Learning To Love

Chapter 1

It's hard being a Holmes, especially when your siblings are the infamous Mycroft, Euros - and more infamous- Sherlock.

The name is Remington Jade Holmes, but most people call me RJ. I am the youngest daughter as well as the youngest in general, Holmes. I, like our father, am ordinary. I'm not super smart like either of my siblings, in fact, Mycroft often tells me, I'm embarrassingly slow. Euros simply ignores me, she acts like I don't exist at all (to be honest, I do the same thing to her), and I guess to most of my family, I don't. To my parents, I am the child that wasn't supposed to happen; I was the mistake that couldn't be fixed, and I've been reminded of this my whole life. The only one who truly loved me was Sherlock.

When we were kids, we were inseparable. If you called one, it was like we shared a name, because we'd show up together. Actually, if you called Sherlock, I'd be with him, because he took me everywhere he went and I willingly followed along, because he was the only person in my childhood and into adulthood who truly loved me, saw me, and wanted me around. No one ever really could me for anything, like I wasn't wanted around.

Then all that changed, when I joined the British Army. Sherlock didn't want me to, because he was worried, I would get hurt, bullied, and be unseen by my fellow soldiers. He also didn't want to lose the only person in his life who truly got him and loved him because of his ways. So, after an argument, I went into the Army and he moved to London, and we haven't spoken since; that was 6 years ago.

Since then, I was in the Army for 4 years as a Sniper. One day while I was in the chow line, a sniper shot me, but someone had seen the reflect of the sun on their scope, and pushed me out of the way, so that instead of hitting my heart, the round hit my abdomen, two inches (sorry I'm American, and don't know how many kilometers that is lol) from my heart. It caused extensive damage, therefore, I was discharged and sent home. This was after dying on the operating table four times. Now I have a nasty, but cool scar. The only downside is, I can no longer wear bikinis and it's hard to get to third base, because people, especially guys, are repulsed by my four inch long, half an inch wide scar.

Since being home, I have gotten rather close to Mycroft, surprisingly. I help him with his government missions, we sometimes hang out, and lately, he and I have become each other's confidants. Whenever I need advice, I have found that I can go to him. His advice isn't always the greatest, but sometimes all I need is to talk it out, and the solution comes to me.

I still haven't talked to Sherlock. I've been home from the Army for two years now, and I can't seem to bring myself to contact him, because the last time we spoke, he said I'd never make it in life without him, because I was too stupid to fend for myself, therefore, I would be one of the first soldiers to die during battle. That was the very last thing he said to me before I had left.

Thanks to Mycroft's government contacts and gadgets, I know exactly where Sherlock lives, which is actually a few blocks away from me. Yet I have purposely gone out of my way to avoid contact with him. Nor has he tried to contact me in the 6 years since our fight.

Here's what I know of Sherlock. He's lived in London for six years and works as Detective Consultant - a role he made up - for the Scotland Yard, under Detective Inspector Gregory "Greg" Lestande; only Sherlock can't seem to call him by his name, instead it's all sorts of other G names, other than Greg. He is now sharing a flat with a former Army doctor named John Watson, who was discharged after being shot in the left shoulder. Together, the to solve murder mysteries all over London. They seem to be inseparable, just like Sherlock and I used to be.

Dr. John Watson seems vaguely familiar for some reason.... like I've seen him somewhere else before, but simply can't place where and when. It's odd that he and my brother get along so well. But then again, John is what the geniuses in my family call stupid, just like me. John and I are actually quite similar in many regards, yet so different. For example: both of us are considered "stupid" by geniuses, and yet are able to remind said geniuses that being stupid makes us human, and what being human means. We both were in the Army. however, I sought to end lives, while John fought to save them.

"Why don't you go talk to him? You know you want to," Mycroft says with a sad sign, while standing behind me.

"What's the point? He hates me and wouldn't want to see me anyways," I say, packing up my spy gear, and walking across the rooftop I'm using to spy on Sherlock and John Watson. I get to the door.

"RJ, he asks about you every time I see him. He misses you so much," Mycroft pleads. "Please, go see him. It will be good for the both of you."

"If he wanted to talk or see me, then he should've reached out. He hasn't, therefore, he really doesn't want to," I argue.

"You know, he said the very same thing to me when I told him to go see you," Mycroft said.

"You two were so close once upon a time, and now you guys are miserable because you're both so damn stubborn and refuse to make the first move!"

"Myc, why does it matter to you if Sherlock and I are on talking terms? Why do you care so much?" I ask in earnest.

"I want my two favorite people to be happy. You're both miserable without being in each other's lives," Mycroft says.

I give a heavy sigh. "Myc. he has John Watson now. I've been replaced, he doesn't need me."

"RJ! You have not been replaced! Yes, John Watson and you are eerily similar, but he is merely a close friend. You are his sister and his best friend since childhood. Don't throw that away over an argument with things that were said in the heat of a moment filled with fear, anxiety, anger, and sadness. Sherlock loves you so much, and he's dying on the inside little by little despite John being present, all because he believes his words have caused him to forever lose the first person he ever truly cared about."

By the end of Myc's little speech, I am in tears. "Do you think he'll really see me?"

"Of course, he will, now go. He's at his flat right now," Mycroft says after he releases me from a hug and wiping my tears.

I hand him my spear gear bag and run down the 10 flights of stairs and out the building's door, and all the way to 221 B Baker Street, which was four blocks away. Thank God I kept up my military workouts after I was fully healed. It takes me a few false tries, but after a couple of minutes, I finally work up the courage, and knock. Then I wait. 

    An older woman opens the door. "Oh, hello dear! How may I help you?"

     "Hi, yes, um.... I'm here to see Sherlock Holmes," I finally get out after trying to think of what to say for a moment.

     "Alright, dear, come on in and I'll take you to his flat," the lady says. "I'm Mrs. Hudson. I'm Sherlock's landlady, although he seems to think I'm his housekeeper too," she says over her shoulder, with a chuckle, as we make our way up the stairs.  

     We reach a room and Mrs. Hudson precedes to pound on the door. "Sherlock, John, you have a visitor!" she screeches.

    "Send them in, Mrs. Hudson!" a voice, that I presume is John Watson's for my brother's is far deeper than that, calls. 

    Mrs. Hudson steps out of the way, and gestures towards the door. "Go on in, dear."

    I nod, then nervously open the door and enter the flat. 

    A man stood up when I entered. "I'm John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is in the loo at the moment, he should be right out."
    "John! What in damn-nation was Mrs. Hudson screeching a-----" Sherlock, who had been yelling as he exited the bathroom in his room, stopped in the doorway of his room and froze, when he saw me standing in his living room. "RJ?"

I just stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to say nor what to do.