Elementary, My Dear Joan

The Truth Hurts, Sister Dear

Roughly ten minutes later, Sherlock burst through the door. Her hair bounced furiously as she stomped into the study, slamming the door and causing all the paintings and certificates to sway on the wall. Mycroft glanced up from her book briefly "Ah, you took your time, Sister Dear." Sherlock scowled and strode past her smug sibling. She peered into the empty ensuite before glaring towards the window "Where is she?" Mycroft frowned slightly in mock igorance as she set her book down, linking her fingers under her chin "Who? Oh, you're little doctor aquintance." Sherlock growled in annoyance but nodded slightly. Her sister smiled "I let her go. I could hardly keep her much longer; somehow I get the impression she doesn't like me very much." Scoffing loudly, Sherlock threw herself into the chair opposite and drew out her cigarette lighter "She has brains then. I'm glad"

A look of hurt crossed Mycroft's hard face briefly but she smirked nontheless "Well, I guess some people can't handle the truth." Sherlock stared intently at the small flame eminated from her lighter, refusing to make eye contact. The pair sat in a short silence before she closed the silver case and sat back "What did you tell her?"
"The truth like I said."

"Cut the crap, Mycroft" Sherlock snapped. Her eyes burned in fury and anyone could see she wasn't in the mood for games. The other sibling bit her lip reluctantly, placing her index finger on her temple with her elbow firmly on the desk. She sighed "Sherlock, we both know 'normal' human interactions are not you're forte. With your... colourful past I think it best you concentrate on other things." Sherlock's skin paled and Mycroft instantly regretted her words. The younger sister slammed her fist on the arm of the wooden chair "It's been eighteen months!" She thundered "I've been clean for ages! You can't tell me what to do anymore." They hadn't seen each other since she'd recovered; she was sick of Mycroft carrying out background checks on everybody she talked to, alienating those she didn't deem suitable. Even Miles and Lestrade had been ckecked over. It hadn't occured to Sherlock that Joan Watson would be challenged when they met.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow as if the response was obvious "Do you remember Hugo? Or Sebastian? Or any of the other idiots that thought you were remotely 'special'?" Sherlock clenched her fists in her lap, wanting to take a swing at her sibling. She swallowed thickly "Joan Watson's different- she didn't go to Oxford studying Eastern European philosophy or whatever. She's a soldier, brave and caring; loyal. Anyway, I approached her; it was my doing." Mycroft rolled her eyes. For someone so intelligent, her sister could be so stupid "I'm surprised you're even interested in her, so dull." She knew at this point she couldn't change her sister's mind on the matter since both Sherlock and Joan seemed so Hell bent on being aquainted with one another but it didn't stop her attempting to advise on the matter. Sherlock growled "Why do you care anyway? What's my life got anything to do with yours?"

Mycroft leant forward "Everything."

Two years earlier

The hospital staff raced down the corridor. The end of the strecher they were pushing butted hard into the door, pushing it open widely. On the thin, foam matress lay a young woman with tustled, greasy hair. She was garbed in a dirty black rain mac and jeans. A clear tube snaked accross her drained cheeks and under her nose, supplying her with the oxygen she was otherwise being deprived of. She lay in a small, crumpled heap, looking small and defeated. When they had finally got her in a hospital bed, the doctors pumped more of the life saving gas into her weak system until she passed out completely from exaustion.

Within about fifteen minutes, a tall, blonde lady rushed in. She carried a large umbrella in one hand. Her face was contorted in poorly hidden worry. The woman on the bed stirred slightly at the comotion as the door slamed shut and opened her eyes wth a small grin "You took your time."

The blonde scoffed lightly and shook her head "Sherlock, what have you done?" She knew this would happen eventually; her sister's addiction was worse than ever. Sherlock sobered slightly, her large eyes shining "I had to" she sniffed "So many... thoughts. It's painful, Mycroft." Suddenly, her face hardened "The drugs are all I have, the drugs protect me." The heroin dulled her senses and made it easier to organise her rapid thought processes. They made her less of a freak. Mycroft shut her eyes and sighed "Oh sister, why are you so stupid?"

"I'm not stupid" Sherlock rasped before bursting into a painful fit of coughing. The older sibling simply twirled her umbrella "You've always been stupid" she muttered loud enough for Sherlock to hear. A stiff silence blanketed the room as Sherlock quivered where she lay, the after effects of the heroin taking place. She screwed her eyes shut briefly before locking them on Mycroft "Been at the scratch cards again, have we? We all know where that leads." Mycroft's brow creased slighly and she groaned "Foil under your left thumb nail. Your hands are damp but your suit and umbrella are dry; therefore you're trying to hide it by washing it from your fingers- with little success, I'm afraid. It seems everybody has one form of addiction or another."

Mycroft licked her lips, unsure of how to react. She was right. Eventually, the older sibling moved forward and sat herself on the bed "Sherlock, I can get you help. My influences can precure the best in Britain but I need you to finally accept your 'talents' for what they are." She spat the word talents like a bitter pill and Sherlock picked up on that. She shuffled round onto her side and looked up at her sister "Why?"

"Because your loss would break my heart, Sister Mine."

Back to present

Sherlock leant forwards, placing a cigarette between her lips. She lit it slowly, watching the smoke twirl gracefully in mid air. Mycroft scrunched her nose in disgust "Of all the beautiful things in the world, you like pathetic wisps of smoke."

"Yes" Sherlock replied sternly "Now, you leave Joan Watson alone." It wasn't Mycroft's place to tell Joan anything about Sherlock, especially concerning her past. She just hoped Joan hadn't acted on the information she was given; that had happened too many times before and it had cost Sherlock everything. Mycroft narrowed her eyes as a flurry of tobacco ash fell from the fag onto the floor "Fine. But I will be watching, Sister Mine." She reached over to press th 'call' button for her security but Sherlock beat her to it, standing up and flicking the collar of her coat up. Now came the hard part: getting Joan Watson to understand.