Sherlock stormed into the hall. Loud music was playing. The place still packed with people, most of them he didn't even knew.
His eyes skimmed over the dimmed area. He found whom he was looking for and rushed over to her. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her aside. “Irene, who was that red head?”
She snorted. “Which one, there are lots of read heads on the party.”
“I need her name. Give me her name, woman.”
“Sherlock, calm down, describe her to me.”
He threw his hands in the air. “Short red hair, intelligent, slender build… and beautiful.”
Irene laughed aloud. “That could be anyone.”
“Oh for god’s sake, you spoke to her earlier.”
“But you’re not into women, why do you need her so badly?”
Sherlock glared at her. “She… she, oh never mind.” He turned away from Irene, leaving a baffled woman staring at him as he disappeared out the door.
He took a deep breath when he stepped outside into the cool London night air. Why was he so attracted to this woman? John used to be on his mind all the time, but now… He sighed as he trotted towards the main road.
“Taxi,” he called out, sticking his hand in the air.
The taxi stopped next to him.
He jumped in. “221 B Baker Street,” he said and glanced out the window as the taxi took off.
He shut his eyes, thinking of him and John making out behind the curtains on the stage. That was when she appeared out of nowhere. She saw them shagging. She smiled at him then disappeared.
Sherlock opened his eyes when the taxi stopped in front of his flat. He paid the cabby, jumped out and rushed up the stairs.
John was sitting behind his laptop, blogging as usual.
He looked up when Sherlock barged through the door. “Where did you disappear off to? I was looking for you and decided to come home when I couldn’t find you.”
Sherlock jumped feet first onto his chair, put his hands together in front of his face and shut his eyes, ignoring John.
John turned around in his chair. “Is there something wrong?”
“No, leave me alone, John.”
“All right then. I’m off to bed. Join me when you’re feeling better.” John shut his laptop and headed over to the bedroom.
“Who are you?” Sherlock murmured.
Janet stood against the wall next to the door of 221 B, with her arms crossed. She smiled when the short dark-blonde man stepped out of the apartment building. Sherlock would follow him soon.
He called for a taxi to stop and climbed in leaving the door open.
When Sherlock stepped outside, he shut the door and glanced at the woman standing against the wall. He turned around and headed towards the taxi.
“I believe you are looking for me, Mister Holmes.”
He paused at the taxi door and glanced over his shoulder. His eyes enlarged before he jumped around facing her. “It’s you,” he called out.
The smile on her face grew wider.
He turned back, bent forward at the taxi door and talked to John.
He shut the door and strode towards the woman. “Who are you?”
He gazed at her, eyeing her from head to toe, trying to deduce her, but failed like the time when he met Irene Adler.
“Irene told me you were looking for me at the party last night.”
“I was. Why did you disappear and what were you looking for on the stage?”
Her eyes narrowed as she paced closer to him. “I wanted to see if the rumors about you and John were true.”
His face dulled. “What rumors?”
She snorted. “That you are homosexual and not asexual as some said.”
Sherlock glared at her. “Who are you? You are not a journalist.”
Janet chuckled. “Mycroft was right he’s the clever one, not you.”
His eyes enlarged again. “You know Mycroft?”
“I do, brother mine.”
He arched a brow and repeated her words. “Brother mine…” He shook his head. “I don’t have a sister.”
She puckered her lips. “Half-sister.”
“I don’t believe you. Tell Mycroft I’m not in the mood for one of his games.” He flung around and hurried back to the taxi.
Janet smiled at him as he opened the door and glanced back at her.
“Who’s that woman you were talking to?” John asked when Sherlock got into the taxi.
“No one,” he answered bluntly and gave the cabby an address in Brixton.
When he glanced back, the woman was gone.
He grabbed his phone out of his coat pocket and dialed Mycroft’s number. “I want to see you. Yes, my flat in two hours.” He rolled his eyes. “No, not now, I’m on my way to Brixton, there’s been another murder… oh, but you ought to know about that.” He dropped the call and shoved the phone back in his pocket.
John glanced at him. Clearly, something bothered Sherlock. “Are you alright?”
He glanced at him and nodded.
Sherlock and John headed back home after they found enough clues for DI Lestrade on the murder scene in Brixton.
The two of them got out after the taxi dropped them in front of 221 B Baker Street.
Sherlock grimaced when he noticed the doorknocker hung straight. He grabbed it and slanted it to the right. “Mycroft is here already,” he mumbled and grunted before opening the door.
John shook his head. “But you asked him to come over.”
The two of them trotted up the stairs.
Sherlock barged through the flat door and glared at his brother. “Who’s Janet?”
Mycroft smiled. “So, you’ve met our sister.”
John’s eyes enlarged. “You have a sister?”
“Half-sister,” the brothers remarked simultaneously.
“Oh.” He pulled his face and took a seat on the couch, watching the two brothers.
Sherlock paced over to the window. Glancing out of it, he asked. “Where does she come from?”
Mycroft scoffed at him. “Surely you know about the birds and the bees.”
Sherlock jumped around and glared at him. “Don’t patronize me, Mycroft. Why didn’t you mention her before?”
He drew his lips in a thin line. “Father asked me to keep it to myself.” Mycroft noticed the surprised look on his face. “Yes, he cheated on Mummy thirty years ago.”
“What does she want from us, now?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t know she would be on your birthday party. Then again, I didn’t know Irene Adler would also be there.”
Sherlock flopped onto the chair. “What does Irene has to do with this?”
Mycroft arched a brow. “Oh, you don’t know? She’s Irene’s girlfriend.”
He gasped aloud. “That’s why I hate parties.”
“Mummy and I thought it would be good for you to get out of the flat. Mingle with other people, and make friends.”
“I don’t need friends. I don’t have friends.” He glanced at John and smiled faintly. “I have only one.”
Mycroft laughed. “He’s not your friend. He’s your lover.”
Sherlock jumped up. “Didn’t you know a lover can be a friend as well?” He snorted. “Oh but of course, you won’t know. You don’t have a lover, brother mine, only a goldfish.”
Sherlock grabbed his violin.
The tune of God Save the Queen drifted through the flat.
A smile appeared on John’s face. He wiped it off when he noticed Mycroft’s glaring eyes on him.
“This meeting is over,” Mycroft said and stood up. He pulled his shoulders back and tapped his umbrella on the floor, glaring at his brother. “There’s one more thing. I didn’t want to tell you, but since you have this attitude.”
The violin music stopped.
“She’s James Moriarty’s sister.” He opened the door and glanced back. “Afternoon, John.” He left the door open and trotted downstairs, ignoring Sherlock when he called him back.
Sherlock put the violin down. “Damn him and damn Jim Moriarty,” he said and flopped next to John on the couch. “I thought she looked familiar when I saw her. She has his eyes, his smile.”
He threw his arms around John and gazed in his eyes. “Make love to me, John.”