Sherlock rang the doorbell to John and Mary's flat and then took a step back, waiting for someone to answer. It was snowing outside, and Sherlock pulled his coat tighter around himself to keep out the chill. The street looked scenic in the evening with all the streetlights creating a soft glow as snow fell slowly and landed on the pavement, the footprints of people rushing by earlier still ingrained in it. A couple walked past Sherlock, eyes only for each other, and Sherlock only just managed not to sneer outwardly.
The front door opened and John looked out, dressed in dark jeans, red pullover and a navy blazer. He frowned at Sherlock, clearly not expecting to see him.
"Sherlock." he said. "Everything okay?"
"Yes, everything's fine." Sherlock answered. "May I come in?"
John looked torn, looking from his friend to back inside. "We're now about to go out." he said, glancing at Sherlock with an impatient yet apologetic expression. "I told you yesterday when I invited you but you didn't want to go–"
"Yes, I know. I only want to talk to your sister and then I'll be on my way." Sherlock said, looking away and wishing he could be back at Baker Street.
"Harry?" John asked. "Why do you want to speak to her?"
The detective gave him a look that clearly said none of your business, and John sighed, stepping aside to let Sherlock in.
"Alright, but you'll have to be quick. The table's been booked for six." he said as Sherlock brushed past him and walked up the stairs and into the living room. Mary and Harry were chatting when he came in, dressed smartly and ready to leave. There eyes were drawn as he entered, and Mary raised her eyebrows whilst Harriet looked away.
"Sherlock." Mary greeted him. "You alright?"
Why did they assume something was wrong with him? "Fine, Mary." he said with a forced smile.
John entered behind him. "Mary, will you just help me with something?" he asked, inclining his head to the doorway. His wife frowned, but soon walked out with John following.
Harriet was all but stood with her back to Sherlock, staring at the wall. She was wearing a short black dress and blue overcoat with her hair tied into a neat ponytail. Sherlock cleared his throat but Harry did nothing.
"Harriet..." Sherlock said in an attempt to get her attention. It didn't work.
The detective looked down at his feet. "I am here to... apologise for my behaviour last month." he began, hating himself for doing this, even though he knew it was necessary. John had told him – without meaning to implicate him – that since he'd snapped at Harry, she'd gone back to drinking, despite slowly recovering beforehand. John of course hadn't mentioned that this hadhappened after Sherlock had thrown her out, but the detective had been able to connect the two events. He knew John wasn't expecting him to make amends, but Sherlock thought he might as well try and help, especially as it was nearing Christmas and the temptation for alcohol would be even stronger. So, here he was.
Having heard him, Harry looked at him sharply, clearly not believing him.
He continued. "It was cruel of me to list your flaws," She frowned, and Sherlock quickly rephrased the sentence. "I shouldn't have said those things out loud – I mean there was no need for you to realise I was correct – no, that's not right–"
To his utter surprise, Harry chuckled, effectively cutting him off. He stared at her with a frown. Even he knew what he'd said would only make things worse in any other situation.
"Don't worry about it." she said, shaking her head.
"I apologise." he said instead, deciding that the less he said, the better.
"It's fine, Sherlock." Harry responded. "At the time, I didn't know you were grieving so it was probably bad timing on my part. You needed something to take your frustration out on, and what better person than one who only gets through the day with several drinks in her system?" she asked with a bitter smile.
Sherlock sank down onto the sofa, crossing his arms. Harry perched in the armchair opposite.
"And anyway, the reason I was there in the first place was to say sorry for waking you at whatever time in the morning it was that night." she said.
"Three-thirty." Sherlock answered automatically, eliciting a smile out of Harry.
"Right. So yeah, sorry."
Sherlock shrugged. "I was awake anyway." he said aloofly.
"Looking after my brother, so I hear." she said softly, but Sherlock frowned.
"I wasn't looking after him," he replied. "I just happened to be in the same room–"
"Whilst he grieved after the loss of his fiancée." Harry finished determinedly. "But still, it's good he had someone with him during that time. I doubt he would have wanted me around."
Sherlock didn't reply, instead he studied the woman opposite him. She looked better than the last time he saw her, shouting her out of his flat. She still looked tired and weary, and he noticed that her hands were shaking, but there were no signs of desperation, no signs of absolute need for a drink, which was something he had noticed previously.
Harry chuckled humourlessly, and Sherlock frowned at her, the question evident in his eyes.
She shook her head. "Nothing, just thinking." She laughed again. "How screwed-up are we?" she asked quietly, the question rhetorical.
Well, she was honest, he'd give her that. Sherlock didn't deny it or try to argue against her. He remained silent, knowing she was going to continue.
