It turned out that Sherlock's experiments in baking had included making several different types of soda-based doughs and batters, and John found himself appreciating the results, because Sherlock's waffles were glorious.
"It turns out that cooking is nearly as fascinating as laboratory chemistry if one applies the same methods to it," Sherlock explained as she poured the batter into the waffle iron.
"I don't care what crazy experiments you do or how bad it smells," John swore around a mouthful of food, "Just so long as it tastes this good. I am in heaven."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. "No matter how bad it smells?" she asked him and John groaned, realizing she'd take advantage of that.
"Please don't decide to do an experiment on rotten eggs," he begged as an afterthought, and she shook her head with a grin.
"Actually, it was the sulfur-based ones that I was hoping to work on - kidding, John," she giggled as his head thunked onto the table.
John tilted his head slightly, and muttered, "You're going to be the death of me, I know it." The words came out muffled against the wood of the table, and he flinched as Sherlock smacked his cheek with a spoon.
"I will not. If anything, you'll get yourself kidnapped again, and that will be the death of you." She sounded seriously worried about this, and John sat up to look at her.
"I'm beginning to get sick of being kidnapped, actually," he admitted. "I'm hardly suited to being the damsel in distress."
Sherlock actually laughed at that, but they were interrupted by a knock on the door, and both looked up to stare at it in unison. John looked back down at his waffle after a moment.
"I am not getting up for that, because I am not leaving this," he declared after a moment, and Sherlock rolled her eyes, setting down her spoon and bowl of batter to walk across the room quickly and fling open the door, mindless of the fact that she was in jim-jams and a dressing gown, and her hair was a wild puff around her head. As soon as the door opened, however, her demeanour suddenly changed.
"You don't want to be here," she said firmly, and tried to shut the door, but whoever was on the other side prevented her from doing so, and Sherlock's face grew more determined. "You really, really don't want to be here, right now."
"No, no, actually, I really think I do, I think," came a slurred voice from the other side of the door, and what happiness John had gotten from the waffle fell away. That was Harry's voice. Drunk Harry's voice.
"You really don't," Sherlock said - Sherlock was repeating herself, which should have keyed Harry into the situation, except, of course, Harry was drunk, and therefore she would sit and continue to bang on John's door until she got sober before letting anything deter her from talking to her brother.
John groaned, wishing for a moment that he could have somehow stayed in Afghanistan. Being deployed had been convenient in that it managed to help him avoid situations like this. As things stood, however:
"You might as well let her in, Sherlock, she'll just sit outside the door and get loud otherwise," he said, and Sherlock reluctantly opened the door to let Harry stumble in. She was clutching a vodka bottle that was three-fourths empty already, and John clenched his hands.
"You know what?" Harry said, and pointed at Sherlock, who gave her a blank expression in return. "You know what? I think, I think..." Harry noticed John over Sherlock's shoulder and suddenly waved happily. "Hi, Johnny!"
"Oh god," John muttered, coming forward. "Avoid this while you can, Sherlock."
"I'm drinking - drunk - I'm plastered," Harry told him seriously, and John nodded. Sherlock tried to sneak away to her room, but her movement made Harry notice her again.
"Hey I wasn't done with you!" she insisted, and grabbed Sherlock's dressing gown at the sleeve. "I havta tell you a thing." She hiccupped. "Yeah. A thing."
"And that would be?" Sherlock said icily, and Harry stared at her.
"You're not being nice," she complained, and John came forward to take her by the shoulders.
"Come on, Harry, leave Sherlock alone."
"No, cause I havta tell her, I havta - you," Harry said, pointing at Sherlock again, "are not allowed to hurt my bruther. Nuh-uh. Not at all. Cause I know you're a genius an' all, but serriusly, you gotta - you gotta watch out for this kid, okay? Cause I like him."
Halfway through Harry's rant Sherlock's frown began to soften, and by the end it was almost a smile. "Understood. Now will you let go of my sleeve?"
"Oh," Harry said, looking down at where her hand still clutched Sherlock's clothing. "Right. Here. Have a - have a nice day, you, you - you know you're gorgeous?" Harry asked suddenly, and John's eyes widened.
"No, no, you are not hitting on my flatmate, come on, let's sit you down and get you sober," he interfered, steering Harry away from Sherlock, who now looked amused and slightly alarmed.
"You know, you... you are an iddiut, John Wasson," Harry told him as she let herself get pushed toward the sofa.
"Probably," he said simply, and sat her down, plucking the vodka from her hand as she promptly fell over.
"No, I mean, yer a proper iddiut, wif like, whistles in your ears an' stuff," Harry tried to explain, then dissolved into giggles.
