The sister... [Recently edited]

Chapter 3: And Both Holmes (EDITED)

The next morning, I wake early and fall into my usual routine. Black jeans, white blouse, blazer. Nothing fancy. Just practical.
I head downstairs to John's flat, but the moment I step inside, something feels... off.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Without thinking, I slip my pistol from the waistband at the back of my jeans, flick off the safety, and quietly push the sitting room door open.
A stranger.
Balding. Smart suit. Sitting opposite Sherlock as if he owns the place.
I raise my gun and press the barrel against the back of his head.

"Hands where I can see them," I say calmly. "Turn around. Slowly."
The man's shoulders tense.
Sherlock merely smirks.
"Ah," the stranger says smoothly as he turns. "You must be Sergeant Mykala Watson. A pleasure. I am Mycroft Holmes... your employer."

...Well.
That's embarrassing.

I lower the gun immediately and slide it back into my waistband.
"Please," Sherlock sighs, "still shoot him. He is exceptionally irritating."
I snort.
"So... you're Sherly's brother?"
Sherlock visibly winces.

Mycroft, however, looks thoroughly amused. He shakes my offered hand.
"It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person, sir."
Out of habit more than anything, I give him a crisp salute.
Sherlock groans.
Mycroft returns what can only be described as the most half-hearted salute in British history.

"Sergeant Watson."
"Very Queen and Country of us," I grin.
"I do try."
He turns back to Sherlock.
"I hope you'll reconsider my proposal."
"I won't."
"As expected."

Without another word, Mycroft leaves.
The flat falls silent until Sherlock retrieves his violin.
"What was that about?" I ask, dropping into John's armchair.
"A case."
"And?"
"I'm not taking it."
I stare at him.

"Why on earth not? We've got absolutely nothing else going on."
"Because it's My-"
"Mycroft Holmes," I interrupt. "Your older brother. Also known as the British Government."
Sherlock slowly looks at me.

"He's trying to lose weight, although he's failing rather spectacularly because he can't resist the cream cakes from the bakery down the road. There are crumbs on his jacket sleeve."
Sherlock blinks.
"He's smoking again. Around twenty a day, judging by the smell."
Another blink.

"You two spent your childhood trying to outsmart each other and never really stopped. Neither of you is particularly nice to the other, despite the fact that he clearly worries about you."
Sherlock says nothing.
"Oh, and your mother has almost certainly ordered him to keep an eye on you to make sure you don't accidentally throw yourself off a building while chasing criminals."

Silence.

"I also work for him," I add. "So if you could avoid declaring war on him every Tuesday, I'd appreciate it."
Sherlock simply gapes at me.
"Where's John? He's normally awake by now."
Still no answer.
I leave Sherlock sitting there looking mildly traumatised and walk down the hallway.
John's bedroom door is slightly open.

I knock anyway. Nothing. I step inside. He's still asleep.
Honestly.
"Johnny..."
A gentle shake earns me nothing but an annoyed groan.
I sigh dramatically before jogging upstairs to grab my violin.
When I return, Sherlock is already standing beside me with his own.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"
He gives a tiny nod.
Together, we launch into the fastest piece either of us knows.
The room explodes with frantic strings.
John bolts upright.
"Oh, for God's sake..."

He rubs his face.
"I forgot there are now two insufferably arrogant musicians living here."
I beam.
Sherlock actually smiles.
Success.

A moment later Mrs Hudson bustles through the front door.
"Sherlock? What on earth was that lovely music?"
She freezes when she notices both of us still holding violins.
"And you're smiling!"
"It was Stay, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock replies as he carefully puts his violin away.
"Well, it sounded cheerful." She turns to me with a grin. "Thank you, Mykala."

She wraps me in a quick hug before disappearing back downstairs.
I glance at Sherlock.
His smile vanishes instantly.
Back to normal.
"You know," I say, settling at John's desk and opening his laptop, "people might like you more if you smiled occasionally."

Finding John's password takes barely a minute.
Sherlock watches me.
"Would they?"
I look over.
"I'm stubborn. Arrogant. Apparently a complete dick. I lack social skills, don't filter my thoughts, and John insists I'm impossible to live with."

I laugh.
"He's not entirely wrong."
"Exactly."
"But..." I shrug. "You're not impossible all the time."
He raises an eyebrow.
"Just most of it."

That earns me the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
I open my blog and begin typing about yesterday's case, life at Baker Street, and my unexpected employment under Mycroft Holmes.
After a few quiet minutes Sherlock speaks again.
"People think I'm strange."
I stop typing.
"They don't think you're strange."
"They do."
"They think you're different."
He looks unconvinced.
"Why don't you?"

I smile to myself.
"Because we're practically the same person."
His expression softens slightly.
"You see patterns. I see patterns. We notice things everyone else ignores."
I shrug.
"The only real difference is that you keep severed heads in the fridge."
Sherlock nods thoughtfully.

About halfway through my sentence, I realise he has already disappeared into one of his thought spirals.
Typical.
"Hey, Kala."
John walks into the room, now fully dressed.
"What are you writing?"
"My blog."
I grin proudly.

"You know... the much better version of yours."
He snorts.
"I'll believe that when I read it."
He turns towards Sherlock.
"Have you eaten?"
"No."
"Working?"
"Yes."

John sighs.
"Sherlock, you can't solve crimes on an empty stomach."
Sherlock doesn't answer.
Instead, he stares directly at me.
Eyes narrowed.
Studying.
Deducing.

John follows his gaze.
"Oh, no."
Before Sherlock can say a word, John rolls up yesterday's newspaper and smacks him lightly around the back of the head.
Sherlock blinks.

"What was that for?"
"Stop analysing my sister."
"I wasn't."
"You absolutely were."
Sherlock looks offended.
John simply reaches over, takes his laptop back from me, and shakes his head.

"I leave you two alone for five minutes..."