A/N : This was supposed to be the scene in Torchwood where Ianto comes out to his sister, only changed over to John and Harry. It's gone a bit further than that. The idea kind of ran away with me. And it might be a bit awkward, because I wrote the first two thirds, and then didn't finish it for about a month. But here it is. Do with it what you will.

Oh, and yes. It is Martha.

John was slightly uncomfortable. He didn't like visiting his sister. He didn't mind Harry's company, but it was everything that came with it that bothered him. He didn't like pretending to not notice the bottles. And he didn't look forwards to the inevitable confrontation about Clara. Still, it was about time they'd caught up. He'd only seen Harry twice since he'd been back from Afghanistan, and they'd only exchanged a handful of emails.

He hesitated slightly before knocking on her door. Few people would have noticed the slight pause, but he couldn't help wondering what conclusions Sherlock would have drawn. He probably could have deduced John's whole chain of thoughts from the shape of his eyebrows, or something. John smiled at the thought. Some might find it difficult living with a man from whom they could keep no secrets. John thought it a small price to pay to be with Sherlock Holmes. Besides, he had nothing to hide from the man. Well, almost nothing. But as perceptive as Sherlock was about the cases they took, he was similarly oblivious to anything to do with himself. John was confident that Sherlock would never guess just how much John had grown to need him in the past few weeks.

The door swung open. "John!" said Harry. "It's good to see you again."

He awkwardly bent to hug her, and was put off slightly. He could wrap his arms a little tighter around his sister than before. He was no Sherlock Holmes, but he knew that generally that wasn't a good sign.

"You've lost weight." he noted, closing her door behind them.

"Well, aren't you a regular detective. Is that what you've been so busy with for the past month?" she replied.

"Oh, you have no idea." he smiled.

"Well, have a sit down in the living room. I'll pour some tea and you can tell me all about it."

Harry's living room was surprisingly clean. That being said, there were still papers and clothing strewn everywhere. But, as John had once visited her dorm room, he thought this to be a general improvement. And yes, there were bottles, but a far sight fewer than what he had expected.

John wondered what Sherlock would make of her flat. What would he deduce about her life just from the possessions in this room? Harry was still getting the tea, so John decided to run an experiment. He would see if he could come up with one new fact about his sister just from the contents of the room. He closed his eyes for a second, and tried to imagine what Sherlock would see. He opened them again, and looked around.

It really was neater than he had any right to expect. Either Harry was making a complete lifestyle change, or she was putting forth an effort to impress someone. Him? Surely not. He'd held her hand while she threw up, seen her in her worst moments. She didn't need to bother tidying up if it was just him.

No, Harry only cleaned herself up when she was trying to impress a new girl. Could it be Clara? Doubtful. That breakup had been vicious, and final. No, this was someone new, new enough that he hadn't been introduced. Someone important, judging by the degree of cleanliness. He hadn't seen this much floor in any room inhabited by his sister since she'd been wooing Clara for the first time.

He leaned back contentedly, only to find a rather uncomfortable lump in the couch. He stood up, and rifled around under the cushion, only to pull out a pair of light blue scrubs. Harry worked for a bank, there was no reason for her to have scrubs in the house. They couldn't be Clara's, Clara worked at the university. John took them as confirmation of his guess. The new mystery girl must be a doctor or a nurse.

He felt oddly proud of himself. So Sherlock probably could have figured all that out the moment he stepped through the door, and more besides. Feeling bad that you weren't as smart as Sherlock was like feeling bad that you couldn't lift more weights than a circus strongman. John felt sure that he was at least cleverer than Anderson. After all, he had learned from the best.

Harry came back into the room carrying a tea tray. She swept some papers off the coffee table with her foot, and set it down. "Two sugars for you, as I recall." she said, carefully pouring him a cup. "And for me- there we go."

John took the cup, and sipped carefully. It was good tea. If the world suddenly stopped needing financial analysts, John could think of a few terrible tearooms that would be lucky to employ his sister. He drank again, deeply. Yes, it was almost as good as his own brew.

"So!" Harry said, sitting cross-legged on an armchair with her tea held in both hands. "Catching up, then. It's been a while."

"So it has." John agreed. "What's her name?"

Harry paused. "Who?"

John sat his tea down, reached behind him, and fished the arm of the scrubs out of the couch. He waved it vaguely at Harry before stuffing it back down. "The owner of these. The reason you haven't called me, responded to my emails, or read my blog in the past month. Would I like her?"

Harry took a long drink before responding. "I think so." she said at last. "Her name's Martha. She works downtown in pediatrics. She's… different. She's a genuinely good person. It's still early, but I'm hopeful." Now, that was new. Harry had a tendency to date the dark and interesting ones, as opposed to the good people with more permanence. John hoped that this Martha woman would be good for his sister. The little evidence he had was confirming that, but he almost wished he had Sherlock with him to tell definitively.

