"How are my boys?" A mysterious woman smiled entering 221B Baker Street a huge grin on her face. Sherlock didn't look up from the couch.
"Clair." He grunted, Clair pouted before extending her hand to John.
"Clair Shore, a friend of Sherlock's."
"Your brother was a friend of mine." Sherlock corrected, John nodded and smiled.
"John Watson." Clair half curtsied before walking over to Sherlock who had curled up to the back of the couch.
"Come on, Sherlock! At least pretend to be happy that I'm here." Sherlock grunted, fixing the pillow under his head.
"Why don't you go hang out with Elanora or someone, not me." Clair huffed and grabbed Sherlock's arm pulling him off the couch.
"Because your sister is boring," She wined; John raised an eyebrow at how much Clair was like Sherlock but with emotion, "Besides, the paper said you needed a house keeper."
"I've got Mrs Hudson."
"That's silly, she's a little old lady that deserves some time to herself. She's really nice actually, makes amazing snacks."
"Clair," Sherlock almost yelled, his face buried into the floor, "Shut up!"
"Fine." Clair huffed taking off one of her shoes; John raised both his eyebrows as she threw one at him. "Ella was right. Mycroft was right. Sam was right. You have changed. You're a spoilt brat! A complete idiot!" Sherlock jumped up from the floor, his face fuming and a few centimetres away from her face.
"Don't you ever mention Sam to me ever again. I'll be a spoilt brat if that's what Sam says I am. Because obviously Sam's more important to you." He yelled poking her in the chest, "You made that choice ten years ago, Clair, you chose Sam, the brat who only cared about how he looked. Not the one who cared for you. Don't come crying for me when he dumps you. Ten years Clair." With that he stormed down the hallway.
"That was a lot of words." John said scratching his forehead. Clair sniffed and picked up her shoes from the floor. "He'll cool off."
"That was mean," She said, her face falling as she collapsed into a heap on the floor, hugging her legs. "That was really, really mean."
"Uh... Sherlock-" John started.
"Not Sherlock. Me. I was mean." John ran his hand across his laptop keys, he couldn't bring himself to tell her that he knew she was mean, "Oh, I'm so stupid. That was really mean."
"Look, you can stay here if you want, but I have to do the shopping so... yeh." John picked up his coat and left the room.