Hermione: John, I know we haven't been on the best of terms, but I'm worried about you.
Hermione: It's been weeks, John.
Hermione: If you don't answer me, I'm going to have to come track you down.
John: I'm fine. Leave me alone.
Hermione: Liar. We're having lunch this Saturday.
John: Hermione, I'm fine. Really. I just need time. Okay?
…
There was a knock on the door. It had to be for Charles. He certainly wasn't expecting anyone.
Another knock. Bloody wanker. Invites someone over and then can't be arsed to get the door?
A third knock. A voice, muffled by two intervening doors, finally made its way to his ear. "John Hamish Watson, I know you're in there. If you don't come open this door, I'm coming in anyway, and then won't you be embarrassed."
There was a moment of silence.
"You have thirty seconds, John."
John could just imagine Hermione standing on his front step, tapping her toe impatiently. He hadn't really expected her to show up. But he definitely didn't want her to come in and find him still abed. He reluctantly stumbled to the door.
"Hello, John." Hermione smiled warmly at him, brushing past, into the flat. Her little girl waved. What was her name again?
"I thought you weren't coming," he said stupidly.
"That, is obvious," the woman said, giving him a thorough once-over. "Go have a shower and shave. I've made reservations at Terra Munda for one."
"Hermione, I told you not to come."
"Did you? Must have missed the memo. Go on, then. We haven't all the time in the world."
The bloody woman shooed him inside his own bloody flat. Only the presence of the small child saved her from a few choice expletives. He turned on his heel and stomped to the bathroom. Infuriating… woman.