John would have laughed at that idea, if it wouldn't have been completely misinterpreted by Harry. But the thought of Sherlock taking the time to investigate Harry's domestics, even as a favour to John- it was patently absurd. John tried and failed to imagine Sherlock taking a genuine interest in friends. If he could, he wouldn't be the same man that John cared so much about. It was his oddities, how he had that air about him as though he didn't really belong here at all, that he wasn't quite human, but that he wasn't less, he was more… it was those things that drew John in like a moth to the flame. And it was the same things that seemed to draw Harry in to so many failed relationships. Perhaps John and his sister were more similar than he had once thought.

He realized that he was expected to continue talking to Harry. Perhaps spending so much time with a sociopath had affected his ability to conduct normal relationships. "So how did you meet her?" he asked, hoping that Harry hadn't noticed the drift in his train of thought.

"Hm? Oh. I- I met her at Alcoholics Anonymous. She was helping to run my first meeting." Harry said, while staring down into her cup.

"Alco- Harry, you started going?" John said. Well, that was a pleasant surprise which helped account for the general air of cleanliness around the flat. "Oh, that's good. I'm- I'm glad for you, Harry." So the bottles in the corner must've been from a while ago, then. Yes, if he'd looked closer, he would have seen that the newspaper mostly covering them was about the second of a string of homicides (disguised as suicides) from a few weeks ago.

And that would be why he had had such uncharacteristic difficulty contacting her. He should have noticed the lack of communication, it should have raised some sort of red flag in his head. But he'd been so wrapped up in his adventures with Sherlock that he hadn't been there for his sister. It would explain the weight loss he had noticed, too. If only he had been a little cleverer, he might have noticed.

"Thanks, John." Harry said, gripping her cup tightly. "It was hard and first, and- and it's still hard. But good too, I guess."

She seemed all right, now. Perhaps a little subdued, but not as bad as some of the soldiers he had seen in the throes of withdrawal. He ought to thank this mysterious Martha for that much. And he resolved to pay more attention to his sister. It wasn't like he had all that many relationships to maintain.

"I'm proud of you, Harry." John said warmly. If they had been different people, perhaps they would have hugged, or indulged in some other display of affection. As they weren't, they just smiled quietly at one another. The Watsons weren't loud, emotional people, but that wasn't to say they couldn't share emotions in their own way. Involuntarily, John wondered if Sherlock had ever shared a moment like this with anyone.

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed, straightening up. "I nearly forgot!"

John raised an eyebrow. "Nearly forgot what?"

Harry looked worryingly amused. "I was talking to Alison the other day, and she told me she'd seen you downtown."

John wracked his brains, trying to think of what he could have possibly been doing to cause Harry's expression. Maybe the time he got caught with the spray paint? But he'd been in a deserted alley…

"…I've been downtown a lot, lately." he said carefully.

"She said she saw you in a little restaurant, having dinner."

"Harry, I don't see what you-"

"Having dinner in a fancy restaurant, John. With a man." She stared at him appraisingly, a slight smile on her face. "Have you gone bender, then?"

John tried to keep himself from reacting to this statement. Ironically, everything he felt would have probably just been given away had the man in question been present. Luckily, he was only talking to Harry, who he could probably put off the scent. "Harry, he's my flatmate. The one I told you about? In the email you didn't read?"

But for once, Harry didn't take the bait. "Alison said the table had a little candle and everything."

"Yes, well, the owner had a few misconceptions." Misconceptions which John had apparently not helped to dispel. It was uncomfortable to remember how he had flirted, accidental or no. And they had established that neither wanted anything more than friendship, which made some of John's less voluntary thoughts decidedly inappropriate.

"And what could have possibly given him those misconceptions, eh John?"

"Harry…"

Harry gave him a pleading look that he had only seen three times since his twelfth birthday.

"Come on, John. You never tell me anything about your life. Whenever you're here, all we talk about is me. I want to know what's going on with you. I feel like you're shutting me out."

Although John was slightly skeptical of his sister's ability to crank out the waterworks at the drop of a hat, he couldn't help but see the sense in what she said. He ought to share more with her. Maybe it would help him sort himself out, if he talked to someone. It wasn't as if he had anyone else he could complain to about his flatmate, after all. Mrs. Hudson would be sure to tell Sherlock anything he said, she couldn't keep a secret for beans. Talking to Lestrade would just be uncomfortable, and god forbid Anderson…

"Sherlock is… very handsome, yes." he said slowly. His heart sank as Harry squealed like a schoolgirl.

"I knew it!" she said, all pretense of sadness gone. "Really, though?"

"Yes, really." he said defensively. "And don't spread it around."

"No, I- no, I won't, John. You know I wouldn't. I still find it a bit hard to believe, though. I mean, I didn't really expect- you! Really! I mean… do you want to talk about it?"

He smiled a little. "Are you sure? This might be like opening a dam."

"No, no of course, John. I love a good bit of gossip. No!" she backtracked at his sharp look. "That's not what I meant! Just, I care about you John. If you need someone to talk to, I want to be here for you."

