"You can't keep bailing him out, Clare," the frustrated voice spoke as the young woman sighed gently once and stepped into the walk in wardrobe as her fiancé sat in bed, his back resting against the headboard and a book held firmly in his hands. Clare remained hidden from his view and around the corner, hanging up her dress onto a coat hanger and then slipping out of the black heels which she tended to wear. "He's going to have to learn to stand on his own two feet. He is older than you too."
"I know," Clare replied, feeling as though the conversation could lead into an argument. Charles and Clare had differing views on Sherlock. "He just needs to keep the case and have something to stimulate his brain."
"He failed to turn up to his suit fitting for his little sister's wedding," Charles pointed out, dropping the glasses which he wore down his nose and then looking into the doorway of the walk in wardrobe as he saw Clare walk out. She had her baggy pyjamas covering her small frame and bed socks were placed on her feet. "He could at least do that for you."
"I know," Clare repeated. "I know what he thinks of this wedding, Charles."
"Ha," Charles snorted loudly, pushing his blonde hair behind his ears and dropped in his book onto his lap, the front cover and blurb visible as it rested on top of the large, brown duvet. "He thinks I corrupted you, Clare."
"I've told him you did no such thing," Clare replied in a slow drawl as she stood by the mahogany dressing table where one half of the wood contained her things and the other contained his. She opened up the tub of moisturiser and rubbed it into her hands. "It was my choice to drop out of university...it wasn't anything to do with you."
"Sherlock doesn't see it like that," he replied in a low voice. "He thinks that you left to be closer to me in London and no amount of yelling at him and telling him otherwise will persuade him different."
"Sherlock just needs time, Charles," Clare pleaded with him as she pulled back her side of the covers and climbed into the bed, settling down beside her fiancé as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, picking up his book again and looking at it through his small green eyes. "He just needs to see that I'm happy with you and that I haven't messed up my future."
"You don't think that, do you?"
"No," Clare replied quickly back to him, hitting him gently on the stomach. "You know I love you, Charles."
"Just checking," he replied in a chuckle, reading his book again as Clare shut her eyes, nestling closer to her fiancé.
"I said I'd go around to his apartment tomorrow night...just to see if we can get along for an hour maximum..."
...
"You cannot keep fingers in the fridge, Sherlock," Clare complained as she opened the cold cupboard and pulled the milk out of the shelf. Sherlock was stood by the middle table in his kitchen of 221 B as he looked into his microscope, his curly black hair falling into his face as he spoke back to her in a low tone;
"They're cooling before I open them up to explore-"
"-Stop," Clare demanded before he could carry on. "I don't care what you're looking for, Sherlock."
"Well don't scold me as if I am a child for using my own fridge for my own purposes," Sherlock huffed and Clare rolled her eyes, pouring the milk into the pot of tea before placing it back into the fridge. "Why are you really here anyway?"
"I thought it would just be nice to talk, Sherlock." Clare said, complaining in her mind that she even had to explain that to her brother.
"I have a new flatmate coming around to look at the flat tonight," Sherlock replied lowly. "So I don't have a lot of time."
Clare remained silent, trying not to drop the cup of tea which she was holding as she leant against the worktop with wide eyes, her blue orbs peering at Sherlock.
"A flatmate? You do realise that is another human being?" she checked with him and he looked up from his microscope and rolled his eyes before he stood up and grabbed his own cup of tea. He held the mug in one hand, his other hand resting on his hip which was covered by his purple shirt.
"Very amusing," he spoke back to her. "I need someone to go halves on the rent with. He's coming to look soon."
"How did you manage to get someone to agree to this?" Clare wondered aloud as Sherlock shrugged.
"He is an ex-army doctor. Back from Afghanistan and needs a place to stay."
"So he's a stranger," Clare said and Sherlock simply raised his brow at her and she shook her head again. "No he's not...you managed to look at him and find out his whole life."
"Of course," Sherlock said smugly.
"Anyway," Clare said, "I'm intrigued now."
"I wish you weren't."
"You've never had any friends, Sherlock."
"He's not a friend. He is just a flatmate."
"I think it will end up being something deeper than that," Clare said, knowing she was right this time as Sherlock rolled his eyes and dropped the subject of Doctor John Watson.
"So how is Charles?" he asked and Clare snorted once.
"Don't pretend you care."
"I was being polite."
"Makes a change."
"Are we planning on being civil to each other?" Sherlock said and Clare remained silent once as she nodded finally.
"Charles is good. He's busy at work with the tax year end," she shrugged. "He...he thinks it might be a good idea if we all go out for dinner before the wedding. He can bring his parents and I can invite you and Mycroft."
"Really?" Sherlock raised a brow, a smirk growing on his face as Clare managed to smile back at him lightly.
"I said it wasn't a good idea," she told her brother, draining the rest of her tea. "I wouldn't want you to say something and upset my in-laws...anyway, I had best get going."
"I went to my suit fitting," Sherlock informed his sister, placing his cup onto the side as Clare shrugged into her coat, fastening it up down to her stomach and up to her chin as she pushed her black, curled hair behind her shoulders. "I picked the suit up today and it is in my wardrobe."
"Thank you," Clare said politely.
"No problem," Sherlock assured her.
"I'll see you later, Sherlock," Clare responded.
"Look after yourself."
Clare took off down the steps off 221 B and moved onto the pathway, not before bumping into a small, blonde man who was looking at the door with intent. She grinned gently, knowing who he was as soon as she saw his firm stance and his walking stick.
"He's in there, Doctor Watson," she said to the man and he looked at her, the face of confusion evident on his features as she dropped his gaze and managed to quickly hail a cab. John didn't know who she was and he didn't get a chance to ask, but he did know she was going to play a large part in his life.