Author's Note: Seeing how I've been completely dreadful at updating consistently, I figured I should repay your patience today instead of waiting until Friday. Enjoy!
Two months slipped by and the trio settled into somewhat of a routine. Sherlock and John solved cases and Westley visited friends and family, including a taciturn Mycroft that immediately chased her out of Buckingham Palace ten minutes into her visit.
Today, though, chaos reigned. John and Westley ignored Sherlock as he stalked around the flat with a harpoon in hand, blue robe billowing behind him. "Oh, God!" he cried out, slamming the wooden handle of the harpoon into the floor. "John, I need some. Get me some," he demanded, turning around facing the duo.
"No," John replied simply, flipping the page of the newspaper.
Sherlock growled. "Get me some."
"No," Westley said this time, her finger running down the page of the book. "We all agreed you would go this cold turkey."
John set down one section of the newspaper to pick up another. "Besides, you've paid everyone off, remember?" John added, his eyes travelling over the new papers. "No-one within a two mile radius will sell you any."
"Stupid idea. Whose idea was that?" Sherlock blinked when both Westley and John cleared their throats, looking at him. Sherlock looked towards the door before beginning to trash the desk, throwing paperwork around and knocking boxes open. "Mrs. Hudson!" he yelled, intently searching every inch of the desk.
"Look, Sherlock," John said, his eyes back on the newspaper. "You're doing really well. Don't give up now."
"Tell me where they are. Please. Tell me," Sherlock said, standing rigid and turning to face John. Westley almost laughed when she saw the puppy-dog eyes her brother was throwing at John. "Please."
Westley turned the page on her book, running her finger through it again. "Can't help, sorry," John replied.
"I'll let you know next week's lottery numbers." At this, both Westley and John laughed. Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh. "Oh, it was worth a try." Two seconds after, he threw himself in front of the fireplace. Westley barely had enough time to pick up her feet to keep him from crushing them. Sherlock pulled out a slipper, jamming his hand into it and growling when he found nothing.
Mrs. Hudson finally came, giving her "yoo-hoo!" as she stepped into the room. "My secret supply. What have you done with my secret supply?" Sherlock asked. Mrs. Hudson gave a small "eh?" while Sherlock kept rummaging through the area around the fireplace. "Cigarettes! What have you done with them? Where are they?"
The landlady gave a short laugh. "You know you never let me touch your things!" She gave a look at the messy living area. Westley gave her a look. "Oooh, chance would be a fine thing," she muttered.
"I thought you weren't my housekeeper," Sherlock said.
"Right," Westley finally said, shutting her book and placing it on the table. "I am going out. I leave you in the very capable hands of John and Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock. Be nice."
"Bring me cigarettes."
It was a chorus of three now. "No!"
The sun shone as the brunette walked the streets of London. She allowed her mind to run lose, examining the weeks past as her eyes observed windows and faces passing her by. While it seemed her stay would be longer than usual, Sherlock continued unperturbed by her remaining with them. She assumed at first it was simply because his room was still in his possession. As the first month of her stay ended, though, she realized just how many flags she missed before in other visits, of how much he missed her and enjoyed having her around.
Missed or ignored.
She couldn't deny that at a certain point in their childhood, she had distanced herself. There seemed no other underlying reason but the idea that she didn't want to live in the shadow of her brilliant brother. Despite her boisterous claims she was as smart - at times, smarter than - Sherlock, there was a sense of inadequacy when she found herself around him. As if something was missing. She'd had that feeling grow with the years, and thus decided to begin the journey in finding what that missing part of her was. Sherlock never tried to hold her back and she had taken it as a blessing from him of sorts. At least, that's the way she chose to see it. Now, she wished she hadn't been so blind by her own insecurities, that she had used that so clever mind of hers to pick up the true feelings her brother now seemed to hint at.
And then there was John.
Well, John was a different thing altogether. While they continued sharing a bed, nothing ever transpired after the first and only kiss she gave him her second night in the flat. There was no denying they grew close, though, and would at times do outings on their own, when Sherlock slipped into what they referred to as "The Comatose Phase". Art shows, museums, dinner, anything that caught their fancy was a go for them. They learned a lot about each other, in just two months, and Westley couldn't deny there was some sexual tension there. John would never do a thing, though, not with her being Sherlock's little sister.
By the time Westley came back from grocery shopping, the thoughts she entertained were completely dispersed, and she found John's notebook thrown carelessly on the table beside his chair. She peeked at it, her curiosity sparked, before she heard the sounds of footsteps descending from the stairs.
"Case?" she asked, finally setting down the bags and putting things away. "Where to?"
"Dartmoor," John said as he set two bags by the door. "We might be a few days. Will you be alright?" Westley gave the army doctor a quirk of a smile. "Of course you will." He cleared his throat and helped her with the groceries while he waited for Sherlock. "Do you have anything you're working on at the moment?" he asked.
Westley shook her head. "I think I'll stay in, enjoy the silence. I rarely get that nowadays with Sherlock jonesing for nicotine." She leaned against the kitchen sink, watching John as he placed the last of the produce in the refrigerator. "Will you be alright? Without me?" she asked, giving him a sly grin. "You do sleep better now that you've got yourself a great bedmate." John coughed roughly, placing his fist over his mouth. That did nothing to hide the blood that rushed to his face.
