his kind face, grumbled to himself in annoyance and carried on pacing.

There was a creak from the back of the house, Sherlock stopped short and turned to look in the direction of the noise. Mycroft had gone to bed hours before, leaving Sherlock and John in what appeared to be a drawing room. John had taken Sherlock to look around the house earlier in the day. It was huge. But old, it didn’t look as if anyone had changed the décor since Victorian times, other than a quick paint and television instalment here and there. And the dining room was full of computers, about 20 in all. John had wondered faintly why Sherlock needed a flatmate if his family had this amount of money.

Charlotte walked into the drawing room, she looked… fine. Then she moved her hand away from her stomach; there was a nasty cut on her rib. Sherlock rolled his eyes, making John frown.

“Would you like me take a look?” John offered, standing up. She shook her head.

“No thank you Dr Watson. I’ve had worse.” Charlotte said, her voice only slightly more strained than it had been earlier in the day.

“Still. It’ll be much quicker for me to treat it than you to do by yourself.” He pointed out, she considered for a moment before nodding. John fetched a dining room chair for her to sit on. When he returned, Sherlock had disappeared and an extensive first aid kit had appeared on the coffee table. “Where did he go?” John asked as she sat on the chair and John got started.

“He went to bed. He doesn’t like it when I get hurt. Shame really.” John looked at her questioningly. “I tend to get injured a lot. It would be helpful if he stayed and helped. Fortunately, I’ve got a doctor now.” She smiled at him.

“Well I’m glad to help.” He struggled around her top for a few moments, before she placed her hand on his and took some scissors out of the first aid kit and cut off the section covering her wound.

“It’s fine Dr Watson. I honestly don’t mind.” He smiled and cleaned the cut, then inspected it.

“It’s not too bad. Not that deep.” He considered the options for the cut. Really it should be stitched. It wasn’t going to heal for some days. His eyes drifted across her stomach to a darker scar. Clearly one she’d had since childhood. She smiled, noticing his attention had drifted.

“I fell off the roof.” He looked up at her, the question in his eyes. “My father was talking to my mother. He said that I was getting too adventurous; that one day I would fall off the roof and kill myself. I felt like testing the theory.” She shrugged. “It was an experiment.”

“To see if you could kill yourself?” He said, confused.

“No. To see if my father was always right.” Charlotte said, smiling at her hands.

“You needed to test that?”

“Yes. He had known me ten years; he should’ve known I would test him.” She sighed. “He never really connected with me or Sherlock. But he was oh so proud of Mycroft; the son who followed in his footsteps.” A slight sense of bitterness ran through her voice. “Me and Sherlock were a big disappointment to him.”

“He never talks about his parents. Sherlock I mean.” She smiled sadly, shaking her head. “Where is your mother?”

“She’s dead. Some years ago now.”

“And your father?”

“Also dead, stabbed. I was 20. Sherlock will have been 16 at the time.”

“Wait. You’re older than him?” She laughed.

“Yes, by 3 and a half years. Mycroft is 3 and a half years older than me.”

“You don’t look like it.” John said. He looked down at his hand, that was resting just below her wound. He smiled faintly.