Hi my dear readers! Chris actually wrote this part a month ago, but I've been too busy to translate! I am sorry I kept you waiting for so long! *bows*
Again, this is unbeta-ed, so all mistakes belong to me, and please point them out so I can correct them :D
Chapter 3
John stood near the basin, staring at the pouting Sherlock and Mycroft who was gently slicing the bread and could only be described as "virtuous"(quite on the domestic side, of course), and suddently felt warm in his chest.
He leant on the faucet, tying imaginary aprons on Sherlock and Mycroft in his mind, smiling and thinking that this dusk was extremely comforting in its own way-even in his darkest hours, he had friends with him.
"Do you need me to call Harry here?" Sherlock shot him a glance before focusing on ravaging the cupboards once more.
"That is clearly unnecessary. Why would you think of this in the first place?-if you are looking for plates, they are in the second to left cabinet."
Sherlocked eyed him again. He snickered quietly as he passed some plates to Mycroft.
"What?" John folded his arms and looked him, slightly irritated.
"No, sorry, it wasn't at you-" Sherlock looked toward his brother, "A certain someone has taken the matter into his own hands and called Harry."
Are the Holmes brothers never satisfied of chaotic situations...?
"Don't you worry, I've explained everything to her, and she said she's arriving just tonight. Everyone cares about his or her brother." Mycroft threw Sherlock a meaningful glance, while the latter stayed nonchalant on purpose.
What was that saying? John studied the Holmes brothers' faces silently-"When a hot face meets a cold butt?"***(see end of chapter)
He stared at the brothers, and decided not to bring the topic of Harry up again.
The night fell, and the sound of knifes and forks together with the cracking of the fire filled up 221B warmly. They sat by the table(and also on it), devouring their food silently.(In the rare occasions when neither John nor Mrs. Hudson is there to cook, dinner time becomes as unpredictable as the personalities of the Holmes brothers.)
The light of the cars below flashed by the window. Sherlock and Mycroft put down their forks in unison.
"What?" John was holding a toothpick as if holding a gun, on the tip of the toothpick there was a teeny crumb of steak. He stared at the nervous Holmes brothers. Though confused, a sense of danger still rose immediately in his body.
Sherlock pursed his lips at Mycroft and tilted his chin. Mycroft sighed quietly before rising and walking to the door, pulling open the door of 221B.
Harry was standing dumbfounded outside the door, her hand still reaching out to press the doorbell.
"Hello, Miss Watson." Mycroft reached out his right hand politely.
Harry had the same soft blonde hair as John, and the same blue eyes, but she was not very pretty. She nodded and shook his hand obediently.
John rose from the napkin he was sitting on, walked to the edge of the table and looked towards the direction of the door, unable to determine in which way he should greet his sister.
Sherlock rose from his seat at the same time and stood by Mycroft.
"Would you like to have a look at John?" The brothers made way for Harry.
She stumbled a bit when she came in, and John felt bizarre.
He felt like a just-born baby in a delivery room, and Harry was a father, hearing the doctors say "Do you want to go in and have a look at your little baby boy?"
"Harry." He uttered the word just to make his 6-inch figure a bit more obvious to Harry.
"Oh!" Harry sighed when she saw John, "How adorable!"
-John could swear that it was the first time in his life that he heard his sister actually praise him. But as his sister usually displayed a very unusual taste in things, he somehow felt beaten.
"Miss Watson, do you need some rest?"Mycroft looked at his watch, "I don't think John will object to your using his room."
John looked at Mycroft in awe, the latter one, in turn, was looking at Sherlock with a subtle smile on his face.
He was totally baffled by the situation now.
Harry said something fuzzily, and walked in John's direction, then she waved her hand at him, trying to give him a hand-hug.
She was obviously drunk again.
Mycroft caught her mid-air just in time, and dragged her to the upstairs room.
"When had I agreed to this?"John shouted at Mycroft's back,"I've never slept in the same room with her since I was six!"
"Clearly you cannot sleep in your bed alone." Sherlock took in his now six-inch-tall figure, "We worry that you might slip down and get stifled by your quilt, or get lost."
"Then how and where can I rest?-Oh God!"He grasped Sherlock's words.
Thus, John was carried into Sherlock's room, and was did not understand why Sherlock took a flat plate with him until he placed that plate near his pillow.
Sherlock eyed John and shrugged: "The plate is of proper size."
"..."He looked at Sherlock disbelievingly,"What do you think my back is made of?"
Sherlock took some cotton and a handkerchief out of his pocket:"Mycroft brings not only bollocks. Once in a while he brings some useful things."
John tried hard not to think how it would be if he suddenly turns back to his normal size when he is sleeping on a plate by Sherlock's pillow.
"...Good night."
"Mmm."
What a strange night this would be.
-And morning.
The first thing Sherlock did when he woke up was instinctively checking the poor doctor on a plate.
But the plate held only cotton and a crippled handkerchief.
He sat up abruptly, and began shouting John's name.
"Please stop shouting, Sherlock." A feeble voice came from the nightstand on his right.
Seeing John, who was putting all his strength in folding Sherlock's shirt, he froze in the morning light.
Mini John intended to walk back onto the bed, but was caught by the shirt under his feet, and tripped, falling face-first into the soft dark purple fabric. He fell with a small "puff" sound.
Sherlock snickered.
He lifted John by the collar, and gingerly put him down on the pillow.
"Owww,"John protested as his bottom hit the pillow,"seeing that I am helping you clean the table and fold the shirts, can you give a bit of respect?"
The fog was just the right amount in the London air.
The golden morning sunshine suddenly broke free from the mists and shed its splendours into 221B.
Tranquil and beautiful.
***: traditional Chinese idiom, which means someone is willing and arduous in helping another person and the said person paid him or her no attention whatsoever, let alone gratitude.
Author's note: Why...why...why is this...weird, out-of control plot...OTL, weakened...
...Did you like it? Please, please review! Your one review make two people happy! :D