"Both of us have dysfunctional families..." Harry caught his raised eyebrows and smiled. "Yes, maybe yours more than mine but that doesn't mean we Watsons are perfect. The alcoholism had to come from somewhere, didn't it?" she asked.
"Where did it come from?" Sherlock questioned, sensing that this was something she wanted to get off her chest.
She sighed heavily and picked at her coat sleeve. "An alcoholic father, for one." she said.
"Abusive?" Sherlock asked warily, his mind trying to recall if John had ever said something, and he noted with some surprise that the doctor had never spoken of his childhood.
"Neglectful." Harry corrected. "Started drinking when Mum offed herself." She said it bluntly, and Sherlock had to force himself not to bombard her with questions, the shock hitting him like a train. "Me and John were only little when it happened. Swallowed a bottle of pills and Dad found her when he got back from work. We got taken out of school and stayed at our aunt's for a bit. When we came home, Dad was more distant. He got angry at little things, and never paid us much attention. We ended up cooking our own meals and whatnot. I don't know, I guess he never recovered."
Harry shook her head solemnly. "And look what became of it. The daughter who drank herself into the gutter to escape and the son who got so sick of it he joined the army." Another humourless chuckle escaped her as she glanced up at Sherlock. "I'm saying this to you as if you're some kind of therapist." she said. "You certainly look like one."
Sherlock looked down at his clothing. He didn't imagine many therapists wearing Belstaff coats and blue scarves to their appointments.
Harry clearly caught on and gave a small smile. "I meant your posture." she clarified. "One leg over the other and leaning forward. Give you a pen and paper and we're away."
Sherlock smirked. Her humour was similar to John's, and it was easy to see the family resemblance.
Harry was still talking though. "At least John has you and Mary." she said with a sad smile. "He doesn't need me anymore. Though to be fair, he's always managed on his own."
Sherlock shook his head. "He cares for you, Harry. You are loved." he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and she broke into a large smile. He smiled slightly in return, although he feared it wavered. He didn't entirely agree with Harry's statement, that John needed him. After all, he had Mary now and they seem perfectly happy together. What can a sociopath do to keep up with the love radiating from a happy marriage? It was one of the reasons he'd declined tonight's dinner, he didn't want to get in the way. No, John certainly didn't need him anymore.
"Thanks." she said quietly, drawing him out from his thoughts. "I think I needed to hear that."
John came back in at that moment, looking from Sherlock to Harriet. "Ready to go? Taxi's waiting outside." he said to his sister. She nodded and got up, moving towards the doorway where he stood. Without a word, she suddenly wrapped her arms around his waist, holding on to him tight. John looked surprised and held his arms away for a few moments, caught off guard. Tentatively, he patted her back, leaning away to try and get a look at her face, which she had hidden in the crook of his neck.
Abruptly, she let go and was out of the door a second later, heading out of the flat. John turned to Sherlock with a frown on his face.
"What did you say to her?" he asked cautiously.
"Nothing." Sherlock said innocently, eyebrows raised as if daring John to challenge him. John shook his head and smiled.
"Alright, fine. I won't pry. Now come on, we need to get going." He gestured to the doorway.
It was Sherlock's turn to be caught off guard. He stood and looked about the room, indulging the possibility that maybe he'd overlooked someone. When no one presented themselves, he turned back to John who was obviously wishing Sherlock would hurry up.
"What are you talking about?" Sherlock asked dumbly. "I'm not going."
"Yes you are." John said defiantly. "Mrs Hudson just called me to say that the heating's broken in 221B. I know you're too lazy to buy more logs for the fire so you're coming with us. You can stay here until they fix the boiler. I won't have you freezing to death in your own home."
Sherlock flailed a bit more, clearly taken aback by the new information. John bit back a smile.
"Come on, we're going to be late. We can talk about that case you were trying to tell me about yesterday. I can put it on the blog tomorrow or something."
"I – I don't have any money on me." Sherlock admitted, surprised when he felt disappointment now that he knew he wouldn't be able to go. He had thought John didn't care about the cases he went on without the doctor. Now that it turned out he did, Sherlock hated the fact that they weren't going to get to talk about it. And he still wasn't all that keen on staying in this flat alone for a few hours, even though he was touched at being offered the chance to stay there.
"Don't fret about it, I'll pay for yours. Hurry up!" John pressed, moving forward and grabbing Sherlock's arm, dragging him downstairs and shoving him into the taxi, squishing the detective between himself and Mary. Mary smiled at him and patted his knee as John got in and told the cabbie where to go, and opposite him Harry nudged his foot. He met her eyes, and he was able to read what she was trying to communicate. His earlier words came back to him, and he couldn't help but smile a little.
You are loved.
A/N: Cheesy, I know but I can't help it. Please leave a review you lovely people x
