Well, this is my first ever attempt at writing fan fiction. I'll have more chapters up soon. I'd love to hear some feedback!
It was an entirely normal day at 221B Baker Street. John Watson was nibbling at his toast, which was unfortunately missing its jam due to the fact that his lovely flatmate had chosen it as a perfect place to store an eyeball. Mrs. Hudson could be heard downstairs cleaning up an unfortunate accident during a recent case. The telly was relaying the daily news, which Sherlock Holmes was correcting with every story. The only thing that struck John as odd was Sherlock.
Every so often, he would pull out his cell and check it for new messages, glance at his watch, comment on how he needed to clean, and return his focus to the news. The first twenty times John didn't think too much of it. Sherlock was usually strange. After that, though, he had to assume something was up. "Were you going to clean then or...?"
Sherlock gave him a look that said he didn't even realize Watson was there. "Yes, yes. I'm getting to it now," he muttered as he pushed himself out of his chair and disappeared into the kitchen.
John did his best to ignore the commotion that was rising over the telly, but there were some rather concerning noises his ears picked up. Glass breaking, chairs falling, a blender, water splashing. Finishing off his toast, he carried his plate in as an excuse to survey the situation.
He was not prepared to see a garbage bag full of body parts, a nearly empty refrigerator, the table set with place mats, some sort of suspicious fruit smoothie that John didn't remember having fruit for, and a wet floor he nearly slipped on. "Sherlock!" he exclaimed as he steadied himself on the wall. "What in God's name is going on?" For as long as they'd lived together, John couldn't recall a single instance of Sherlock being tidy unless it involved one of his experiments. Even then, though, he wouldn't use the word tidy at all. It was actually more chaotic or terrifying when Sherlock experimented with anything. John and Mrs. Hudson were the ones that always cleaned up his messes, otherwise they would just sit until the dissolved into nothing at all...if that were even possible.
Without breaking his 8 patterns with the mop, Sherlock got out a hasty reply that baffled John nearly as much as the cleaning. "My sisters on her way to visit. Mycroft should be dropping her off any time now."
John furrowed his brow, set his plate in the sink carefully and studied Sherlock for a very long time. "You have a sister?" he finally asked. John didn't know how he felt about that. Sherlock was...Sherlock. And Mycroft was...well, Mycroft. What would Miss Holmes be like and why had he never heard of her before? Was she just as unbearably intelligent as her brothers? Some sort of high achieving, successful woman who didn't have time to be a presence in her family's life? Did they also have a strained relationship? Judging by the way Sherlock was out of sorts about her visit, he began to assume that she was either intimidating for Sherlock or he actually held her in high regards and wanted things to look nice for her.
"My little sister, Ilsa. I haven't seen her since she moved out of our mother's house a few years back." He returned the mop to its bucket and glanced quickly around the room. "Flowers...John! I'll be right back!" And before John had time to respond, Sherlock had his coat and scarf on and had disappeared out the door.
John rushed after him and looked out his door to see Sherlock's dark coat whipping down the stairs. "What am I supposed to do if she gets here and you're gone?!" he called after him, really beginning to worry.
"Don't worry!" was the only thing he got in response.
Don't worry? Don't worry! Of course he was going to worry! Sherlock was practically in a panic to get things ready for her, which is completely out of character for him. He was still wearing his pajamas and robe and Sherlock had left the building! He knew absolutely nothing about the woman except for the fact that she's younger than Sherlock, hasn't seen him in years, and has enough persuasion over him to make him run out for flowers. John decided quickly that he needed to get ready as well and rushed off to take a shower.
As he wrapped himself back up into his robe and grabbed up his pile of dirty clothes to hurry off to his bedroom, he heard more of that rummaging in the kitchen again. "Sherlock!" he called as he moved towards the kitchen. "Make sure you get rid of that bag of body parts- Oh, hello there!"
