Sorry about the delayed update, I've been busy working on a new Sherlock one-shot called 'Let Me Live' about the day John got shot in the shoulder. I put it up the other day if any one of you are interested :)

I have to admit I don't like this chapter, but I promise the story line will start picking up again soon!

Please review :)

Harry

Sometimes you get that feeling when something's waiting for you on the other side of the door, but today I had no idea who might be standing in 221B Baker Street when I came back from a walk.

I had taken up walking a lot recently, mainly because, at first, Sherlock literally pushed me out the door, barking orders at me and making me feel like I was back in the army, saying that walking and fresh air would make me feel better and I should make the most of it before it starts raining. I feel like he always needs something to boss me around with, and now I'm willingly taking my medication, he's had to come up with something else.

It had been a few weeks since I had started taking the anti-depressants. The first week was horrible, just like it was the first time I started taking them, and once more I was tempted to throw them in the bin, but Sherlock knew what I wanted to do so did everything possible to try and stop me and, unfortunately some of his tactics did work so I found myself continuing to take them. They were a little easier to deal with this time, as like he said, I now had a friend to support me through it.

I always thought (no offence to him) that Sherlock would be useless at any sort of comfort and support, either he had a caring side to him that he was starting to show in these dark moments or he blamed himself for the reason why I had to take the horrible medication in the first place, but it turns out he's very good at providing support. There were a couple of times when I couldn't sleep and I just stayed up all night thinking about all the terrible things that were running round my head and the darkness pressing on my heart, and Sherlock was there, sitting next to me and looking like he wasn't tired or annoyed or bored. He didn't say anything if I had nothing to say, and he knew there would be no words to comfort me, but just him sitting there was a comfort and convinced me that perhaps he wasn't going to disappear again anytime soon.

The days, hours and minutes ticked past tortuously slowly during that week, but the whole time Sherlock was there, and after a while the food he was forcing me to eat and the medication was making me feel a little bit better. Sleeping was difficult, I kept on having terrible dreams about seeing different people falling from a tall building and smashing into concrete, but over time my nights were becoming dreamless, and when he felt it was safe enough for me to leave the house without me doing anything foolish, Sherlock sent me on walks and I found my mood improving even more. Unbelievably, I was actually getting better.

I feel like I am becoming a new person, but I'm not, I'm becoming the person I was before. I look in the mirror and don't see a tortured man, I see John Watson.

There were still problems that had not been sorted out yet though, but I just tried not to think about them. However little did I know Sherlock was trying to fix them himself, until I open the door of 221B Baker Street.

I can hear two voices as I make my way up the stairs, too muffled for me to work out who the owners are and what they might be talking about, but one of them definitely sounds like Sherlock. I have no idea who would be with him on the other side of the door though until I stepped into the living room and the two figures turned and stared at me.

Harry is standing there. She looks fairly different from when I had last seen her, but then again, it has been a while since I had seen her. She definitely looks thinner, even her dark brown hair looks thin as it passes just down her shoulders, she often looked like this when she tried to give up alcohol. Despite the drinking though she had always looked thin and younger than she actually was, and her large brown eyes I was looking into now spoke of the worry she was feeling, who knows what Sherlock has just been telling her.

"What's going on?" Though I dare not ask, there was a reason why me and Harry didn't see each other much, our last text conversation emphasising this, was this really the time to have her randomly appear in my house?

There was a short pause, while Harry thought desperately about what to say.

"I thought it would be nice to invite your sister over for tea," Sherlock cut in brightly. "And tell her absolutely everything."

"You're joking..." I began, staring at him, but Sherlock hardly ever jokes, and I have a feeling he's not going to start now.

I didn't think about how Harry would react to seeing me, but I would assume it would not be a nice one, especially after our last argument. If Sherlock had told her everything she would be devastated and angry to hear about the things I've been doing, or attempting to do.

I was shocked then when Harry suddenly rushed up to me and threw her arms around me. "Oh John, I'm so sorry," she said. "Why didn't you tell me you were in trouble?"

This sudden closeness with my sister is something I'm not used to, and I'm not quite sure why she apologised. I hope Sherlock hasn't suggested that anything that has happened was her fault.

She drew away after our hug, and gave a small, comforting smile when she saw my confused face. "Sherlock told me everything."

"Yes he just said," I mumbled, glancing over in Sherlock's direction, who tried his best to look like he was perfectly innocent in all things. I often began to wonder why I called this man my friend, despite the fact he probably meant well, he had no right to do this behind my back and tell Harry everything. I didn't want Harry to know what I've been through. "I'm not sure why he asked you to visit..." I began.

"He came round to find me, actually," Harry admitted, I didn't bother asking how Sherlock got my sister's address, after living with him for a couple of years there's really no need. "He explained everything and how...families should stick together sometimes, so I decided to come and see you."

"I'm fixing bridges," Sherlock put in brightly, as if he was quite pleased with his work. I have to admit it was nice to see my sister again, even though it was perhaps not at the best time. "Thought it would be helpful...useful, to have a bit of family back in your life. I don't know about you but I think it's time to put petty sibling squabbles aside and start something new." I decided not to point out the 'petty sibling squabbles' Sherlock had almost daily with his brother Mycroft, perhaps after this I would persuade him to try and get on with his brother, the thought of that made me smile a little.

Did Mycroft know that Sherlock was alive though? I tried not to think of that, I focused instead on the small smile still on my sister's face, and was grateful to see it there, most of the time when I picture her face she looks so angry. It would be nice to fill in the hole in my life that I could still feel, and know that my sister still cared about me without getting into any arguments. We persuaded her to stay for lunch.