Can't Stay Away (BBC Sherlock) -2-

29. Bitter Reunions

I was more than happy to escort Isaac out of Stoner Palace. Dad could deal with Sherlock; I wanted nothing to do with him at the moment.

We passed the greeter at the door, who was slowly getting himself up off the floor. Once Isaac and I hit fresh air, I guided him to the car. I noticed Mary had taken command, as she was now in the driver's side.

"Hallo, Isaac," she called.

"Mrs. Watson, can I—can I get in, please?"

"Yes, of course, get in. Where's John?"

"They're having a fight," I said bluntly.

"Who is?"

I spun around as I heard—and saw—a door knocked clean apart, followed by an angry Sherlock. I climbed into the back before I helped Isaac in.

"What's Sherlock doing here?" Mary demanded.

"God only knows," I sighed.

We three—well, two most likely, as Isaac was probably still in his own world—watched Sherlock crawl down a fire escape, all while Dad trailed angrily after him. I crossed my arms, my green eyes narrowing. I hadn't seen Sherlock that long ago, and this was what happened? I can't be the reason he turned to drugs. There's no way. There was nothing real there.

I jumped as Mary punched the gas, flying towards the two. She slammed on the brakes, nearly jostling me and Isaac.

"In," she barked sternly. "Both of you, quickly."

They both obliged, Dad hopping into the passenger side while Sherlock made himself sit next to me. I scowled.

"You've got to be kidding me," I moaned as our greeter at the door came trotting to the car, carrying his limp arm. Mary wasn't happy either, as she sighed in exasperation.

"Please," he begged. "Can I come? I think I've got a broken arm."

"No. Go away," I voiced.

"No, let him," Dad said.

"Why?" Mary asked.

"Yeah, just get in. It's a sprain."

"Whoa, hey, wait a second! This guy tried to stab you, and you're turning around and letting him in? And how are four people going to fit in here?" I protested. Three was a crowd, four was just obnoxious.

"Looks like you'll have to sit on the roof, or on someone's lap," the door greeter snickered as he climbed in. I was thankful to not be claustrophobic.

"I may not know how to sprain something, but I can still hurt you," I threatened.

"Oh please, what could you do?"

"Don't push it, stoner. It's not too late to push you out of the car."

"Anyone else? I mean, we're taking everybody home, are we?" Mary asked, clearly agitated.

"Alright, Shezza?" the door greeter asked.

"'Shezza'?" I asked the same time Dad did.

"I was undercover," Sherlock growled.

"Seriously—'Shezza', though?" Mary piped. Sherlock sighed.

"We're not going home. We're going to Bart's. I'm calling Molly," Dad decided.

"Why?" I shifted uncomfortably in the back.