The sister... [Recently edited]

Chapter 1: The sister of John Watson (EDITED)

I take a deep breath before raising my hand and knocking on the door in front of me.
Less than a minute later, it swings open to reveal my brother.
John's expression shifts from confusion to delight in an instant, though his body language betrays him as he awkwardly shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
Uncomfortable.
But why?

"Mykala?" he asks in surprise, stepping aside to let me in as the rain begins to fall harder behind me. "What are you doing here?"
I wheel my suitcase inside before he pulls me into a brief hug.
"I don't really feel like explaining right now," I admit quietly. "Do you mind if I stay with you for a while before facing Mum and Dad?"
"Of course." He glances upstairs. "I'm sure there's a spare room. Let me check. Mrs Hudson!"

A small elderly woman dressed head to toe in purple bustles into the hallway, muttering to herself about not being a housekeeper.
"Yes, dear?" Her eyes land on me and immediately brighten. "Oh! Is this your girlfriend? She's very pretty. Better than the last one."
John's face turns bright pink.
I burst into laughter.
"Mrs Hudson," John sighs, "this is Mykala. My younger sister. Is there any chance there's a spare room she could rent for a while? I'll pay, of course."
Mrs Hudson barely lets him finish before producing a key from her cardigan pocket and placing it into my hand with a warm smile.
"You can have it for free for as long as you need, dear. I could do with another woman in the house. If I have to keep talking to these two boys, I'll go completely mad."
"Thank you," I smile sincerely.

John picks up one of my suitcases while I carry the other and my rucksack upstairs.
He unlocks the flat above Baker Street and pushes the door open.
It isn't huge, but it's cosy. A fireplace sits opposite a comfortable sofa, with a small kitchen tucked into one corner. A wardrobe, dining table and neatly made bed complete the room.
"It's yours for as long as you need," John says with a reassuring smile. "Come downstairs later and meet Sherlock."
"I will."

After he leaves, I unpack the few belongings I'd brought with me before opening my violin case.
The familiar weight settles comfortably beneath my chin as I draw the bow across the strings.
The melody has barely begun when a loud voice echoes up from downstairs.
"MRS HUDSON! WHO IS PLAYING MY VIOLIN?"

I stop immediately, lowering my own violin onto the sofa before stepping out onto the landing.
"Nobody's playing your violin, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson calls back. "Mykala was playing hers. There's a difference."
"Mykala?" the unfamiliar man replies incredulously. "Who on earth is Mykala?"
"John's sister. She's living upstairs now. Lovely girl. Very pretty. Why don't you go and introduce yourself? And try being nice for once."
A muttered response follows before I hear a door slam.

I wander back inside, deciding a cup of tea is definitely needed. Unfortunately, I haven't had time to go shopping.
With a sigh, I head downstairs to John's flat.
As I reach the door, I hear John's voice.
"Now, Sherlock... my sister's a lot like you. She's frighteningly intelligent and can deduce people almost instantly, so maybe... don't try too hard. She'll only give it back."
I can't help smiling.

I knock lightly on the already open door.
"Come in," John calls.
Poking my head around the corner, I ask, "John, do you have any tea, milk and sugar I could borrow?"
Walking into the kitchen, I find my brother standing opposite a very tall man with dark curls and striking pale eyes.
Well...
He's attractive.

"So," the man says smoothly, "you must be Mykala. Nice to meet an army sergeant."
I raise an eyebrow.
"You must be Sherlock. The man wearing three nicotine patches on his right arm because John hasn't left your side all day, meaning you haven't been able to smoke. You also don't want him knowing you've started again."
Sherlock blinks.
"And, John," I continue casually, "if you're wondering where he hid the cigarettes, I'd suggest checking his coat pocket first. If they're not there... underneath the severed head in the fridge."

John stares at me before immediately marching towards the kitchen.
A moment later, he triumphantly returns holding a packet of cigarettes he'd retrieved from beneath the head.
"You said you'd quit!" he exclaims. "You were doing so well!"
Sherlock looks genuinely impressed.
Mrs Hudson appears in the doorway, drawn by the shouting.

"Everything all right?"
"Mrs Hudson," I ask sweetly, "do you know where the tea and sugar are? These two seem a little... distracted."
She shakes her head fondly.
"I'll make you one, dear. But only this once. I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper."
Sherlock smirks.
"I've heard that somewhere before."

Mrs Hudson disappears into the kitchen while Sherlock wanders into the sitting room and collapses dramatically onto the sofa.
A few moments later, she hands me a steaming mug of tea.
"Thank you."
I carry it through into the sitting room, taking in the organised chaos.
Books covered every available surface. Newspapers were scattered across the coffee table. Chemical equipment occupied one corner, and a handgun lay carelessly abandoned on the sofa.

I smile to myself.
Somehow, I suspect this level of chaos will eventually spread upstairs too.
"So..." Sherlock begins, studying me with unnerving intensity. "Mykala Johanna Watson. How was Australia?"
I smile over the rim of my mug.
Not bad.

"Australia?" John asks.
Sherlock doesn't even look away from me.
"The slight tan line around her watch, sun-lightened hair, and the remnants of an Australian accent," he explains. "You're improving, John."
"Australia was... good," I reply. "Too much sunshine. Too many memories."

I glance out towards the rain falling against the windows.
"I'm glad to be back in England."
Sherlock tilts his head.
"Oh?"
"Far more interesting things happen here."
For a moment, neither of us looks away.
John notices first.
He clears his throat loudly.
The moment breaks instantly.

Something tells me life at 221B Baker Street is about to become very interesting.