The Tale of Two Siblings (Fabrication #1)

Chapter 2: John

        I  knelt on a stool and looked over Sherlock's shoulder.  He squeezed two drops of hydrogene peroxide onto some liquid that he hadn't bothered to explain to me.  

        "What are you even-"

        "Shhh," he said.  I huffed and jumped off the stool.  

        "You said you needed my help!" I said angrily.  "I've done nothing except watch you work," I said. 

        Sherlock sighed.  "I only said that because I didn't want you to stay and talk to Molly about me," he said.  "And also I look more inconspicuous if I have a girl with me." 

        Someone knocked on the door.  I was extremely irritated with my brother and Molly at the moment, and I didn't care if she was going to bring him his  stupid coffee that she didn't even offer him.  

        "Is that why you bring me on all your cases, to look less conspicuous?" I asked.  

        Someone knocked on the door again.  I ignored it.

        "And you help me sometimes," Sherlock said, emphasizing the word "sometimes."  He looked at me, "But really, Enola, I'm trying to work.

        The knock on the door happened again.  Extremely frustrated, I flung open the door and said, "what," with a hiss.

        Standing outside the door was not Molly, in fact, there was our old friend Mike, and standing behind him was a very attractive man, probably in his forties.  I stood there and stared at them, giving them the stink-eye.   

        "Hello, 'Nola," said Mike.  He ruffled my hair and walked past me.  I scowled.  I didn't like it when people ruffled my hair.  Just because I was the height of a 12 year old didn't mean I was one.  

        The other man walked in after him and he looked at me when he walked by.        Mike sat down beside Sherlock in my old seat and looked at what he was doing.  John didn't follow, and I didn't either.  

        Suddenly, Sherlock said, "Mike, can I borrow your phone?  There's no signal on mine."

        "What's wrong with the land line?" asked Mike

        "I prefer to text," said Sherlock.

        "Well mine's in my coat," said Mike.  

        Sherlock looked at me.  I laughed.  "I'm not giving you my phone," I said. I wouldn't trust him with it.  The last time I lent him my phone he deleted all my "pointless" pictures to make room and took other photos on his case. 

        "Here, you can use mine," the attractive man that I still had no name for pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Sherlock.

        "Oh, thank you," Sherlock said genuinely.  He stood up and shook hands with the man.  Mike introduced him.  

        "This is an old friend of mine, John Watson," he said.  Boring name, interesting face.  

        "I'm Enola," I said, shaking hands with John Watson after Sherlock did.  "His sister," I pointed to Sherlock.

        "I can see the resemblance," John said.

        Sherlock and I do look a lot alike.  We both have curly hair, (though mine's  light brown, like Mycroft's and his is dark brown) and sharp cheekbones.  We both have eyes that are a mix of light blue and light green.  Our noses are practically the same.  

        Sherlock sat back down and flipped open John's phone and started typing something on the keypad.   

        I analyzed the man.  He had a serious limp in one leg, and walked with a cane.  Militaryesque haircut, wrinkles around eyes and on forehead from squinting in the sun, tan line at the wrists, perfect posture.  It all said military.  The only place he could have been fighting would have either been-