Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.

Note: It's here! Finally. I know, you're thinking about how spontaneously pleasant my updating is. Of course.


I quickly slip into the ladies room, having carefully avoided Sherlock. It wouldn't be below him to come barging in.

"Is there the date to a John Watson in here?" I ask.

There's a woman at the sinks who glances sharply up at me. She waits a couple seconds, scanning my face, measuring me up, then finally says,

"Present. Who's asking?"

"A concerned party. I need you to come with me. We're meeting John at a sandwich shop. You guys do not want to be here. John probably doesn't want his proposal to be interrupted by an old friend either. Oh right. What's your name?"

I watch as her face morphs from suspicious to a very faked surprised, and then into a very real surprised, and then into understanding.

"Mary Morstan. Come on then. We can go out the window," she says, hitching up her skirt, and nimbly climbing out.

I stand there for a bit, not anticipating this part of the plan. To find out that John's girlfriend and soon to be fiancee will climb out of a public bathroom window in a skirt no less. It's a pleasant surprise. Except for the window bit. It's rather high. And I'm rather short. And the adrenaline has begun to fade from my veins, leaving me a bit out of breath, and certainly unable to lift myself onto the ledge of the window. Not that I would be able to lift myself up there under normal circumstances.

I come to a decision and stride over, stand on my tip toes so that my eyes are just level with the outside.

"Go find a cab and go to Claridge's sandwich shop. John will be there, and I'll meet you there."

I see a thumbs up from the outside.

Well. I am certainly am going to be doing some not very legal research on a Mary Morstan.

I quickly close and lock the high window with some difficulty and head towards the door just as it slams open.

Sherlock is standing there in the doorframe and we have a staring contest.

"Where is she?"

"Who?" My voice sounds garbled and obviously lying.

Sherlock rolls his eyes, "God, I need to teach you how to lie. You just helped John's date escape, through that window, going by the dust and grime on your hands from opening and closing it."

I look at him innocently. Which is to say, awkwardly shifting my feet with my hands behind my back.

Apparently Sherlock gives up. He throws his arms up into the air, strides quickly over, and takes me in his long, spindly arms. It's a bit awkward, but it's as close to sibling love we're going to get. It's also an extremely rare occurrence that shows that he is very sorry. I fully forgive him.

"I'm sorry I pushed your head into the ground and stepped on it." I mutter into his coat.

"You should be."

"You're an idiot."

"Let's go tell John?"

"Let's go. But don't be an idiot about it." And suddenly I'm reminded of the brash way he was about to go and execute the reunion. I push him away and level him with the most serious stare I have.

"From now on, you have to consult me whenever your might be doing something possibly emotionally derailing to John or anyone that we have remotely established friendship. Promise."

He scoffs, "Don't be dramatic. John will be overjoyed when I tell him."

I sigh. Well John has handled a lot of Sherlock's antics. He can survive the rest without totally breaking off their friendship. If he can survive this one.

"Nevermind. Just let me talk to him first before you come barging in."

"Fine."

"Okay."

'Okay."

"Let's go."

And we exit the ladies restroom together. Only with the Holmes. Only with the Holmes.

When the cab pulls up to Claridge's, Sherlock and I get out, and I pull him aside quickly, away from the large storefront window.

"Now, stick to the plan," I say hurriedly, "When I send you the text, you send John a text saying that you're alive."

Sherlock waves his hand dismissively, just like when we were little and I was trying to explain my computer science to him.

"Sherlock, just listen, it could come in use."

"Yeah, yeah," he would say, waving his hand dismissively, "You do your thing, and I'll do mine."

Childhood frustration bubbled up inside me just a bit.

"Make sure you do it, okay?"

He's looking at the stream of people flowing past us on the walk. Probably picking out every couple with an affair.

I poke him in the forehead. That catches his attention.

"Okay?"

"I've got it, okay?"

"Good." I turn on my heel and walk into the sandwich shop, a soft jingling announcing my presence.

Heads turn to look in my direction, all but four of them losing interest immediately. My little entourage rushes over to me.

"Thea! Will you finally tell me what's going on?" John says, seemingly growing progressively tired of this night. The poor man was going to propose.

"John." I say solemnly at my feet.

His face gets serious as well.

"What is it? What is it, Thea?"

"What I'm about to tell you, I absolutely swear it's true. You have to promise me not to be angry or upset." I look up to meet his eyes.

Eye contact is important. It's all about the eye contact that let's them know you're deadly serious. I vaguely remember Mycroft telling me at one point.

"Just say it, okay? What is it? Tell me, Thea!" His voice raises a pitch. Mary puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"John, promise me."

"Okay, okay, just tell–"

"Promise," I raise my voice just a bit.

He searches my eyes for a moment.

"Okay. Promise."

I take a deep breath.

"Sherlock Holmes is alive." I enunciate every syllable slowly and carefully. I watch his face closely. As soon as I see the flash of hope, then the long dwelling doubt pass, and as the worry for my well being sets in, I send Sherlock the text with my thumb behind my back.

John's own phone dings.

When his eyes start flicking over the screen, I quickly send Sherlock the second text, and the door jingles open one more time. John looks up in disbelief. Much like as if he were expecting to see a ghost.

There Sherlock is, in all his dramatic glory with his belstaff coat settling down from the breeze.

"Long time no see, John. It seems London called."

I mentally slap him. Damn Mycroft and his drama queen influences.


A/N: Helloooo! I dunno if you think that Sherlock is a bit OOC in this one with the hug and all, but I just want some sort of sibling fluff in this. I really like sibling fluff. Sorry. You'll be seeing more of it :) Anyway, leave a review or a favourite.

Constructive criticism appreciated.

~lirgnayc