"I'm sure I am," John said from where he was pouring the vodka down the sink, and then he threw the bottle in the bin.
"They tol' me you were there and I was all like whaa? and then - an' then I rememmered your blog - I read your blog!" Harry announced happily, and John nodded as he sat down across from her.
"Thanks."
"It was good, I liked it, 'specially the part with the hot asian chick," Harry said, and John winced at his sister's lack of any sort of social niceties.
"She died," he said, trying to make her take his writing a little bit seriously, and her face crumpled.
"I know!" she wailed, and John lunged forward before she could fall off the sofa, catching her and holding her up as she began to sob on his shoulder. "An' they tol' me she was a murderer an' that her kids were goin' somewhere else and that I'd never see her again an' - an' - an' they told me you were there an' it's not fair!"
John did what he could to try to maneuver them both onto the couch, sifting through Harry's drunk babbling to understand they were no longer talking about Soo Lin, and then realizing with horror that they were talking about Ms. Pillington. A moment later the whole conversation in the cafe come flooding back to him. "Oh, god, Harry," he said as he realized. "You were dating."
"Yah we were!" Harry said, hitting him hard in the shoulder, and he winced. "We were totally dating, and I was gonna get some, and she was nice, and now... an' now I'm all lonely and single an' - an' - an' I'm drunk," she finished, seeming to crumple in his arms as her head slumped onto the shoulder she'd just whacked.
"I'm sorry," John murmured as she sniffled into his shoulder, and Harry whimpered. "Still, it's no reason to get drunk," he told her, and she looked up at him.
"Oh, that's easy for you to say," she told him seriously, any punch of the words taken away by the smell of alcohol on her breath. "Your lady's still all nice and breathin' and cuddleable-like."
John blinked at her before realizing she was talking about Sherlock, and shook his head in a panic. "We're not like that, Harry."
Harry frowned, blinking at him in confusion before understanding dawned in her bleary eyes. "So she's single?" she said hopefully, and John shook his head.
"Married to her work," he said firmly, and Harry frowned.
"Isn' that jus' another way to say single?"
"No," John told her, "it is not."
"Fur not bein' together, yer obv - awfum - a lot defensive," Harry said, and John frowned.
"Maybe I just don't want my flatmate to have to deal with your rebounds," he said, and Harry's eyes darkened in hurt, and John realized he'd said exactly the wrong thing.
"I know, yah, I'm the one with problems, fuck Harry and her fucking love life, damn lesbian can't get her shit together - " she started to rant, getting louder and louder as she went, and John winced, hoping Sherlock had put earbuds in or something.
"That's not what I meant, Harry, now -"
"What did you mean, then, cause it shur sounnend like it, Harry's not good enough fur yer fancy new girlfriend, she's just a fucking train wreck, wif her drinking an' all her problems an' stuff," Harry spat, her slur getting more pronounced as she got more and more wound up. She tugged herself away from John and got up, marching toward the door angrily. "Well, you know what, John Wasson? I am - " she swayed slightly, "- I am totally okay, an' emotionally stable, an' I can get my shit together anytime I want, an' fuck you, John Wasson."
And the door slammed behind her, and John sat blinking on the couch, and then sat back to groan and rub his eyes, wondering if it made him a bad brother that he didn't go out and make sure she took a cab home instead of wandering about London half-inebriated.
Or totally inebriated.
"She's managed while you were in Afghanistan, she'll be fine," Sherlock's voice said from above him, and John opened his eyes to see that she'd exited her room and was now standing next to the couch, looking down at him as if she had no idea if she should get closer or not. John just groaned again in response to her statement.
"Thanks for - ah - dealing with that," he said after a moment, and the corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched up.
"Thanks for fending off her... advances," she said in response, and John chuckled.
"Yeah, she gets amorous when she's drunk."
"And angry if turned down," Sherlock added. "Very high-maintenance as a child?"
"Very," John confirmed, looking up at her and feeling the weight leave his chest. "Can I have another waffle? Mine'll be cold by now."
Sherlock rolled her eyes and walked into the kitchen, and John grinned, bouncing off the sofa to follow.
I know, I know, I'm late. I'm starting to wonder if I should just change my post days to Saturdays.
Anyway I can't give you a second chapter because this is the last one of Nightmares! However I can confirm that I will be continuing with The Great Game after a week's break (because honestly guys, there's a reason I'm always late posting chapters. Life is hectic and writing is hard.) I'll announce when it's up (and under what title) with a note added to this story, so if you're subscribed to the story or to my author's profile you'll be informed!
All of your comments, bookmarks, etc and so forth have really been a blessing and I thank you all! I read every single one and thank you from the very, very bottom of my heart.
Until next time!