Chapter Text
Meeting Sissy
John Watson relaxed with a heavy sigh in the back of a black cab after an exhausting shift at the clinic. All he wanted to do was enjoy the quiet ride home before having to deal with the unpredictable mood that he would find his flatmate in. He was lucky for about two blocks before his mobile chimed to notify him that he had a text message. Having a good idea who it was, he heaved a sigh before retrieving phone from his jacket and reading the text.
47 Eaton Square. Urgent. Bring your Browning. –SH
Assuming that this was a new and urgent case, John quickly told the cabbie the new address and patted his chest, feeling his gun concealed inside his jacket. He had made a habit of bringing his gun to work to after Sherlock’s increasing requests to meet at crime scenes as soon as his shift had ended, or while he was still working. The fact Sherlock’s usual texts were very prompt made the one he had just received into an unusual one. If Sherlock had wanted John to meet him somewhere, he would have the message timed out to the exact moment that John would have stepped foot outside of the clinc. This time, the text hadn’t come until he was already in the cab and on his way back to Baker Street. Something was up.
And something was up. Something that Sherlock Holmes was bound to get to the bottom of. Something that had the great consulting detective dropping everything to rush from his flat to the other side of London in a controlled panic.
It had all started that afternoon when Sherlock had received a phone call from his favorite big brother. He had just dropped a freshly severed finger into a flask of acid when his phone started to vibrate on the tabletop. He glanced at the screen and his brow furrowed slightly seeing it was his brother. Heaving out an irritated sigh, he snapped off a rubber glove and answered.
“Mycroft, this had better be important. I’m busy,” he snapped while fishing the melting finger out of the flask with a pair of forceps.
“Hello, to you too, brother dearest,” Mycroft purred out in his usual calm tone, but there was a sense of underlying urgency that could have only been detected by Sherlock, “I just thought that you ought to know it the surveillance to Eaton Square has been hacked and has been fed a loop for about a week, and that it’s very quiet on that end.”
Sherlock had let the finger drop back into the acid and was already heading for door the second ‘Eaton Square’ was mentioned. “I’m on my way over there now,” he assured before hanging up. He quickly tossed on his coat and scarf before rushing down and out onto Baker Street to hail a cab. Long, slender finger drummed impatiently on a jittery leg as crystal blue eyes stared out the cab window. He needed to get there as soon as possible. The cab needed to go faster. Something was happening. Horrible images flashed though his mind and he had to shake it to refocus. If something had happened, or was happening, he would need backup. John. He needed John. He stilled his nervous fingers long enough to send John a text, and spent the rest of the ride reeling in the bits of overactive imagination that had slipped out of his mind palace.
The crime fighting duo had arrived in front of 47 Eaton Square at the same time. John met Sherlock at the pillar framed steps that led up to the door of a flat. “Sherlock, what’s going on? What’s so urgent that I had to bring a gun?” he asked looking up at the building. He did a double take at a window on the second floor, thinking that he had seen a face.
“Woman in her late twenties, lives alone in this building, and hasn’t been heard from for a week,” Sherlock explained as he passed John and walked up to the door, easily taking the three small steps at once.
John frowned slightly and followed after him, managing two steps. “Who is she? President of some company?” he asked as he looked around the posh neighborhood, making sure that no one was watching them.
“Hardly,” Sherlock snorted at John’s question as he produced a key from his coat and unlocked the door. He opened the door and paused as if waiting for something. “Alarm system is disabled,” he said when nothing happened. He pulled out his own gun and slowly entered, holding the weapon in front of him as he glanced around. John followed after him, silently closing the door behind him.
The two of them made their way to the living room, and Sherlock held up his hand to stop John when the sound of a door shutting and footsteps filled the silence of the flat. They waited with baited breath, guns at the ready by their sides as the soft footsteps drew closer and closer still, until in walked a woman who was the spitting image of Sherlock and was wearing only a blue satin bathrobe.
