This is a short one, a thank you to jwxsh who beta'ed my last fic - your wicked blood and your curls - which is on A03 if you want to read it.

By the way, I'm wohtson on Tumblr if you want to talk to me now.

This chapter happens later than the first two. Just pretend Johnlock is established, alright? Chapter 2's part two will be up eventually. There's also one brief mention of jolto.

Enjoy.

Enola braces herself for entry into the flat, wiping the tears off of her face and plastering on a fake smile. Her breath hitches, and the smile drops. Sherlock would know she'd been crying anyway, but hopefully he wouldn't call her on it.

She slowly steps inside, holding her breath past Mrs. Hudson's, tiptoeing up the stairs, and shutting the door carefully behind her. Sherlock's not in the sitting room, and she allows herself to let loose the breath she'd been holding. It hitches, and the tears start falling again, and she lets her book bag fall on the ground.

"Enola?" A familiar voice calls out, and immediately she stiffens and whirls around so her back faces them. She can hear footsteps - John's - pad out of the kitchen. She curses mentally, forgetting all about his day off from work.

"Sorry," she says, her voice more raspy and hoarse than she'd like. She swipes another hand over her face, clears her throat, turns back around, and forces a smile. "I didn't know anyone else was home."

"Sherlock's out doing God-knows what," John says, rolling his eyes. She makes a humming noise in agreement, her shoulders shuddering slightly. John notices this and squints at her closely, eyes widening. "Are you okay? Enola, what's wrong?"

"It's nothing," she says, cursing herself mentally for letting her body betray her. He's looking more and more concerned, and she hastily decides to lie, "I failed a test today."

John raises an eyebrow. "You failed a test?" he repeats, looking at her in disbelief.

Enola nods. "It was a math test," she adds lamely, biting her bottom lip. She scuffs one of her shoes into the carpet.

John chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment, considering this. She can tell he doesn't believe her. "Well," he says slowly, gesturing behind him to the kitchen. "I was just about to have some ice cream. Join me?"

Enola hesitates. What she really wants is to go to her room, but she doesn't want to be rude. "What flavor?"

"Strawberry," John says, and Enola sort of smiles, in spite of herself.

"That's my favorite," she says. He grins back at her.

"Mine too." John turns to go head back into the kitchen, telling her to drop her stuff off in her room and come back. She trudges to her room, throws her things on her bed. She hastily scrubs her eyes one last time before heading back to the kitchen, shoving her phone in her back pocket.

John's sitting down on one of the chairs, already digging into the carton. He looks up when she walks back in, spoon in his mouth, and holds out another to her.

"They're both clean," he promises. "Experiment free. I washed them myself."

She takes it and sinks onto the stool next to him, half-heartedly digging the spoon in and getting a bite. She rests her chin on her palm.

They eat in silence for a few minutes, Enola moodily stabbing her spoon in the tub. John watches her, eyebrow raised. "Well," he says finally, a little hesitant, "I may not be your brother, but I can still tell that something's wrong. Do you want to talk about it?"

Enola sighs, scrapes off another bite and sticks it in her mouth. "Cecily broke up with me today."

"Oh," John says sympathetically, a knowing look on his face. "Relationship trouble." He pushes the bin closer to her. "I think you need this more than I do."

Enola circles an arm around the bin and eats another scoop. She waves her spoon in the air and scowls. "Over a text!"

John makes a face. "Did she say why?"

"She's moving to Italy," Enola says. "Her parents are going through a divorce. Her mom's trying to move away from her dad. She's just afraid it's not going to last."

"She's probably going through a lot right now," John says. He sets his spoon down on the table, looking thoughtful. "Maybe you can still stay friends?"

Enola's shoulders slump a little, and she half-heartedly twirls her spoon around. "That's what she said. But that never works."

"You never know," John says, pointing his spoon at her. "I think if you're dedicated enough, anything's possible."

She screws her lips up to the side. "I guess so," she says, unconvinced. "Have you ever had a long distance relationship?"

John looks a little sheepish, and she snorts. "I thought so."

"It just didn't work out," John protests. "When I was deployed, we were going to try. But," he shrugs, trailing off. "It didn't. She met somebody new."

