Oh Brother.

John looked down at his hand, that was resting just below her wound. He could feel her ribs below her skin. “Can I ask y-“

“Are you going to ask me why I’m so thin?” He nodded sheepishly. “I don’t have time to eat most of the time. My job has me all over. I never have time to prepare meals.”

“You have time now. You should eat more.” She locked her eyes on his, he swallowed. Then averted his gaze. “In my professional opinion. You are one skipped meal from comatose.” He met her eyes for a few moments, then looked down at her wound again. “I’m going to stitch this up. Then I’m going to make you a meal.”

“Dr Wa-“ She started, not getting far before he cut across her.

“John. And we’re not arguing about this. You need to eat. At least Sherlock eats before he gets this bad.” She looked down at her hands.

“I don’t do it deliberately. I just forget.” Charlotte said, sheepishness creeping into her voice. John sterilised a needle and prepared her wound for stitches.

“I don’t understand how you and Sherlock can do this to yourselves. Mycroft doesn’t. At least, you can’t see it if he does.”

“No. He never had the lack of hunger we face.” After John had sewed up her wound and dressed it, he moved away and tidied up the first aid kit.

“Why do you guys have such a big first aid kit?” She frowned at it, obviously annoyed.

“It’s for Mycroft’s agents. He uses this house occasionally as a safe house.” John frowned, realising something for the first time.

“You and Sherlock don’t call this home.” Charlotte frowned this time, directing it at John. “It’s not home to either of you. It’s just the house you grew up in. You should have a home you know. Somewhere you feel safe. Even if you’re not.” She studied him.

“Interesting.” Charlotte said. He sighed and zipped up the bag.

“What’s interesting?”

“You are.” She replied, smiling. Charlotte took the bag from him and stashed it away in a cupboard to the side. Wincing slightly from the pain in her side.

“Why?” He asked, a little confused. She smiled.

“It’s not important.” John frowned, then shook it off.

“Come on, I’ll make you something to eat.” She sat down in the kitchen and followed him with her eyes, as he moved around the room collecting ingredients.

“Is spaghetti bolognaise okay?” Charlotte nodded, then watched as he created the meal. Around 20 minutes later he placed a plate in front of her and sat down opposite with a plate for himself. They ate in silence for a while. Until Charlotte broke the silence with a question.

“Do you cook for Sherlock?” John looked up from his food. She hadn’t eaten much, though she was trying.

“No. He doesn’t really eat it when I do. Is it okay?” Charlotte nodded, swallowing another small bite.

“Yes. It’s really nice. I’m just trying to eat slowly, it makes me sick if I eat too much. The meal on the train has already filled my quota for the day. Well, for three days if I tell the truth.” He looked at her in disbelief. “I told you. I don’t eat much.”

“She eats sporadically at best.” A dark voice said at the door.

“Go away Mycroft.” Charlotte said in an annoyed tone of voice. He ignored her.

“Sherlock said you were injured.” She rolled her eyes. “What happened?”

“I was distracted.”

“How many?” She shrugged. Charlotte had still not looked at Mycroft; an attempt to make him go leave.

“Around twenty.”

“You shouldn’t be taking that amount on without help.” He said quietly. Charlotte scoffed in amusement.

“That was an under exaggeration.” She replied in disbelief.

“I know.” Charlotte went to reply but in the same moment they both looked toward the grounds outside the door in silence. “Did you he-“

“Yes.” John turned to look at the closed door. He hadn’t heard a thing. Charlotte smiled, distracted, and said; “Don’t worry. We know the sounds of this house better than you do. It stands out more when something is wrong.” Sherlock appeared at the kitchen door in a red silk dressing-gown.

“Did you hea-” He started saying, but was quickly interrupted by Mycroft.

“Of course.” All four of them remained in silence for another moment, until John heard a faint scream over the creaks of the house.

All three Holmes’ moved toward the door at the same instant. Sherlock strode across the room faster than the other two and picked his sister up. Producing a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and attaching her by one hand to the cooker door.

“Hey!” Charlotte exclaimed, pulling against the handcuffs.

“You’ve just sustained a chest injury. You are not going.” Sherlock said simply.

“Bu-“

“No buts. Dr Watson will stay with you.” Mycroft cut over her speech. John raised his eyebrows.

“He’s not even dressed and he’s allowed to go!” Charlotte said angrily. Sherlock looked down then disappeared up the stairs to change. Mycroft left, toward where the scream had been. A few moments later Sherlock re-appeared half-way through putting his shirt on.

“Keep her in your sight at all times John.” He said, smirking slightly at his sister. “Until you see me again. For her own safety.” Charlotte grumbled, pulling at the handcuffs again. She succeeded only in ramming the cooker door into her leg.

“Ow.” Sherlock smirked again and followed Mycroft into the night. John looked at Charlotte who was stood awkwardly, he took her a chair over and the remainder of her meal.

“Do they do that a lot?” He asked her. “Try to protect you?” Charlotte shrugged.

“I suppose so.” She leant backwards and pulled open a draw to her right. A moment of rummaging produced a skewer. She quickly picked the lock of the handcuffs and made to run after her brothers. John grabbed her hand.

“Hold on.” He went into the hall and fetched his coat, and a jacket that looked like hers. He returned to the kitchen and handed the jacket to her. “You have a thin top on. You’d freeze out there.” She cocked her head at him.

“You want to come?” John nodded. She grinned. “You are definitely interesting Dr Watson.”

“John.” She smiled and rolled her eyes, grabbing his wrist.

“Come on then. John.”