Two shots rang out from the living room. Squish's eyes snapped open; she knew that gun. she reached over and picked up her phone from the charger. 6:30. She fell back on the pillow, they'd only got back to Baker Street at 1 and she was exhausted. Rolling out of bed and she reached for her dressing gown.

Sherlock was lying on the sofa facing the wall; a revolver was on the coffee table. Squish regarded the scene and was now thoroughly pissed off.

"Sherlock? Do you know the time?"

"Hmm? Yes its 6:33, and there is nothing happening. It's sickening that just because it's what some people might call early that the criminal classes don't do anything."

"Yes its 6:30" she repeated, ignoring the rest of his rant, "And I didn't get to bed until gone 1 because YOU decided that Moriarty was operating out of an opium den in China Town."

"Yes but…"

"a fact that you were decidedly WRONG about, and now you are firing a gun against a wall waking me and the rest of the house."

"I don't see anyone else" said Sherlock, "and to say I was wrong about the opium den is incorrect. There was an opium den and Moriarty had been there. I'm so close to him, I can taste it." He got a dreamy look in his eyes, then picked up the gun and it three times in quick succession.

"You're impossible" groaned Squish. She walked into the kitchen and started to make a cup of tea. Sherlock continued to fire against the wall. After five minutes, John stumbled into the room.

"What's going on?" he shouted

"Bored, bored, bored" Sherlock shouted back, not stopping the volley against the wall.

"Squish, why didn't you do something?" John said exasperatedly as the gun clicked forlornly, finally empty.

She slammed down her mug,

"John" she said acidly, "I am a fifteen year old girl suffering from sleep deprivation, and he is a self-proclaimed sociopath with a gun. From a purely medical perspective do you honestly think that I should try and wrestle anything off him?"

And with that she went into her bedroom making sure to slam the door hard behind her.

John stared after her bewilderedly.

"Sherlock"

"Mmm?"

"Is everything all right with Squish? She seems…edgy"

"Oh she's just annoyed that I woke her up with the gun" he said, his long fingers reloading it. John noticed.

"Oh no, no way" he said, plucking it from his fingers, "I think you've caused enough damage with that thing already"

With that he went and knocked on Squish's door.

"Come in then" he heard her shout. Angrily he thought to himself.

He opened the door. Squish was at her laptop, her dressing gown thrown across the back of her chair. Her room was large enough to fit in a wardrobe, a single bed, a desk with her makeup and a mirror.

"So. Are you ok" John offered, "You seem… um upset?"

She spun around in the chair.

"Of course I'M FINE John. I mean it isn't like I have an adopted father who drags me out in the middle of the night, or wakes me up with a gun, or forgets to feed me or get the shopping or any of the things he does!"

She let out a sigh, and visibly tried to calm herself down. "I'm sorry. It's just that sometimes I get a little bit mad and you happened to ne be in the firing line." She tried a smile, and flopped down on the bed, "I just wish that we could be normal sometimes.

John sighed and sat down next to her. "I know he can be a pain sometimes, but I honestly believe that he cares about you in away us mere mortals can only imagine."

A snort at that. "Besides imagine how much worse he would be without you?" He gave an exaggerated shudder.

Squish laughed out loud, and then smiled. She leaned her head against his shoulder, "You're a good friend John Watson. Now go and get ready for your date."

"How did you know I have a date today" he asked, resigned to the inevitability of what was to come.

"It's written all over you. You never wake up this early regardless of what noises are made. Meaning you were awake and you're always nervous before a date. And you're dressed with aftershave."

"Very good, and how did…"

"Not finished. You're wearing your rogering socks" she smiled mischievously.

"I do not have my rogering socks on, I don't own rogering socks"

"Yes you do, it's your black ones with the red spots on. And you are wearing them now"

"You can be quiet" he said, "And with Mary, it's not rogering it's more... poetic then that."

Squish had a strange look on her face. "Socks?" she whispered. "Socks"

She ran out of the room and skidded to halt in front of Sherlock who was still in the same position staring at the ceiling.

"You're wearing bed socks. You only ever wear bed socks when you feel exposed. And you've been answering your own texts. What's wrong?"

"You and John complain if I use your phone and now you complain if I use mine. How can I be accused of being a sociopath if you make up rules that I don't know?"

"You call yourself a sociopath, everyone else just follows suit. Now give me your phone."

"No."

"I said give me the bloody phone." She said reaching into the pocket of his dressing gown. She pulled it out and danced out of his reach. She quickly bypassed his security code (90210, the only television show he actually watched) and scrolled to his texts.

A few from Molly, answered she noticed surprisingly.

And 15 in the past hour from one person.

When are you going to admit your experiment was a failure?

J.M

What do you mean experiment?'

S.H

Your little pet child. You just wanted to see what it was like and now you keep her because it amuses you to see her trying to be you.

J.M

All aloof and cold.

J.M

Except really she's dying to get one word of praise out of you

J.M

And watching you throw her a kind word, it makes you wonder why people say I'm cruel

J.M

How do you think she'd look with one of my pretty jackets?

J.M

Dressed up like a Christmas Tree.

J.M

Now, Now Sherlock. Play the game. Or maybe I'll start to play with your Doctor as well.

J.M

Squish couldn't read anymore. She threw the phone at Sherlock and ran past John and slammed her bedroom door. John caught sight of her face as she ran past him.

"Now what have you done?" he asked wearily.

Sherlock gestured at the phone which was lying on the brink of the table. He caught it as it started to slide over the edge. He started looking at the texts and his face changed. First to fear, then to hatred.

"Sherlock, you need to go and talk to her"

"Why?" the taller man asked, "she's hardly going to be talkative now, why did she run out anyway, it's not like I answered them."

"That's exactly why she's upset; you didn't tell him to fuck off did you? She needs reassurance Sherlock. She's afraid that he's right. Jesus and I was just telling her how much you cared about her."

Sherlock was looking at him oddly.

"Just fix it ok. By the time I get back."