a/n: I think this is the shortest chapter I've ever written. I'm still wondering if I should continue, that's probably why.

Enjoy!

Review!

Should I continue?

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Since living and working alongside Sherlock Holmes, the ex-army doctor had been in so many odd situations that rarely anything surprised him anymore. A head in the fridge? Sure. A part of the kitchen charred black from a small explosion? No big deal.

So when John Watson walked in the flat of 221B Baker Street to find the consulting detective throwing butcher knives at the wall, he shouldn't have been shocked. But he was. The grocery bags forgotten at the door, John ran over cautiously. "Sherlock! What the hell are you doing?"

Sherlock skillfully threw another knife at the opposite wall and it stuck there, piercing the yellow smiley face. "What does it look like? I'm throwing knives. Be more observant, John."

John carefully gathered the rest of the knives in his grasp before the other man could grab another. "May I ask why? Surely you're not bored already. We just solved another case this morning."

"No, John. Boredom is not the reason." He replied, throwing himself on the couch.

After putting the knives and the few groceries away, John returned to the common room. Sherlock's lanky legs were stretched out, arms above his head in a relaxing stance, with his gaze pinned to the ceiling. "Well?"

"Well what?" Sherlock muttered, not even glancing over.

"Are you going to tell me what made you throw knives at the bloody wall?" the ex-army doctor crossed his arms. Sherlock stayed silent as if he hadn't heard John at all and brought the tips of his fingertips together in front of his mouth.

"And you must be John."

John blinked, and for one absurd second he thought the voice had come from the man lying on the couch. But this voice was female, sultry, and sexy. He turned to look behind him to where the lovely sound had come from-

She was wrapped in a deep red robe, which fell gracefully to her knees. John took in her long, curly black hair, bright green eyes, and perfectly sculpted cheekbones. Her full lips quirked into a shy smile.

With a blush, John realized he hadn't said a word in response. "Uhm…" He cleared his throat loudly. "Uhm, hello."

He glanced at Sherlock, then back to the girl. Had the detective gotten himself a girlfriend? John's eyebrows pulled together in confusion – no, that didn't fit. Sherlock didn't date, and he wasn't interested in the act at all. So…who was this, and why did it look like she just woke up?

The beautiful creature before his eyes swished gracefully into the room. "Sorry about the state of your bed – you know I how I like to sleep with no covers."

John suddenly felt uncomfortable. So they had slept together last night? Which obviously meant they were together-

"John, this is Cordelia." Sherlock muttered, cutting the woman off harshly.

"Uhm…h-hello." John held out his hand to her politely, but the uneasiness in his stomach hadn't dissipated. Why was he feeling so odd about this?

Her hand formed into his softly and he watched a grin form on her face. A loose strand of hair fell in front of her eyes.

"Hello, John Watson. Please, call me Lia. I'm Sherlock's sister."