John took a moment to wonder how they had reached this point. From expectations of a row about drinking to confessing his unrequited feelings for his flatmate, this wasn't quite how he'd expected his visit to be going. Ah, well. Going with the flow had worked rather well for him in the last little while. If you didn't count either of the times he almost died.

"Right, well, Sherlock. Where do I start?"

He leaned back on the sofa. "He's- he's absolutely mad and absolutely wonderful, Harry. He'll sit around our flat for days, not eating or talking or anything. And then Lestrade'll turn up with a case, and all of a sudden everything is hurry up and go. And we're running across London from crime scene to crime scene, running for our lives. I swear, half the time, I don't know why I put up with him. But the other half I wouldn't trade it for anything."

Harry cut in. "Lestrade? And what's this about crime scenes, John?"

John smiled. "Lestrade's a Detective Inspector. Whenever there's a case the police can't handle, he brings it to Sherlock. And Sherlock brings me along for the ride. He says he needs a doctor to examine any victims he comes across, but I think he really just likes having someone who's completely in awe of him around to compliment him when he pulls a brilliant deduction out of nowhere."

"Are you two… involved, then?" Harry asked eagerly.

John shook his head. Sherlock was 'married to his work', and John had never had a burning desire to be a mistress. "No, no, of course not. I don't think Sherlock's ever been involved with anyone, to tell you the truth. He likes to emphasize the fact that he's a sociopath. But he tolerates my company, which I can't really say for anyone else. Except maybe our landlady."

"But he seeks out your company, right? And he doesn't do that for anyone else?"

"No." John said, forcefully. "No, he doesn't. But don't try and get any grand ideas, Harry. We're friends, that's all. He doesn't have many friends, you know. I wouldn't want to take away one of the very few connections he's made for… for a cheap shag. For whatever it is that you're suggesting."

Harry pushed her hair back with one hand, taking a sip of her tea with the other. She set her mug down, and stared into it, spinning it so the handle was perfectly aligned with the couch. Once she'd done this, she looked up.

"You know, you're different, John. Different from how you were. You're more forceful, more sure of yourself."

John snorted. "I have to be. He won't even make tea if I don't threaten some of his precious experiments. After convincing Sherlock Holmes to straighten up the sitting room, everything else is child's play."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "He's changed you John. I don't know if it's for the better, or for the worse. But you're not the same man you were the last time we met."

"Neither are you, Harry." John reminded her.

The pair sat in silence, both wrapped up in their own thoughts. Different. Was he really? Had his few weeks with Sherlock managed to change him more than the war ever could? John supposed he paid less attention to social dos and don'ts now. But that was just because Sherlock couldn't seem to care less about them, and there was no need for anything more than cursory politeness with the Yard.

And who did he ever see, really, besides Sherlock? His patients, of course. But John had a different mode he went into when dealing with the sick and injured. It was almost like a mask he pulled over himself, only to be shed when it wasn't needed any more. Sarah? That was a laugh. He'd only started dating her in an effort to get over Sherlock. And she'd left him after the kidnapping. He didn't blame her. He wasn't exactly a doting boyfriend.

Maybe he was becoming more like Sherlock. Nothing the man did could shock him anymore, anyways. Not the head in the fridge, nor the fingers in the teakettle. Nor even the times when they were standing in the hallway, just back from a wild run across London, breathing heavily and staring into each other's eyes…

John could almost delude himself into thinking that there was something between them when they were gazing at each other, grinning madly. John couldn't imagine Sherlock letting his guard down like that with anyone else they knew. Maybe Harry had a point. John looked up at her.

She was staring into space just over his left shoulder. She lifted her tea to take a sip, and almost spilt it on herself in surprise at a loud rap on the front door. John looked at her questioningly. Surely she hadn't invited anyone over?

"I don't know." Harry answered his unspoken question. "Maybe it's Martha?"

"Excellent." John said, standing up and putting Sherlock out of his mind as much as he could. "I'm eager to meet her."

But when Harry opened the door, it was most definitely not Martha.

"John! Excellent." Sherlock said. John was completely surprised. He hadn't told Sherlock he was coming to Harry's. How had he known?

Of course. John mentally shook himself. Sherlock knew everything. He'd probably deduced from the way he'd put his socks on that morning or something.

"I've just had a breakthrough." Sherlock said excitedly. "The painting is still in the house, but we need to go immediately. There's a car waiting for us."

John was reluctant to abandon his sister like this, but one look at her showed that she didn't mind in the slightest. "Go on, John." she said, almost eagerly. "We'll catch up this weekend. I'll text you." Then she proceeded to almost shove him out the door.

"Harry, I-" John got out, before the door slammed soundly behind him. He didn't have to wonder at what had got into his sister. He felt sure he could make a pretty good guess.

Sure enough, as he rode in the cab with Sherlock minutes later, he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out, and flipped it open.

He says he's in a rush, and yet he comes to my flat in the middle of nowhere to fetch you.

And he is very handsome, I'll give you that.

Harry

John smiled, slid his phone shut, and slipped it into his pocket.

"You look happy. I presume that was your sister, rescheduling your tea?" Sherlock asked.

John just smiled.