The woman was carrying a tea set on top of a silver tea tray, and glancing between the two men and their guns. Her eyes lingered on John for just a moment longer before she turned her attention on Sherlock. “Christ, Sherl, put that gun away. You know how I feel about them in my home,” she chided and crossed to place the set the tray down on coffee table, “But I’m glad that you and Mikey still worry about me. I was starting to feel unloved.” She stepped back and held out her arms to him. “Hug me, I haven’t seen you in an age. You two never come to visit me anymore.”
Sherlock huffed and tucked his gun away, making no indication to move from his spot and do as she requested. “Well, John. It seems like everything is fine here, so we can go,” he said, turning to leave.
“Sherlock Holmes, you come over here and give your little sister a hug, or I’ll invite mum and da down for a visit, and they can see for themselves how you’re getting on,” she threatened with a sweet smile.
Sherlock stared the woman down for about ten seconds before crossing to her and wrapping an arm around her. She didn’t accept the half hug and wrapped her arms tightly around the man’s thin frame. “Who else is here with you?” he asked in a whisper after taking deep inhale.
“When was the last time you showered?” she countered, “You smell of week old chemicals.”
John watched the scene before him with a dumbfounded look on his face. “I’m sorry. Did you say ‘sister’?” he asked, trying to recall if Sherlock had mentioned, or even hinted, that he had another sibling besides Mycroft.
The woman let go of Sherlock and frowned up at him. “Sherlock Holmes!” she exclaimed in disbelief, “Do you mean to tell me that you have been living with this man for a year and you didn’t tell him about me? You and Mycroft really are horrible.” She snapped her hand out and gave him a swift pinch on the ear before moving around him to greet John.
“I’m Sherlock’s younger sister, Cecelia, but you can call me Cece. You must be John Watson. It’s so wonderful to finally meet you. I’ve heard so many good things. Sherlock talks about you all the time. I’m sorry that we haven’t had a chance to meet sooner, but had I known that my brothers had kept me a secret for this long, I would have rushed right over,” she introduced herself, taking John’s hand in hers to shake before pulling him into a hug, their height difference settling John’s head at chest height.
John was of course, speechless.
“Sissy,” Sherlock warned as he slipped out of his coat and took a seat on the end of the sofa. He figured that they were going to be there awhile. Once his sister had someone in her grasp, they weren’t escaping until she let them go.
Cece let out a sigh and placed a quick kiss on John’s cheek as she let him go. “What? I can’t say hello?” she asked innocently, moving to sit on the soft next to Sherlock. She patted the seat on her free side for John and began to pour the tea. “John, come sit and tell me a little about you. I only know what Sherl and Mikey have told me, but they tend to stretch the truth a little. They mentioned you were in the war?”
John didn’t know what had happened. All his brain could comprehend was that his head was being pressed against something soft and his nose was filled with the alluring scent of perfume. Then, suddenly it was gone and he was finding himself taking a seat next to Sherlock Holmes’ sister.
“What? Oh, yes. I, uh, I was in Afghanistan for three years, Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, as an Army Doctor. I was released for getting shot in the shoulder. Now, I help Sherlock solve cases and work at a clinic,” he explained, taking the cup of tea that was offered to him.
Cece handed Sherlock his cup without a second glance before shifting so her back was to him and she was fully facing John. She tucked her right leg underneath her left so she now lounged into the back of the sofa, and her robe inched precariously up her leg. “How so very brave of you. I would never have the courage to do something like that. I think I’m just too weak willed,” she said, taking a suggestive sip of her tea. When she didn’t get a response she smirked and moved a bit closer to John so their knees were touching. “I must say I can see why Sherl chose you. He never told me how attractive you were.” She grinned when a red flush rose up on John’s cheeks.
“Sissy,” Sherlock warned again, this time his tone firmer. He knew exactly where his sister was heading with her little act, and he wouldn’t let her trick John into becoming her newest play thing.
