John and Greg had been stunned into silence.
No-one, not even Donovan, had ever shown this much contempt for Sherlock so quickly – at least not to John's knowledge.
Sherlock brought a hand up to his face to sooth the angry, red skin in the visible form of a hand on his cheek. That had to have hurt, John could practically feel the sting from the slap through the tense atmosphere that had suddenly settled on the room.
The silence continued until…
"You absolute bastard."
"Carter," Lestrade warned.
"It's perfectly alright Lestrade." Sherlock's eyes never left Sergeant Carter's. "I'm under no delusions that I am underserving of this treatment."
John snapped his head around to stare at Sherlock. Never had the man admitted to ever being at fault, let alone deserving of such hostile behaviour.
"You deserve much more than a slap to the face after what you did." Eyes of pure ice shot death glares across the room to the Consulting Detective.
"Sergeant Carter, I'm warning you," started Greg, moving between her and Sherlock, creating a physical barrier. John took a step towards Sherlock, ready to pull him from the room if Carter became more aggravated, which, in all honestly, was very probable.
"You don't understand, Greg. You have no idea, I- I can't-" John could see her struggling to restrain herself, and it was obviously a losing battle.
"Sherlock," he murmured, Sherlock turning his attention to John for the first time since they entered the room, "maybe we should leave."
"Unnecessary, John, we have a case to solve," Sherlock turned back to the wall of evidence, sidestepping Sergeant Carter to get closer to it.
"No," she began to take a step towards Sherlock, a dangerous look in her eye that caused Greg to quickly grab hold of her upper arm, gently enough not to leave a mark or be considered aggressive, but hard enough that the warning in the action was conveyed with utter clarity. "I have a case to solve." She shrugged her arm from Greg's grasp and turned to glare at him. "Greg, I refuse to work with him. I absolutely refuse."
Lestrade's expression hardened, a look of fierce determination on his features as he shook his head.
"That's not up to you, Carter."
"I'm the best chance of solving this case, Annalese and you know it." Sherlock threw his comments over his shoulder, never taking his gaze from the evidence wall, eyes dancing over all the paper and photographs attached to the usually bare, grey wall.
"No! I refuse-"
"Enough," Lestrade's voice boomed through the rather small room, the authority in his voice so plain that it nearly made John want to cower and obey his instructions. Nearly. John had been a soldier after all, and it was very hard to intimidate him. Sherlock and Sergeant Carter were another story. Carter completely froze, dropping her gaze to the floor, a slight blush grazing her pale, sharp cheeks. Sherlock had turned his attention back to the other people in the room, eyes widening ever so slightly at the tone of Lestrade's voice, the only giveaway that he was at all surprised. "Now," he began looking between the two of them, John taking a step back to slightly behind Lestrade so there was no block in the line of fire, "you either tell me what the hell happened between you two right now or you'll both be removed from the case, effective immediately."
Both Sergeant Carter and Sherlock spoke at the same time.
"Don't be ridiculous, Lestrade," scoffed the tall, too-smart-for-his-own-good detective, a disbelieving smirk playing around the corner of his lips.
"Sir, you can't do this," protested Sergeant Carter, pleading with Greg, trying to appeal to his good side by using 'sir' instead of his name, showing her professional respect for him.
Greg, however, was having absolutely none of it.
"Now," he growled.
"Sherlock," John warned him as Sherlock went to protest again.
Sherlock sighed heavily, before turning to Lestrade and John, gesturing to Sergeant Carter as he spoke.
"John, Lestrade, allow me to introduce Annalese Carter, née Holmes, my younger sister."
If it had been quiet before, after Sergeant Carter had slapped him, it was nothing compared to the silence that descended upon the room after Sherlock dropped this bombshell.
John stood there, trying desperately to compute the information. Sherlock had never before mentioned a sister, neither had Mycroft. And suddenly, here was this figure that had come into their lives, literally out of nowhere, and Sherlock was claiming that she was his unknown sibling?
Greg was the first to recover out of the two of them.
"Your what?"
"Lestrade, you do know how I detest repetition," Sherlock scowled at the Detective Inspector.
"Sister?" John asked, just to clarify, just to make sure.
"Unfortunately yes, sneered Sergeant Carter – Annalese – "now if you'll excuse me I have something to discuss with Sergeant Donovan." She promptly pushed past the men and exited the room, leaving the three men in silence behind her.
Greg ran his hands through his silver hair, breathing out a sigh – of frustration? Of relief? Of exasperation? Possibly a mixture of all three – before collecting a few pieces of paper from the walls before shoving them into John's hands.
"I think it's best you guys take this back to Baker Street with you, just let things settle here before…Well, we'll just let things settle here, smooth over the ruffles feathers, you know?"
John nodded in agreement.
"Thanks, Greg, we'll be in touch as soon as we get anything."
Greg left them to see themselves out, probably to go and begin smoothing the feather, or however he had put it.
John grabbed Sherlock by the arm and propelled him through New Scotland Yard and onto the street. He nudged Sherlock as a prompt for him to do his magical taxi summoning trick that had all the taxi's in London stopping immediately to take them home.
The taxi ride from The Yard to Baker Street was spent in absolute silence, not that John minded; he was still trying to process the events from that afternoon.
Sherlock exited the taxi as soon as they pulled up to 221, leaving John to – once again – pay the taxi fare, before following Sherlock into the building, up the seventeen stairs and into the living room of 221B.
John gently placed the paperwork from Lestrade in a neat pile on the coffee table as Sherlock flopped rather inelegantly into his chair in a dramatic flair of long limbs and expensive suit. The silence continued as John moved into the kitchen to put the kettle on.
Tea, in John's opinion, made everything better. It was a mantra he had lived by since his early twenties, when he discovered the therapeutic process of tea making and the joys of tea drinking.
After making a cuppa for both himself and Sherlock, he made his way back into the living room, and after passing off one mug – the one full of sugar – to his flatmate, she sat down in his armchair, facing his friend.
After a few more moments of silence, Sherlock put down his tea and turned his attention to John.
"So, you've got questions."
John had to chuckle at their inside joke.
"Yeah, what was all that about then? What could you possibly have done to make her hate you that much?"
Sherlock's eyes turned downwards, refusing to meet John's gaze, almost as if he was ashamed about what he was about to say.
"She didn't know," he mumbled, so quiet that John leaned forward in his chair to hear properly.
"Didn't know what?"
Sherlock took a deep breath, collecting himself before once again meeting John's eyes.
"She didn't know my suicide was faked."
Hey guys, sorry about the wait between updates. Life seems to be getting in the way at the moment, and I feel like I'm losing the motivation to keep writing - hence why this fic probably isn't as well written as some of my others. Stay with me, I know where I want to go with this fic, but it might take me longer than usual to get me there.
All my love, Scarlett x