"John, Mrs. Anders, and her son are in room five. He's presenting with a bad cold or possible flu." Stella's voice announced over the intercom.

"Be right there," John replied wearily.

After working at the surgery all week and running all over London for the past three nights with Sherlock, John was exhausted. Hopefully, Tom Anders would be his last patient of the day and he could go home and have a nice cup of tea and perhaps a quiet night at home since they had wrapped up their latest case the night before.

After processing Tom's throat culture and filling in some never-ending paperwork, John called it a night. Shutting off his computer he grabbed his things, said his good nights and walked out into the evening.

It must have dropped ten degrees, he figured while wrapping his coat tighter around him. Good thing I put that extra layer on this morning. I love this jacket, but I think it's gotten too threadbare after all these years. Can't wait till next week when I will finally have enough money to get another coat more suited to the London winters. He had been saving up for months and almost had the full amount.

A shrill ringing brought John out of his reverie.

"Hello?" John said answering his cell phone.

"This is Officer Davis. Am I speaking to Dr. John Watson?" said the slightly accented voice on the other end.

"This is he. Is Sherlock okay? What has he gotten himself into now?"

"This isn't about Sherlock sir. I'm calling about a Harriett Watson." He replied.

"Is she okay?" John asked in a rush. It had been a while since he had heard from Harry. He had been meaning to check on her, but the time always got away from him.

"Physically, yes, but seems to have created quite a scene at Paddy's Tavern."

Of course, she has, John thought.

"I'll be right there. Thanks for calling Officer Davis."

With a heavy sigh, John changed directions, flagged down a cab, and went to help bail his sister out again.

Ever since Harry had been solving her problems by drinking, John had been trying to help her. Over the years he had taken her to several AA meetings, which seemed to stick at least for a short while. Through a friend, he was also able to get her into a treatment facility. There work lasted two years before a job loss followed by a break-up resulted in her relapse.

He was getting tired of the whole process—rescue Harry, swearing she wants help he calls in every favor to get her sober. She's a model patient until a hardship hits and all her sponsors, teachings and lessons go out the window and back to the bottle she goes looking for answers. Perhaps, this is the time to say no and let her get herself out of her own mess, but she is his sister and John doesn't feel like he could just turn his back on her fully. Not like their father did.

He could still remember that night. Harry walked in the door two hours past curfew trying her best to put one foot in front of the other as silently as possible. Suddenly, the living room was flooded with light as their father said in an icy tone, "What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?"

"Dad, what are you still doing up? I thought you had an early meeting tomorrow." Harriet replied.

"Of course I'm still up. My 16-year old daughter isn't home, even though she has been warned several times I might add, what would happen if she missed curfew again."

"It wasn't my fault. We had a flat on the way home and Andrew ran into trouble trying to take the lug nuts off."

"What's your excuse for the drinking?"

"Drinking? I don't know…."

"Don't give me that!" He yelled interrupting her. "I can smell it on your breath from here. Nice try with the mints though, or are they serving wintergreen beer now?"

"Beer? No, I only had soda tonight. Someone must have splashed me with their drink at the party." She answered.

"Party? I thought you and Andrew were going to the movies at least that is what you told your mother."

"That's what I meant. You'd be surprised what people sneak into the theater. I'm just tired and got confused."

"Of course you got confused! Who wouldn't? With all the lies you tell, I'm not surprised!"

"Screw you! You're no saint either!" She bellowed. "I've seen you come home from a so-called business meeting with lipstick on your collar and you reeking of another woman's perfume!"

"Why you little…"

As flesh hit flesh and tears could be heard, Harry yelled, "You bastard!"

"I will not have you disrespect me in my house! You will apologize immediately young lady!"

"Änd if I don't?"

"Then you can get out!" he roared.

"Gladly!"

"If you go that's it. You are no longer welcome here. If you walk out that door, I no longer have a daughter."

The slamming of the door reverberated throughout the whole house.