"I'll survive," he said, clearing his throat again. "I'm sorry again. About the last couple of nights."
While daytime was expected chaos, nighttime in John's room became a little more active than usual. His nightmares were acute lately and Westley would wake to run a soothing hand over his hot forehead and whisper encouraging words in whatever language she could handle at that hour. Sometimes, his sleep would resume uninterrupted. Other times, like yesterday night, John woke and apologized, repeatedly, to the brunette.
Westley reached out the same hand now, running a finger across his jaw. "Stop," she said, smiling. "You're fine." It was inevitable that every time they touched, John flushed. "We'll both be fine."
He gave her a smile as well and turned when Sherlock walked into the kitchen. "Have a safe trip, brother dear. Please don't get mauled. I'd tell you to start off at the base where Mrs. Stapleton works, but I'm sure you knew that." The two men blinked and Westley only smiled wide. "I had a peek at your case. Oops. Would you like some lunch before you go? I can pack it, if you prefer." The brunette pulled out a few things from the refrigerator. "Please make sure Sherlock eats, John. And call if you need anything."
Ten minutes later, she was waving the two men off with fresh lunch bags tucked under their arms. Westley sighed and turned back into the building, shutting the door behind herself. Her head was against wood, banging it softly. Seconds later, her text alert went off. Another sigh escaped her lips and her mouth curved into a smile when she read the screen: Be safe.
The day passed slower than usual and Westley found herself pacing the flat, Sherlock's harpoon tightly clutched in her hand. Several holes were added to the wall where Sherlock's bullet holes resided. She'd been without a case for almost two weeks, which hadn't seemed like a big deal with Sherlock and John around. Yet know that she was alone, she was going crazy. Like Sherlock, she needed her own fix, now that she was free of all distractions, and she decided to borrow John's laptop to look for anything of interested.
Nightfall came with her sitting in John's room, shifting through every news site she could think of without anything catching her eye. Westley didn't realize how badly she was gritting her teeth until pain in her jaw snapped her out of it and she decided to call it a night. Her phone went off just as she closed the laptop. She didn't notice the instantaneous way her body relaxed at the sight of John's name.. "Well I was betting it would take longer for him to drive you mad," Westley said as a greeting, standing and heading to the bed. "What has Sherlock done this time?"
"He's afraid," John said, and Westley could hear him out of breath. "He's afraid and he's gone off on me and apparently he doesn't have any friends!" Westley closed her eyes, giving a sigh now.
"John," she started softly. "Something is wrong. Sherlock doesn't do fear, he doesn't do emotions. You know this." She heard him exhale slowly and she felt the tug at the corner of her mouth. "We can barely get him excited, and that's only when murder is involved."
The army doctor took another breath. "Are you doing alright?" he asked and she could hear the echo of his footsteps. "Getting your meals in and what not? You're exactly like Sherlock in that, you know."
Westley giggled, dropping into the bed and sighing. "Yes, sir. Three square meals today. You know, this bed is great. Much better than Sherlock's. It's also quite spacious now that you're over there. I may have to kick you out onto the settee after all, Doctor Watson!" John laughed and Westley felt completely at peace now. "Right then, get back to your case, Sherlock Junior."
"I resent that!" he cried into the phone, though he was still laughing. "But I do have something I want to look into. I'll send you a text when I've decided to call it a night."
Westley gave a nod, even though she knew he couldn't see her. "Be safe."
A deep exhale crossed her lips and her hand absentmindedly smoothed over the pillow on the left. "Hm." Without thought, her body turned and her face pressed against the pillow, the simple scent of the army doctor permeating the pillowcase. Her eyes popped open suddenly and she sat up, almost breathless. "Shit." Westley shook her head once, then again, before standing from the bed and pacing John's room.
She stopped, standing before the desk. Her eyes saw everything. John's journal. John's pens, neatly lined up beside it. Nothing else but the laptop sat on the desktop. She turned in the room slowly. Everything in its place, everything where it should be. And it felt…
"I need a case," she immediately told herself, refusing to acknowledge anything. "Right! They'll be gone for a few days. Maybe even weeks! And even then, what does it matter? I can pop into Spain for a bit, visit Marlene. Yes, that is a marvelous idea." Westley headed downstairs, spewing off other ideas. "Maybe even head straight to India after. Rishi would be a doll and let me stay, I'm sure. I haven't been in ages." The brunette froze when she was in the living area.
Everything about it screamed home.
It was impossible, every single thought that crossed her mind a few seconds ago. Instead of packing her suitcase as she wanted to, she sat on the red couch. Her fingers walked along the arms of it as her eyes remained on the moon filtering through the curtains. She was humming under her breath, though she didn't seem to be aware of it. Her phone went off again and the screen brought her two words: Good night.
At this, Westley jumped to her feet. "A few days won't hurt. I'll be back before they even know it."
She quickly re-packed her suitcase and grabbed her leather jacket. Her foot was over the threshold and it froze there, her eyes flicking back and forth on the floor before her. Westley walked back quickly, looking through the desk before plucking a blank page and scribbling a quick note.
Westley looked down at it for a few seconds, rereading her words before grabbing a piece of tape and slapping the note on the door.
"Right. Just a few days."