"Oh," Enola says, suddenly a little embarrassed. "That's terrible."

John grins, looks moony-eyed for a moment. "Well, it wasn't fun at the time, that's for sure. But I met someone, too; his name was James. My commanding officer," he adds, and Enola's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. "Then I got shot, met Sherlock, and the rest is history."

Enola crinkles her nose at the mention of her brother. "As happy as I am for you two, ew."

John picks up his spoon and sneaks a bite of ice cream while she's distracted. He pats her on the shoulder. "You'll meet someone else," he promises. "Was she your first girlfriend?"

Enola nods, her lips curling to one side in a sorry half smile.

John mimics it. "First love is always hard."

Enola puts another spoonful of strawberry in her mouth. "Yeah? Who was your first crush?" she asks, mumbling around the mouthful.

John's cheeks tinge with pink, and he sticks his spoon in his mouth and shakes his head. Enola furrows her brow a bit and grins, nudging his arm with her elbow.

"Come on, John," she wheedles. "You can tell me; it's only embarrassing when you talk about Sherlock."

John's cheeks turn a little bit redder. "Don't tell Sherlock," he warns, and she mimes zipping her lips and throwing away the key. "Pierce Brosnan."

Her eyes light up. "So that's why we're always watching Bond movies!" She laughs and laughs, and John grins a little sheepishly at her, and Enola feels so much better now.

Sherlock storms in and slams the door behind him. He pulls off his scarf and throws it on the couch, stomping over and plopping down. Molly kicked him out of the lab. Again.

He hears a stray giggle in the kitchen and frowns. Another one follows a few moments later, and Sherlock narrows his eyes. He pops back up and sticks his head around the corner to the kitchen.

John and Enola are sitting at the table, a melted tub of ice cream between them, sticky pink stained on their faces. Enola is holding her stomach and giggling, John laughing and widely gesturing to go on with a story.

"And so, she was standing there, still waiting on me, barbecue sauce all over her skirt, and Tom and I were trying to get the pants back on the-"

Enola is absolutely howling, John completely immersed in telling the story. Neither notice he's there. Sherlock blinks rapidly before high-tailing it out of there, taking the stairs two at a time up to his and John's room.

Enola's helping John wipe up the kitchen when her phone vibrates in her back pocket. She pulls it out and frowns, flipping it around so the screen faces John.

Cecily, it reads. He raises an eyebrow wordlessly.

She hesitates, finger hovering over the answer button. He inclines his head towards her.

"Well?" he asks. "Aren't you going to answer it?"

Enola hesitates for a moment more, purses her lips, and hits accept. She holds it up to her ear.

"Hello?" she says hesitantly. "Cece?"

The voice on the other hand babbles something that John can't quite make out. Enola bites her lip and presses her phone to her shoulder.

"She says she wants to talk," she tells John, heart fluttering in her chest. "Maybe she wants to get back together?"

John rolls one of his shoulders. "Go talk to her, then," he whispers, and Enola lifts the phone back to her ear.

"Yeah, I'd like to," she says, almost shyly. She hesitates, John still watching her, amused. "Can you hold on a moment though?"

Cecily must agree, because Enola lowers her phone again, and she beams at him. "Thank you," she says, to which he waves a hand as if it was no big deal. In a split second decision, she leans forward to give him a side hug, one that he returns, surprised.

She turns and walks off to her room, phone to her ear. "Yeah, I'm back; what is it exactly you wanted to talk about? Because if you called to break up with me again, I'm hanging up on you."

John snorts, shaking his head. He puts the tub of ice cream back in the freezer and leans against the counter. First love, he thinks, shuddering slightly. Ugh. He makes a mental note to buy more ice cream and heads up the stairs to go join Sherlock.

I love John & Enola being bros, bonding and all that. This is loosely based off of a textpost about Sherlock & Rosie by atikiology on Tumblr, but I changed it up a bit to fit this AU.

Also, I was going to leave this fic incomplete because I hadn't gotten any feedback on it. So thank you sooo much for the three of you who reviewed! This one was also for you.