John's POV
I press the rim of my favourite mug to my lips, taking long sips of my beloved coffee. Black, just how I like it. It tastes more natural that way, milk or crème makes the texture all weird and sugar just ruins the whole thing. I don't know how anyone can stomach it when it's like that, oh well, I'll keep my genius secret of how to make the best cup of coffee to myself.
I can already feel the effects of the caffeine kick in. I can see my eyelids lift and my mood start to get better. The gears in my mind start turning again and I find myself able to function. Good thing too, you don't exactly want a slow mind in the presence of Sherlock Holmes.
My best friend, Sherlock Holmes, sits across from me in his chair. A blanket wrapped around his shoulders, a book in one hand and a teacup in the other. On occasion, he takes a sip of tea from the white china cup or flips the yellow pages of his hardcover book. This early and reading? His mind must never need a break when he's conscious.
Today is a good day, so far; it's only 10 am. There were no late-night calls from police, no violin music, basically no interruptions at all besides the occasional bang on the floor from the people in the flat above. It's almost too good to be true, some case will come up making Sherlock and I occupied for days.
A chime from my cell phone rings from the kitchen, I let out a long groan. I knew it was too good to be true, can't catch a break. I choose to ignore it and enjoy the rest of my morning. The ringing eventually stops and I take another sip of my tea. Sherlock is still engrossed in his book.
After a few minutes my phone sounds again, I furrow my eyebrows confused. Maybe it's important. I doubt it if it was important it would go to Sherlock. It probably just a call to waste my time, I don't want to deal with that today.
"Aren't you going to get that?" Sherlock asks looking at me with a blank expression.
"No," I answer flatly.
"Why not?" Is this really going to be our first conversation today?
"Because it's not important." The phone goes silent again.
"How do you know that two calls within the span of five minutes; someone wants to get a hold of you pretty badly," he states with a monotone voice then takes a sip of tea.
"If it was important, they'd call you." We stare at each other for about a minute until my phone rings for the third time. I let out a frustrated sigh, "I'll get it." I stand up and go over to my phone on the kitchen table. "I don't recognize the number," I say confused and pick up the phone, pressing it against my ear. "Hello?"
"Hi, John?" A feminine voice asks.
"Yes?"
"John Watson?"
"Yes, that's me," I say annoyed.
"It's Clara." There's a long pause until I click my tongue.
"Why are you calling me?"
"She's dead," she says with a choke.
My breathing hitches, I don't like the sound of this. "Who?"
"Harry!" Clara sobs a bit but it sounds all distorted over the phone.
I feel faint and hold onto the table, "W-What?" I don't believe it, she can't be dead; there must be some other explanation.
"She's dead John."
"How?"
"John-"
"How did it happen!" I yell slamming my hand on the table. Sherlock looks over intrigued.
"Alcohol poisoning," she says between gasps of breaths.
I can't feel anything in my body. I feel angry, sad and scared all at the same time. Harry and I weren't close but she was still my sister. I should have talked to her more.
"There's one other thing," she says obviously pulling herself together.
"What is it?"
"I'm not sure if I should tell you right after-"
"For god's sake Clara tell me!" I demand loudly. Sherlock continues to observe.
After a long pause, Clara responds, "I am unqualified so you are open to custody for Jayden if you sign some stuff and take a couple of tests."
This only confuses me more, "I'm sorry, custody? Who's Jayden?"
"Are you kidding me!" Clara yells.
"I asked, who's Jayden?"
"Harry's daughter."
"Harry doesn't have a daughter."
"Yes, she does! And her name is Jayden! She adopted her years ago!"
I'm stunned, "I-I didn't know."
"Well someone from child protection services will come to your flat and examine it, plus take some tests-"
I cut her off by shutting my phone off and putting it back on the table. For a moment I stand there with my eyes closed and head hanging, taking in all the information. How could I not have known? How did she not tell me? How is she dead?
I eventually make my way over to my chair and sit down in it. Sherlock keeps his eyes on me obviously curious but won't talk first. I'm not sure if I want to talk, it was a lot to take in. Will I be able to get custody? Do I want custody?
"What was that about?" Sherlock asks finally.
"I have a niece."