May Your Heart Purr Like A Bumblebee [BBC Sherlock - Johnlock]

Chapter 1

Harry has been in the flat one week when she starts asking embarrassing questions.

John has started relaxing around his sister, just a bit. He’d been reluctant about offering to put her up on the sofa in the first place, and had made it clear that she should find her own flat as quickly as possible. (He’d expected Sherlock to protest, but Sherlock didn’t seem to care, as long as she stayed out of the way of his experiments and didn’t ask too many idiotic questions.) But he’d still felt obligated to host her, if only grudgingly, given what she'd just done.

The thing is, Harry has been so diffident, so quiet and non-blustery and agreeable and generally not-Harry (certainly not the Harry of recent years), that John is finding he can't stay aloof and irritated for all that long.

“The program was good for you,” he observes, offering her some tea and sitting down on the other end of the sofa with his own cup. Sherlock has disappeared somewhere outside the flat, without his shirt or an explanation, and for almost the first time since she arrived, John is alone with his sister.

“Yeah, it was,” she nods. “It was hard as hell, though." She sips her tea and wrinkles her nose, then nods approvingly; he’s brewed it strong at her request, as she’s become quite a caffeine fiend lately.

"I'm sure."

"But it was important, I think. I think I really needed to just, just get away for a few months. You know? Focus on cleaning up my act."

“Well, you really did it this time. I’m proud of you.” He is also angry at her, still, for all of the manipulation, lying, and walking out on people who care about her. And for all the times he had to look after her. But this effort she's making, it seems genuine. She's trying to make amends, for the first time he can remember. It helps a lot.

“Thanks.” She sounds shy, uncertain, so unlike herself. Despite knowing that change is good, necessary, it breaks his heart just a little to hear her like that, so opposite of the Harry he's always known. “I haven’t... I mean, it’s not like I’m cured. I’m scared, every day, that I’ll fuck everything up again.”

John shrugs. “You might. Most addicts slip at some point.” She flinches a little at the word, but doesn't deny it -- definitely a change. “But if that happens, you just have to use the tools you have now to catch yourself and try again.” Harry nods. “And don’t forget that you have people around who care about you. Who want to help.”

“Do I?” Harry laughs bitterly, staring down at her cup. “I guess I have the people at the AA meetings -- they’re obligated to listen and pretend to care. But I'm pretty sure I chased everyone else off.”

“Hey now,” he says with mock gruffness, “who’s sitting here drinking non-alcoholic beverages with you on a Saturday night, and putting you up on his sofa?”

Harry looks up, her eyes unexpectedly wet. “Thanks, John,” she says, softly. “You’re being much nicer than I deserve. Truly. You’re the best brother ever.”

“Too right.”

“I’m really sorry, you know. For all those times you looked after me, and tried to help. Before you left. And, and when things were bad, with Clara, and you called me, all the way from Afghanistan. I can’t believe I said all that shit. I was such an arse. and I… well, I'm just sorry. For everything.”

He feels more of his resentment slipping away. “Thanks,” he says. “I appreciate that. And I’m glad you’re here.” He is surprised to find he means it.

“I miss when we used to be friends,” she says shyly.

“We are friends,” he asserts automatically. Then he thinks back to the years before his deployment, before she started spiraling so far out of control -- to the laughter and easy camaraderie. “I miss it, too.”