Part 11 - should'v been me

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Ok here's your update:
Your p o v
My family celebrates holidays every year and it's the best. We share action packed stories, I beat everyone at clap backs, and the bake off. It was almost that time of year.
Sometimes things happen and people have natural reactions. Some people are scared easily and others aren't. For some reason no one seems to understand that my first reaction to a jump scare is to slap the thing.
That is why when my oldest sister came to town, let herself into my room, and yelled "I'm here!" I slapped her.
"Why would you do that," she yelled!
"Y-you snuck up on me and yeah," I stuttered.
"Well this is one reason why I think you surviving is wrong," she says.
I'm confused I role my eyes.
"Why are you here," I ask?
"Mom and dad are very upset about our loss and I thought I'd let you know. You shouldn't come to the holidays you're a reminder," she says.
"I know I look just like her but you can't just kick me out of the family," I defend myself.
"I can't but if you care about our family you won't show up. Mom and dad are just starting to get better and if you show up. They'll probably call you out sister's name and then break down," she rants.
"Fine," I mumble.
She leaves obviously pleased with herself and I sit down, great I'm being disowned.
I decide not to think of it too much, I go downstairs and sit in the living room.
Sherlock walks in excitedly and John trailing behind looking so done.
"A perfect case a mastermind murderer. They killed the top of this collage class," Sherlock says.
"Ohh, sounds slightly cliche," I say.
"How could that be cliche," he asks?
"Take me to the crime scene and you'll see what I mean," I say while grabbing my coat and walking outside.
They follow and we get into a cab, like always they take special care to note the cabbie's face. (A/n wink wink)
Time skip to inside a collage do room.
"See the nail polish that's only half painted is light blue and so is the spilled nail polish," I state again.
"She got killed while painting her nails, the witness says she was in the bathroom," John says.
"Look they were having a girls night in, yet the girl killed was right handed," I say.
"Oh I understand but that would mean," Sherlock says.
I nod and John looks as confused as the crying witness.
"Victoria and I were having a girls night and the cupcakes we baked were burning. I stopped painting her nails and pulled them out. I heard a scream, then a gunshot and I panicked spilling the red velvet batter for the second batch all over me. I ran to the bathroom to hide," the girl cries.
"That's not how I see it girls normally paint their non dominant hand first, she had nail polish on her right hand. You were painting her nails and you specifically chose extra dark red cupcakes. That way when you got blood on you're hands you could blame the red on the batter. You didn't count on blood being so thick so you ran to the bathroom and rinsed off some of the blood," I say sweetly.
The blonde girl gets an angry look in her eye, "Victoria made fun of me everyday in high school, all I had was being smart. She stole my fiancé and she took my spot in top of the class. Then she got into the same college and she still beat me! I was sick of it, so I decided to do something."
"I never said the murder was uncalled for," I said. "Agh, and you would've gotten away with it. If you didn't lose to me. Second best again but don't worry, maybe you'll be the smartest in prison," I say.
She looks mad and then she turns to run, John blocks the door. I see a small tv on a desk, quickly I grab it and hit her on the head with it. Knocking her out (a/n if you get this reference I LOVE YOU).
"Well done, honestly y/n I suspected her but I let it go when I realized the fact that the girl was too weak to hurt someone," Sherlock says.
"Well, underestimating people's physical strength is pretty easy," I say.
After that we all decide to go home, Mrs. Hudson waiting with tea. I don't tell anyone about my family problems. I don't like seeming weak, during the holidays I'll have to temporarily move out.

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