Four
Rebellion

This was going surprisingly well.

Sherlock hadn't insulted, put down, or attacked any of my family or their friends once. Well, maybe once... or twice… or thrice. But those times hadn't really been serious enough to cause a stir. If anything, Sherlock had been mostly courteous, even downright delightful on some occasions, and I was starting to think that maybe I hadn't given him enough credit.

Sure, when we weren't surrounded by judgemental relatives he could be slightly obnoxious, but maybe that was just a signal of how relaxed he felt around me and John. He wasn't even that bad normally – just a bit temperamental.

I remembered the bullet-punched smiley face in the wall of 221B.

Ok, so maybe temperamental wasn't the right word for it.

Here, though, he was keeping the crazy tightly locked inside.

For some reason, that made me nervous.

"Mum," I got the woman, whom was busily clearing away the left over cold meats', attention by gently tapping her on the arm, "have you seen Sherlock?"

And just because he was temporarily acting the part of the good boyfriend didn't mean I was too keen on the idea of him talking to the people at this party without my supervision.

My mother picked up the large dish from the table and balanced it on her arm. "Hmm? I think I saw him out in the hall a few minutes ago."

I thanked her and went to investigate.

Nice Sherlock I could handle, but that didn't mean I liked him like that. It was weird and wrong and twisted and simply not how he should act, but I was grateful for it at this gathering. Normal Sherlock would have dumped me right back in my parents' Things To Be Worried About book.

Sherlock, however, whether nice or normal, had an annoying habit of suddenly changing his mind.

"Oh, and the ointment isn't working by the way. I'd go back to your doctor and ask for something else."

I blinked and stopped.

I saw the curly mop of dark hair as the back of Sherlock's head waltzed past the stunned face of my brother and away from me.

Frick.

His mind had just changed.

My brother's mouth flapped open and shut in shock, clearly trying to think of some witty comeback. I rolled my eyes, guessing that now might be a good time to have another little chat with the mad detective, but those thoughts were instantly knocked away.

I noticed where Sherlock was heading. And then I noticed his attire.

I ignored my floundering brother and hurried after him, just managing to catch the front door before it swung shut.

"Sherlock!" I called to the coated figure retreating down the garden path. "Sherlock, where are you going?"

The man didn't pause, but I did manage to catch his simple reply over the crunching of my heels on the gravel.

"Home."

Jesus Christ, what had my brother said? It surely couldn't have been that bad. Sherlock was doing so well.

"What? Why?" I snapped, finally making it across the treacherous path and onto the safer pavement.

Sherlock at last stopped. He twisted and glared at me. My puzzlement vanished, leaving only a vague sense of hurt in its place. What was he angry at me for? I caught up to him and planted my feet loudly on the concrete, hoping it might convey my determination to him.

It seemed like it did, as Sherlock grunted and looked away, 'I'm not impressed' written across his face.

"I've completed what I came here to do." He answered as if it were painstakingly obvious – both that his task was done and just what that task actually was. I had guessed as soon as Sherlock informed me he was coming that there was some dark ulterior motive behind this journey, and that was no doubt what stopped the feeling of rejection creeping up on me at his words. This was Sherlock, after all. And Sherlock didn't do anything without a purpose.

"And what was that?"

Sherlock turned back to me, eyes narrowed angrily. "You really should try this observation lark at some point. You never know, you might actually learn something. Oh, I'm sorry; I forgot that improving your mind is a foolish concept in your world. Maybe you should just skip back inside and discuss things you already know with people you don't even like."

My jaw clenched.

He hadn't been that poisonous in a while.

"Sherlock," I said evenly, remaining as calm and focused as I could, "why did you come here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he shouted, waving his arms about wildly. "I just wanted to inform your darling brother that I will not be ordered about like some dog."

My brain did a backflip. "Hang on, what? What did Lucas do?"

"Oh, he emailed me a few days ago with a command to show up today," Sherlock dismissed, "but what he told me to do is unimportant. It's the fact that he did which isn't."

I paused for a moment and collected my thoughts into something more sensible than the tangled mess they were rapidly becoming. Something here was not right. Lucas was overprotective, but not a jerk. He didn't even like Sherlock; why would he want him here?

"So," I started slowly, thinking I might actually have gotten something straight in my head, "you came here – as Lucas told you – to let him know – and stop me if I've gotten this wrong – that you won't do anything he tells you to."

Sherlock gave a flippant flick of his head. "Anything sounds illogical when you say it like that."

I tried not to smile, biting my lower lip in the process. "Yeah, it does, doesn't it?"

Sherlock merely grunted and started walking away again. I shook my head in wonder.

