John was awakened by a loud knocking at his door. He jumped up, momentarily confused as to what exactly was going on. He hadn't meant to fall asleep; he just wanted to sit down for a few minutes. A quick glance at the nearest clock showed that he had been sleeping for over an hour. He absentmindedly rubbed his arm. It was still in a sling from the events of the previous few days. Being a doctor, he knew that good healing will take time, but a part of him was still annoyed at being impeded in such a way. If any other funny business were to go down, he would be at a disadvantage. The frantic knocking began again as he began to walk towards the door.
"Just a minute," he called, irritated at being woken up so abruptly. He had half a mind to tell them to sod off; whatever was wrong couldn't be so important it couldn't wait a day or two. He stumbled into the corner of a table as the knocking intensified. He sighed and hopped the rest of the distance to the door.
Probably Lestrade with some insane new case, he thought. You'd think that
Scotland Yard could go one day without needing our help. Whatever pride he felt at being considered important enough to be needed by Scotland Yard itself turned quickly to irritation. They knew after the previous week's events that both of the men residing at 221B Baker Street needed time to recover. He answered the door and opened his mouth to berate whoever was bothering him, only to stare in surprise.
Harry Watson was standing in the doorway with damp and red-rimmed eyes. She smelled faintly of alcohol and was swaying slightly. She looked like she had slept in the clothes she was wearing, and her frizzy hair was just barely controlled in a ponytail.
"Johnny?" she said, sounding like a young child after a particularly bad nightmare. She wiped her nose with her jacket sleeve.
"Harry? What are you…" John started to ask but was interrupted by his sister leaning towards him. He steadied her with his good arm and led her to a nearby chair. After pushing her gently into the seat, he sat down on the adjacent table. He gave her a stern look.
"Harry. You should know better than to drive like that," he reprimanded. She managed to look slightly indignant.
"Took a cab. Not that dumb, Johnny. Not dumb like you," she mumbled. John scoffed.
"Since when have I been dumb?" he asked. She leaned toward him and poked his arm that was currently in a sling. He shoved her finger away in annoyance.
"You should be more…safer…safe…" she trailed off confused. "You're home, you should be safe! But not, not safe now." She took a shaky breath. "You shouldn't be in trouble. Trouble is for me, not you. Not yours at all," she started to cry as she pressed her head into his shoulder. John stiffened, not used to his sister seeking comfort from him like this.
She began to weep in earnest, occasionally murmuring nonsense fragments. He rubbed her back with his free hand and tried to ignore the strong scent of alcohol coming off of her. After a few moments, he pushed her back a little and leaned down so that their foreheads were touching.
"Why don't we make some Harry Berry tea?" he smiled warmly at her. She sniffed and then giggled. Their mum had always made them Harry Berry tea when one of them was feeling blue. It had been years since those days, but John was sure that this would calm his sister and make her feel better.
He stood and pulled Harry up and led her into the kitchen. As he looked for the right tea bags, Harry filled the tea pot that was sitting on the stove. She stood close to John while the water boiled and watched him prepare the cups and tray. After the water was ready, he poured it into the cups and added the special ingredients. Harry made an effort to bring the tray into the living room, but as soon as she picked it up, the cups began to clatter because of her unsteady hands. John grabbed the tray and balanced it between his arm and chest. He smiled at her and started towards the living room.
Harry's sudden gasp made him look up from the tray he was trying to keep from falling. In the chair she had been sitting in earlier was a man. Not just any man, but one that John was familiar with.
"Mycroft?" John stated in confusion, "How did you… Why are you…"
"Can't a man visit his brother in his time of need?" Mycroft lamented, clenching his fist to his chest. John rolled his eyes at the man's dramatic statement. He was getting used to the older Holmes brother's antics. However, Harry moved very close behind John, almost like she was hiding from the intruder. Her hand grasped the back of the sweater he was wearing and trembled significantly. John steadied himself.
"We were just about to have some tea. Would you care for some?" John inquired carefully, trying to reassure Harry that there was no danger. Mycroft raised an eyebrow.
"No, thank you. I just wanted to see how Sherlock is managing," Mycroft said, but made no effort to get up from the chair. John started to feel a headache coming on. He took a few steps closer to try and put down the tea tray, when a loud gunshot rang out from one of the bedrooms. Harry screamed loudly while John jumped, the tea sloshing out of the cups. Mycroft only looked toward the source of the noise.
John slammed the tray onto the nearby table, pushed Harry onto the couch, and stomped down the hall to the bedroom door. He flung it open, only to slam it shut behind him. Muffled shouting was heard from the room and also the sound of a great struggle. Harry stared wide-eyed at the commotion. Mycroft took this opportunity to walk over to her and extended his hand.
"Mycroft Holmes, at your service. I would be correct in assuming that you are Harriet Watson?" he politely introduced himself. She nodded, still stunned from what had just happened. He took her hand and kissed it causing her to smile.
Suddenly the door to the bedroom opened again, and John stormed out, holding a small handgun.
"But John, I'm bo-ored!" the culprit wailed. John whirled around in anger.
"I don't care! You are not shooting anymore holes in the wall, Sherlock! Mrs. Hudson may put up with your senseless destruction, but I will not!" he shouted and once again slammed the door shut. He walked back into the living room, threw the gun onto the table, and collapsed onto the couch next to Harry. He put his head into his free hand.
"That man is going to drive me mad," he said. Harry looked at him with sympathy.
"Poor Johnny," she patted his shoulder. She leaned in close to him and whispered in his ear, "Want some Harry Berry tea?"
"That sounds lovely," he replied and reached for a cup. Harry grabbed one for herself and lifted it high with her pinkie extended. John did the same, and they clinked the cups together. After drinking the tea, Harry sat back against John.
"Needs more sugar," she commented. John only smiled.