The Only Thing Worth Fighting For

Chapter 11

Harry climbed from her bed at the first knock; the banging had startled her and Clara awake and it had been decided that it was her job to go and see who was at the door at 4am on a Wednesday morning. Grabbing her dressing gown she tied it around herself and picked up the heavy cricket bat they kept by the side of the bed incase of burglars, (she had become terrified due to John's work with the police and didn't want to be weaponless) as she descended down the stairs she winced at the second, louder bang from her front door. Her heart thudded at an alarming rate as she lifted the cricket bat to her chest and reached the entrance hall. Looking through the outer glass, she couldn't see anybody and creeped closer, putting her eye over the peephole and exhaling shakily as she recognised her brother standing, shivering on her doorstep.

Pulling open the lock and chain, she opened the door and bundled John into the house with a tut, ignoring his upturned eyebrow at her bat wielding.

"You used to go mad when I visited you at stupid o'clock in the morning," she joked, remembering how she used to call at John's on her way back from the pub or club. John would stumble from bed and let her in to use the toilet or eat her kebab, before calling a taxi and paying the driver directly to ensure she got home safe. Her face softened as she saw the look on John's face.

"I- I..." he started, before collapsing and pulling her down with him, his sobs wracking his small frame as Harry rocked him and attempted to shush him to calm his breathing which was bordering on a panic attack.

"Come on. I'll make tea," she whispered, helping John stand and leading him through to the living room.

"Sorry, I just... didn't know where else to turn," John sniffled sadly, wiping his nose on the back of his hand until Harry handed him the box of tissues from the table.

"It's okay," she whispered, stroking his back and turning to face him further. "What happened?"

"Sherlock and I-" John started before silencing.

"Had sex?" Harry finished, watching as John shook his head.

"Not quite," John blushed. "We erm... got close."

"Look, John," Harry smiled devilishly, "I'm not interested in your sex life. The thought of one penis horrifies me so two would be a nightmare, but you can tell me whatever it is without judgement."

John lifted an eyebrow in disbelief which caused Harry to chuckle. "Okay, a little bit of judgment but I promise I won't judge until you leave."

"We didn't do much," John admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, "and he was so responsive and lovely. He was just perfect."

Harry forced away the urge to playfully gag, and instead listened carefully to her brother spill his guts.

"We fell asleep straight after and it was great, but then I had a nightmare and now I think I've ruined it all."

"What nightmare?" Harry asked, listening to John explain Mary's death and Sherlock's gunshot. "I see."

"And then I woke up, screamed and ran from the room." John blushed. "Some heroic soldier I am."

"You didn't tell him what it was about?" Harry asked.

"No. I just ran," John sniffled, feeling the emotions rise once more.

"God, this is your problem. Both of you," Harry sighed exasperatedly. "You'd rather run away than face the emotional fallout of your decisions."

John scowled at his sister but let her continue.

"When Sherlock fell, you ran away from Baker Street," Harry started carefully. "I understand why but you did. You cut off Mrs Hudson, stopped seeing me and stopped going to work."