Pale skin, short, choppy brunette hair, and horribly familiar blue eyes were looking him up and down with far too much curiosity for his comfort. John took a few quick steps back, retreating towards his bedroom, but it was too late. "Either a lot has changed or you're not my brother. I'm Ilsa," she chuckled as she strode towards him and grabbed his hand to shake it.
"Well...I..uh-" John stuttered as he tried to escape.
"John! Is she here? I just saw what are you doing?" Great. Sherlock had chosen now to show up. The scowl on his face told John that he should not be wearing nothing but a bathrobe to introduce himself to his little sister and for the millionth time John wished he'd just gone straight to his bedroom.
Ilsa didn't seem phased by it, though. The petite woman turned and beamed before rushing over to her big brother and embracing him tightly. The anger seemed to melt right off Sherlock's face as he held her back. "I got you these," he muttered, extending the slightly crushed tulips to her.
If she noticed their condition, she didn't show it and held them to her nose happily. "They're beautiful. Thank you Sherlock!" She gestured to John with a shake of her head. "This your boyfriend? He's awfully cute, you know. If I were you-"
"No! Nope, no, uh uh," John interjected quickly before this could continue any further. "For the record, I am not Sherlock's boyfriend. I am not even gay. I am his flatmate, John Watson."
The young woman giggled and nudged her brother. "Not bad."
John groaned and turned on heel. Why did this keep happening? He'd much rather deal with this when he had pants on.
Now donning jeans and a comfy sweater, he felt a little braver about going out to meet this mystery relative of Sherlock's. Only a little bit, though. From their brief encounter she seemed...perkier than her brothers. But the way those damned blue eyes had picked him apart in seconds... Another shudder racked through his body. He didn't even want to think about what kinds of private...intimate things she had figured out about him so quickly. John pulled at the bottom of his cream colored sweater, nervously straightening it before stepping back out into the living room to be scrutinized again.
"Stop!" John practically jumped out of his skin in surprise. Ilsa had taken up a spot on the sofa and was shooting glances back and forth between a book in her lap and John in the doorway. It seemed perfectly normal until she cracked a mischievous grin and held the book up to Sherlock who was standing behind her.
"What is it? What happened?" John asked rather breathlessly as he searched for danger around him. Sherlock nodded with approval and motioned for John to join them, which he did so apprehensively. Sherlock turned the old, leather-bound book for John to look at. "Is that...Is that me? How did you do this?" It was a sketchbook with an oddly accurate ink sketch of John himself standing in the exact same doorway he'd just walked through wearing his jeans and his sweater. He didn't understand how she managed to have this drawn considering she'd never seen his outfit before and had seen him for less than a minute at their meeting.
Ilsa stretched her arms and laid on her back casually. "Told you I could do it," she teased Sherlock.
"Yes, yes," he sighed as he moved into the kitchen.
"Um, excuse me? Told him you could do what?" John asked, really wishing he wasn't being ignored. He sat heavily in his armchair as he stared at the picture before him. It was completely accurate, down to the part in his hair and the concerned wrinkles in his forehead. It was brilliant, of course, but he shouldn't have expected any less from a Holmes. He just wasn't planning on that brilliance to be so...artistic.
He thumbed a page back and was met with the book slamming shut and being snatched from his grip before he even knew what was going on. Ilsa stood in front of him, clutching the book to her chest protectively. "I told him I could draw what you'd look like walking back in the room."
"Let my guess," John sighed as he sat back, feeling altogether too close to her black leggings and striped blue and purple sweater dress than was proper. "You have a staggering ability to observe and remember things, just like your brother, don't you?"
This made her laugh and John took note of how much better her humor was than either of her brothers'. "Yeah, sure. Something like that," she responded, throwing a glance towards the kitchen. Determining Sherlock was still busy with something or other, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to John's ear and whispered, "I only waste my energy on things I like." With a coy smile she pulled away and sat back on the couch, leaving John's poor mind reeling. For fuck's sake! What was going on?!
There's my first chapter! Remember I'd love to get some feedback from you lovely readers before I come out with a new chapter. :)