AN: Hey, sorry for the wait *ducks thrown fruit* so who watched the torch go through Guildford Friday? I did. From the back of an ambulance but it counts. And before anyone begins to worry (or laugh) I wasn't injured I was working. But whilst going home with my friend I managed to fall over and re-sprain my ankle, meaning that her brother had to catch me, and then I bled on their car. So not a great duty.

Anyway, moving on from my generally annoyance (I'm drastically unpatriotic) and clumsiness, this chapter was prompted by GRock87 and made me laugh. Just a note: In the north of England Nobby is short for Robert.

Ask not what this writer can do for you, but what you can do for her. *cough* prompt and review *cough*

Lily

Everyone has one in the family.

I'm not joking. Everyone. It's like an uncle Nobby. Everyone has an Uncle Nobby.

But everyone has a mental Aunt. Even if she's not directly related to you, you still refer to her as 'Aunty Insert-Name-Here' and all she does is judge, bitch, whine and compare her own Kids to you, making you feel thoroughly inferior. And her kids will always be the most spoilt little shits that walk under the sun.

In my case it's my Aunt Marina, who is a Health Care Assistant cum psychic back home in Durham. Which actually tells you all you need to know about her really.

Anyway, she works up at the hospital where my Mum worked and the two stayed friends, after my mother went to be a practice nurse at my dad's clinic. I will forever rue this fact.

Today's tale of woe, desperation and jam, began when I received a call from Marina. Well, I say a call, what I mainly received was a soaking. It seemed that she had recently broken up with her latest husband, a man known only to me as Uncle Max (which, at thirty nine years of age, really shouldn't be how I address men I've never met) and in her words 'Needed to get out of this town with its aura of sorrow and loss', known to the General population as Durham. And before I knew it, she had decided that she was going to come up to London with my two 'Cousins' Angel and Clairvoyant, and stay with us at Baker street.

Which, needless to say, provoked a very awkward conversation with Sherlock.

I decided that this needed Tact. A sentiment that Sherlock was definitely not familiar with. At all. Ever.

But nevertheless, as we had recently finished the last in a long series of cases, I reasoned that he would probably be in a good mood. And I was right. Broadly.

The night after Marina rang me, we were curled up on the sofa, watching twenty four hours in A and E, because Sherlock likes thinking up experiments he can do with the various injuries that present themselves during such programs. Anyway, he was ranting at the incompetence of an HCA that was trying to treat a serious chest infection with paracetamol, when I smiled at his final, biting remark and said quickly 'Speaking of incompetent HCA's my Aunt is coming down on Tuesday for a week with my two cousins.'

Good lord, if looks could have killed, I would have been dead before I hit the floor.

'I will not ask you to repeat that John, as I trust the evidence of my own ears. However, I am willing to concede that I was wrong, if you will only tell me that you didn't say what I thought you said.'

After taking the time to puzzle this strangely worded request through, I sighed 'I tried to stop her Sherlock. I honestly did.'

I heard a groan from beside me 'John, please. I hate children. At least tell me your aunt will prove interesting.'

I smiled. I had thought about this beforehand 'Oh yes. She's certainly interesting. She works as a Health care assistant to save up to pursue her true vocation. She says.'

'And her true vocation is…?' he asked looking up slightly hopefully.

'Um.' I hadn't planned for this. 'She's a…um…psychic.'

'Oh god!' Sherlock snarled thumping a cushion 'I thought you were going to tell me she was a murderer at least!' he complained, letting his head fall heavily into my lap.

I pushed my hand through the thick curls on his forehead 'It's just a week Sherlock.' I said soothingly.

As he rolled over he said something that sounded suspiciously like 'We'll see'. In retrospect, I really should have realised something was up.

The next day Marina descended on me in a flurry of orange frizz, wet tissues and self-pity.

'Oh John, dear, it's just so terrible.' She sobbed into my jumper as Angel and clairvoyant lugged several large suitcases up the stairs, under the watchful eye of Sherlock in full sociopath mode 'After all I gave Max! I mean, just before we got together I asked the fates and they said we would live together until we both reached a great age…' the rest of the sentence was dissolved into my jumper along with half a lake.

The night Marina arrived will forever live in my memory. And not in a good way. In fact it was so horrible, I will not even describe it to you, except for the horribly knowing look on Clairvoyant's face as she came down the stairs after inspecting my, obviously not slept in, bed, which was definitely a highlight. That and Marina's insistence that we watch Psychic today, throughout which she made comments about the presenter's cracked aura.

All of which came to a head at around three o clock the next morning, when Marina started doing tai chi in Sherlock's room, causing the former occupant of the room to get up, storm into the kitchen and turn something on that when 'Gloop'

Normally, I would have stopped, restrained or shouted at, him but after a night spent in a small armchair, punctuated at an obscene hour with the sound of whale song, I decided that anything was better than Marina trying to repair my aura again.

I didn't hear the annoying scraping of a spoon on glass, or the blender start up an hour later. I definitely didn't notice him padding noiselessly back into the living room with an innocent expression on his face. I did however notice Marina swanning about the kitchen singing toreador very loudly and spreading jam on her toast.

'Good Morning darling!' she said as I opened one crusted eye and tried to prevent morning being there.

'Good Morning, Mrs Luton.' Came the suspiciously cheery voice of Sherlock Holmes from the sofa. I hid beneath the blanket, oh God, something dreadful was going to happen…

Marina seemed to ignore Sherlock, apparently pretending that you could speak to some distraught woman's dead child was perfectly acceptable, but two men sleeping together was right down there with genocide. Go figure.

Anyway, Marina was wandering about the flat, muttering about feng shui when suddenly she stopped, put one hand to her mouth and slowly pulled something out.

What happened next is one memory that I will cherish forever.

Marina screamed like a foghorn, ran out of the room and up the stairs still screaming. There was a short, shrieked conversation, culminating in Marina running down the stairs with a bag in each hand, with Angel and Clairvoyant following close behind. As she reached the top of the stairs, she turned a tear streaked red face on me and sniffed,

'You shall never hear from me again, John!' before running down the stairs and into the street.

I turned to Sherlock who had taken up station near the window.

'What did you do?' I asked patiently

'I have no idea what you are talking about, John.' He replied silkily.

Apparently getting no answers there, I wandered over to where Marina had dropped the Thing. I bent over the little thing on the carpet and picked it up. It was a fingernail.

Suddenly daylight dawned. I laughed briefly, ran across the room and threw my arms around Sherlock's waist, nearly knocking him over.

He chuckled as I snorted into the back of his shirt and said 'Piece of cake John.'

AN: I'm sorry if I offend anyone with my views on psychics but, there it is. You won't change it even if you do complain. Anyway, please review and prompt and tell me what you think about the Olympics. Should they have gone to Birmingham or is it OK that we're spending 9 billion to have them in the capital? You decide. (that's a joke. Although feel free to tell me if you have an opinion on this matter. Really)