Cece made a noise of annoyance and just rolled her eyes. “Oh, just ignore him. Him and Mycroft both disapprove of my taste in men, saying that I could do better, or something like that,” she said and took another sip of her tea, “I can’t help it. The heart wants what the heart wants.”
Despite Sherlock’s efforts, he was too late. John was already entranced by her spell. “And what, does your heart, want?” he asked after swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat.
Cece smirked and started to draw little circles on John’s knee. “Let’s just put it this way. I like my men attractive and dumb.”
As if on cue, a door on the other side of the room opened, and a boxer clad Lestrade strolled out. “Cece, have you seen my…” he started to ask, but stopped when he spotted Sherlock and John, “Oh uh, hullo John…Sherlock…what are you two doing here?” He obviously was stunned to see the two of them there. He was hoping that no one would find out about his little last minute ‘holiday’.
Sherlock glared daggers at Greg and fought the urge to pull out his gun and shoot the detective for even laying a finger on his sister. He slowly stood from the sofa, setting the cup of tea down as he rose. “I think I should be asking you the same thing, Detective Inspector,” he spat out in disgust, “So, this is why you suddenly made use of a few of your holiday days. So you could spend a leisurely week here, getting what your wife isn’t giving you from my sister.” He made a move to lunge at Greg, but was stopped by Cece. She had jumped up from the couch and moved in front of him, stopping his advances with small hands on his chest.
“Sherl, don’t! Leave him alone! He didn’t do anything. It was all me,” she protested, having to take a few steps back to counteract her brother’s momentum. In doing this, she bumped into John, causing him to spill his tea into his lap. “Oh, John, I’m so sorry! Here, let me help,” she apologized. She turned her attention on John, taking the cup from him and handing him a few napkins. “Here, the washroom is just down the hall and to the left,” she instructed. Things were not going as she had planned at all.
Cece’s fussing over John had given Sherlock enough time to round the coffee table and deck Greg square in the jaw, knocking the Detective Inspector to the ground with a loud thud. “Don’t you touch my sister, again,” he growled out in deep baritone, holding his hand that now had a few busted knuckles.
“Greg!” Cece exclaimed as she rushed to his side, helping to sit up, "Greg, are you alright?" A nasty bruise was already forming on Greg's jaw and she touched in gingerly, receiving a sharp hiss from the DI. She glared up at her older brother with watery eyes.
Seeing this, Sherlock felt all his anger leave him as if he had . “Sissy…” he started to say, but was cut off by her holding up a hand to him. He watched as she helped Greg to his feet, sent him off to the kitchen to get some ice for his face, and started to clean up the dishes from tea. “Sissy,” he started again, after he was sure that Lestrade was out of earshot, “I’m sorry, but what were you thinking? Spending the week with Lestrade? You disappeared for a week. When I got here, I thought I was going to have to call him here. Are you an idiot?”
She huffed and shook her head at him. “Well, desperate times call for desperate measures. Christ, Sherl. I know London is a big city, and that you and Mycroft a busy, but would it kill you two idiots to stop by for tea last week, or even call?”
What she said last caused Sherlock to frown? Why had she expected them to call her last week? It wasn’t any major holiday. “Why would we have called last week?” he asked.
Cece let out a small laugh in disbelief and shook her head. “For my birthday,” she said bitterly, “I knew you two forgot, so I got myself my own birthday present. A whole week’s worth of presents.” She headed for the door to take the dishes back into the kitchen and to check on Greg. “But, I would gladly except my presents tomorrow since Greg has to go back to the Yard then,” she said with a smirk, hinting that she had forgiven them.
“Fine, and then you’ll be done with him, and we won’t have to worry about it,” Sherlock said, straightening out his suit jacket.
Cece smirked at Sherlock. “Not a chance, big brother. He’s the best lay I’ve ever had. I’ve even taken to calling him Lay-strade in my mind.” With that she exited with a wink, leaving her brother standing in the middle of the room with a horrified look on his face.