Ah, family dinners. They should be synonymous with peace, relaxation and good times.
Not.
Here it was, half-an-hour until Sherlock was due to arrive. and Mum still had me slaving away in the kitchen. This dinner was a disaster waiting to happen. Since Sherlock had refused payment in return for finding me, my mother now seemed to think we owed him an enormous debt that could only be chipped away at with a scrupulously clean house and a dinner big enough for 10 people and their pet elephants. And she wasn't even making Dad help with her frenzied cleaning rush! He just got to sit around all day and read, which was completely unfair. I had important things to do, too, but did my mother care? No.
Molly was totally going bonkers, too. She came home for the weekend to get ready for dinner. The whole weekend. For dinner.
And what did her beloved baby sister get for her birthday? A card. Two weeks late.
I hid from Mum and Molly for as long as I could, but was eventually dragged into the mayhem.
I scrubbed. I washed. I tidied. I tried to cook, until I set off the smoke alarm.
It was at this point that Mum suggested a card for Sherlock. I inwardly rebelled. I was clearly too old for this type of thing! She still insisted on sitting me down with a box of pencils and told to make something nice, but when she saw a sample of my artwork for Sherlock (which may possibly have involved blood and dragons and decapitation), I was let off the hook and told to scram. Obligingly, I did as I was told, and made myself scarce.
I was in the middle of locking all the doors to the house when I heard a knock at the front door. With great cunning and stealth, I scrambled up the stairs to spy on Molly and Sherlock from the landing.
"Coming!" I heard Molly call. There was a loud commotion of banging and clattering in the kitchen. That was probably dinner. I began to reconcile myself to a meal of burnt and broken delicacies.
I was just wondering if I might have enough time to answer the door and tell Sherlock that Molly had changed her mind about the whole thing when Molly came flying down the hall. Her attempt to casually open the door was thwarted by the bolt I had so thoughtfully fastened moments before. You know, to guard against burglars and such.
"Emma!" Molly muttered. She probably forgot the bit at the end where she meant to say, "Thank you for your kindness in protecting the family from this source of danger." I mentally added it on for her.
She fumbled with the lock for a moment, before finally succeeding in opening it and letting Sherlock inside. I felt a chill when he stepped over the threshold. A sense of foreboding. Quite possibly combined with the draft that Molly was letting in because she was probably too busy smiling like an idiot to remember to close the door behind Sherlock.
The stairs weren't proving to be the best vantage point. "Hi, Sherlock." I cautiously peered around the corner, attempting to get a better view. Yes, indeed, Molly was definitely smiling like an idiot.
"Hello, Molly." Sherlock was not smiling, but the corners of his mouth appeared to be quirking slightly. I couldn't decided if this was good or bad.
"So, em, did you have a good trip, then?" Molly asked, shifting from foot to foot. I darkly wished that there had been an inconvenient accident aboard the train that prevented it from reaching all the way out here.
"Tolerable. I was unfortunately placed between a couple who was pretending to fight but wished to make up, and I endured several hours of snide comments and lovelorn looks before I finally forced the girl to switch seats with me."
"Oh? Well, did it work?" Molly's voice was so syrupy-sweet that I couldn't help rolling my eyes.
"They were kissing and I was disgusted, if that's what you mean."
"Ohhh, Sherlock! That's so sweet that you brought them back together!"
"Oh, Sherlock, you're suuuch a sweety pie! I'd like to give you a good peck on the lips myself!" I mouthed, trying to keep the gagging sounds in check.
Sherlock's gaze flickered in the direction of where I was hiding, and I stifled a snicker. If only they knew!
"Well, uh, I suppose you want to see my mum and dad, then?" Molly asked. "I don't know where Emma's gotten to. She was just running around here a little bit ago."
"Oh, I don't know," said Sherlock, sounding bored. "You could try checking about eight steps up and around the corner."
"Wha-" Molly's footsteps suddenly approached the stairway, and I gasped and clattered hastily up the stairs. The nerve! He'd known I was there the whole time!
Molly yelled something behind me about sleeping with one eye open that night, but I ignored her and ran straight for my room, slamming the door shut behind me. They could try to get me out of here all they wanted. I'd just stay in here and refuse to be social and ruin the whole visit! Served them right.
I sat for a few minutes in smug satisfaction, but eventually, I had to admit that my plan had backfired. No one was banging on my door demanding that I come help with anything. No one was yelling for me to come be polite and visit. In fact, it seemed that everyone in the house was doing their best to completely and utterly ignore me!
Thoroughly insulted and determined to make this situation right, I stormed out of my room and back down the stairs to the living room, only to be confronted by the thoroughly revolting scene of Molly and Sherlock flirting. They were pretending to discuss some sort of class they had together, but the way she kept glancing shyly up at him, and the way he kept smiling little half-smiles at her… Ugh. Positively sickening.
Dad was in there, pretending to read the paper and and occasionally smirking at the two of them over the top of it. He winked at me, although it looked a little bit more like a wince. Clearly the man was in pain, suffering from an overdose of Sherlock and Molly. I definitely sympathized with his feelings.
Before I could make known the depth of my wounded feelings, my dear, beloved mother called that dinner was ready, and I was caught up in the general bustle of washing hands and pulling out chairs and passing dishes. If a glass of ice water accidentally got dumped in Sherlock's lap during all the commotion, well, could the person who spilled it really be blamed?
Dinner was long and slow and excruciatingly boring. I don't know who thought that it was okay to make me sit between Molly and Sherlock. All of those sidelong, lingering glances exchanged over my head… It made me want to throw up, and I intercepted as many of them as possible with death glares. Dad apparently thought it was hilarious and would give me a knowing grin every once in a while.
As soon as the Dinner of Nightmares drew to a close, I was determined to escape back to my room. But what was this? Molly and Sherlock had decided to take a walk around the neighborhood.
Decisions! The last thing I wanted to do was watch more flirting, but I couldn't let this situation get any more out of hand. I had to put a stop to this. "Oh good!" I declared loudly. "I'd love to go for an evening stroll!" Molly glared at me, Sherlock looked resigned, and Dad just started laughing again.