“I must say, quite a lovely place you’ve found yourself here,” Harry said, taking a good look glance around his flat.
“I’m not so sure about the company sometimes, though,” John remarked dryly.
“Oh come now,” Harry said. “Don’t be so hard on your boy.”
John choked on his tea.
“I’m your sister, John,” she said and patted him on the back twice. “I know these things.”
“Really, he’s not my—”
“It’s not like you to be so shy about your relationships. I’d say he’s quite handsome, if I were into men. Besides, I always knew you’d come to your right mind eventually and play for our team.”
John sputtered and nearly dropped his mug.
“John, where’s my head?” Sherlock yelled from the other room before John could attempt to correct her again.
Harry frowned. John rubbed his temple.
“Well, I suppose he could learn a bit more propriety.”
“No.” John sighed. “He means an actual head.” He turned back and yelled across the room. “It’s in your study, where you left it!”
John turned back around and smiled at his sister’s shock expression, feeling vindicated.
Then, a beat: “Can I see it, too?” she asked.