"Alright, fine!" I yelled at his disappearing form. "Just go, then! To be honest, I'm surprised you managed to hold out this long without cracking! Good! I guess I'll just go and make up some excuse as to why you're not here anymore, shall I? You know, I'm getting rather good at excuses!"

He didn't stop. I mumbled something unpleasant under my breath.

"Annie, what's happening?"

I swept around so fast I was lucky to retain my balance. My face clouded over, all the frustration I was feeling being twisted and directed at this new arrival. I poked my finger into his chest and leered.

"How dare you email my… my… my Sherlock like that!"

Lucas took a step backwards, eyebrows perked and hands raised defensively. "Whoa, I thought you'd be pleased."

"Pleased?" I spat accusingly. "Why on earth would I be pleased with you ordering him around like that?"

It took a second to register, but once it did Lucas's expression became decidedly more confused. "Huh? Ordering? I never ordered him to do anything."

"Oh, really?" my voice was back to a somewhat more normal level by now, but the critical tone continued. I crossed my arms. "Then what did you say?"

Lucas shrugged. "I just pointed out that he no doubt wouldn't be able to fool our parents into thinking he was normal so it was probably for the best that he wasn't showing up today. Of course, he saw straight through it, but that didn't mean it didn't work. He turned up, didn't he?"

My anger froze. I didn't seem able to move my feet. "You… you used reverse psychology on Sherlock Holmes?"

"Come on, Annie," he answered with a scoff, "he's so proud it probably works better on him than anyone else. Or have you forgotten I'm a teacher and therefore used to dealing with petulant brats?"

I frowned, still not completely understanding what was going on. "Why did you even want him here?"

Lucas shook his head at me and rolled his eyes, a small smile on his face. "I didn't, did I? But I thought you might."

"That's stupid." I told him with a whack to the arm. I looked down, feeling rather ashamed at my previous outburst. "Thank you."

I didn't notice that my brother's attention had been captured by something over my shoulder until I heard the deep voice.

"Actually, I think I'll take Melanie with me."

My head snapped up as the hand grasped my wrist and started pulling. I was too surprised to even complain that Sherlock was forcibly leading me away from my own father's party, but luckily I didn't have to; something else stopped Sherlock's gait.

"What's goin' on out here?" I heard my father ask from behind me.

"Ooo, are we going outside now?"

I looked up and saw three people now standing on the doorstep to the house. My father seemed confused. The prim lady I didn't recognise seemed oblivious to anything strange. My haughty aunt just seemed upset.

"I was meaning to have a word with you about the state of your lawn, Arthur." She said in a croaky rasp.

Sherlock let out an annoyed sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl. He clearly just wanted to leave.

"Annie, Luke, what're you doin' here?" my father called to us.

"I… er…" I stuttered, not knowing what to say. Just what were we doing here? Was I leaving? Was Sherlock actually going to be successful in his whims yet again? "We-"

"Oh, for Christ's sake." Sherlock decisively said.

I watched, frozen by shock, as he calmly strolled up the pavement, turned onto the driveway, approached my father, carried on past him and stopped directly in front of his elderly sister. I could barely believe it when he then proceeded to lower his head and place it directly into the paisley shirt of her cleavage. It therefore blew my mind when he started shaking his head from side to side while making a mumbling noise.

He stood up straight again and peered at the others, none of whom had moved an inch while this was taking place.

"There," he started loudly, "everybody hate me? Good. There's no chance that I'll be accepted into this house again? Great. Come on, Melanie."

It was proof of just how stunned I was that I didn't make a single syllable of protest as he took me by the hand and started steering me down the street.

We were a few roads away when we stopped.

Sherlock calmly let go of my palm and eyed my features.

I could tell he was expecting some sort of ranting tirade telling him off like a proper person would.

I just blinked.

"Did you just," I finally managed to make out, "did you just motorboat my eighty-year-old aunt?"

"Yes."

It began as a twitch.

Then my lips pursed themselves together.

Then a short highly inappropriate giggle escaped from my throat.

Sherlock tried not to smile in return. "It's not as if you like her, anyway."

I broke. My head flopped down onto the madman's shoulder as a stream of chuckles left my lips, each laugh giving the next one more energy. Sherlock's chest moved jaggedly as he too was swept over into a fit of breathy sniggers.

"I'm going to have to go back for my coat, you know." I reminded him.

Sherlock's chortles became louder.

I realise the last couple of chapters weren't that brilliant. Please forgive me. I promise what I have planned will ensure it gets better.

I think Hounds might have been my favourite episode so far. Serious kudos to Mr Gatiss.

Everyone looking forward to Reichenbach on Sunday I hope. Gah. All week I've done nothing but fanspaz and try not to squeal with all the emotions bubbling up inside me. There's nothing wrong with being more excited about a TV show than your own life, is there?

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