For the OTP Bootcamp (36. Torture) on the BBC Sherlock Fanfiction Challenges forum

The last thing Harriet Watson meant to do was attack Sherlock.

Honestly, she blamed it all on John. She had gone to 221B Baker Street looking for him. If he had just been there, the situation never would have happened.

Harry knew she couldn't go visit Clara. After the last time she had shown up at her wife's office in this state, Clara had expressly banned her from turning up there when she drunk.

So she did the next obvious thing – she went to see her brother. After all, there was no way John could still be mad at her over the entire walking out on Clara thing. It had been a little disagreement over clothing sizes for Lord's sake! They'd gotten back together within a few hours! It was definitely not anything to get mad over, especially when it didn't even affect John.

(Harry never let herself think that John might have upset because of the drinking. Because they both knew that she just wasn't capable of stopping. Limiting her intake so that she wouldn't suffer from liver failure or lose her job was difficult enough.)

So after fumbling for her wallet and paying the cabbie, she stumbled up the stairs to the flat her brother shared with his lunatic of a best friend.

When she entered, it was completely empty and John was nowhere to be found.

Sherlock had been going about his newest experiment with corrosive acids peacefully. He was just noting down the rate of corrosion when the door to the flat banged open and he heard a sadly familiar voice yell, "JOHN!"

He braced himself for the hurricane that was John's sister and took a step out of the kitchen. Harriet was obviously inebriated.

"Hello, Harriet," he said gingerly as he walked into the living room. "I'm afraid John isn't here at the moment. Perhaps you could try the hospital? Though, considering your state, it may be best if you just -"

Harry's face just centimetres away from his stopped him in mid-sentence. Before he could even start to deduce her, her fingers started poking at his cheekbones.

"Didja know you're pretty?" she asked, pulling his cheeks not unlike his great-aunts used to do when he was a boy.

Before he could begin to formulate a response to her question, Harry had somehow managed to drag him to the couch and deposit herself on her lap.

(To be fair, he didn't mind having a Watson on his lap. He just hadn't quite imagined it to be this Watson.)

"Have y'kissed him yet?"

"What?" Sherlock asks, uncharacteristically shocked.

"Y'should kiss him, y'know," Harry continues on imperiously, ignoring his exclamation. "He's wants you t'kiss him. He's in lurrve with you."

Sherlock simply blinked stupidly at the woman in his lap. A part of his mind was recording everything she was saying, and exactly how she was acting (because she was talking about John and, she was important to John, and John was Important and Necessary to him, so she was important too), but the majority of mind was simply shocked thoughtless by Harriet Watson's words.

"You're awflly cuddly, y'know. Not as cuddly as John though. John's even more warm and comfy. An' he likes cuddles. He'd always cuddle me when we were kids, y'know. He's like a cuddlebunny. He always wants cuddles. I like cuddlebunnies. D'you know Clara's a cuddlebunny too? Only when she's at home, tho. She said, "Harry, don' ya come an' cuddle me at the office." Which is why I'm here. To cuddle with John. Only, John's not here."

By that point, Sherlock had managed to shake off his shock. Only, the woman had somehow managed to turn into an octopus while his mind had been occupied with other matters, because she had wound herself around him and refused to let him go.

"Didja know John likes doggies? We had a doggy once. 'is name was Fluffy. I named him, y'know. You should gecha puppy. It'd make John loads happy. An' then the two of you could play with 'im an' sleep all cuddled up ina pile of SherlockanJohnanpuppy. It'd be cute. You should do that."

While the woman was occupied with her rambling speech (a part of his mind was still recording it, and he had to admit, the picture she painted did sound appealing) Sherlock had managed to get a hold of his phone to send an emergency text to John. Somehow, he managed to type, "Help! Harry! Vatican cameos!" without being noticed by the babbling limpet he had somehow acquired.

"Yu're in lurve with Johnniee, aren't ya? I know you are. Didja know that all 'em girls fell in lurve wi' Johnniee when 'e was in high school. But he weren't never interested in 'em, was 'e? So they came ta me ta heal their hearts. Was sooo much funn. Always finding a way to make sure I get some, Johnniee was. 'e's a good man, my brther isss. So don't ya go breakin his heart, you 'ear me? Cause I've got loads of frens. Scaryy frens. An' they all like Johnieee, they do. So don' go breakin him, ya hear tha?"

It was rather lucky that that was the moment that John chose to practically break through the front door. Had Sherlock been forced to listen to Harriet any longer, it was a likely possibility that his brain would have melted due to all the new, Interesting information it was receiving.

The first thing John did at seeing his sister clutching on to Sherlock like her favourite teddy bear was to pull out his phone and click a photograph. There was no way anyone at the Yard would believe this happened without photographic proof.

It was only after he had captured that proof did he allow himself to collapse in laughter. The look of panic on Sherlock's face would stay with him for a long, long time.

After he had calmed down some, he gathered his sister and brought her to his room, letting her sleep off the alcohol. He sent a message to Clara to make sure that she wouldn't panic at finding Harry missing, and then he went to talk to Sherlock.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, Sherlock looked up from his experiment to scowl at him.

"Honestly, John, can't you tell your sister not to attack me when she's drunk? Do you how much time I lost that could have been spent experimenting? The last she could have done was go to the hospital when she saw you weren't here instead of attaching herself to me! I had to restart my -"

John quickly cut Sherlock off before his rant turned long-winded. "You do realise that Harry's about half your size, right? She cannot be more than 45 kilos soaking wet. You could have easily gotten away from her if you wanted."

"Yes, well…" The faint splotches of red on Sherlock's cheeks made it obvious that John was right.

"You're blushing!" John exclaimed delightedly. It was rare to see Sherlock ruffled, and this was just too perfect to let go. "So, why didn't you get away from Harry?"

"I'd rather not talk about," Sherlock said, sounding rather put off at the way the tables had been turned so quickly on him.

"You aren't particularly fond of Harry, or treat her any differently than other normally, so that isn't the reason," John said slowly, determined to figure out why Sherlock hadn't acted like…well, Sherlock.

"John, stop trying to guess," Sherlock demanded.

"And it's definitely not because you pitied her for being drunk. You know that she's a lesbian, so you're far too sensible to fall in love with her."

"John, stop," Sherlock tried again.

"Not a chance Sherlock. Let's see, the only thing that connects you and Harry is me. So…" John's eyes widened in shocked realisation. "You were nice to her for me, weren't you?"

"What? No, stop being dull John," Sherlock replied immediately, scrambling for a way to make sure John didn't find out about his feelings.

"You're a horrible liar when you've been caught, you know that right?" John said with faint amusement.

"This isn't funny John. You're wrong."

"No, I don't think I am," John said softly, stepping closer to Sherlock.

As he stared down at the Watson in front of him, Sherlock had the faint thought that he'd already been here today. Only this time, it was the right Watson who was standing far too close to him.

"John…" he whispered.

"Shh…" John replied, cupping Sherlock's face in his hands and leaning up to look him in the eyes. "Don't say anything."

And then he closed the little space between them, finally kissing Sherlock after what felt like years of waiting.

Later, when they're lying in bed exhausted, legs tangled together and hearts beating in unison, Sherlock allows himself to admit that Harriet Watson may just have her uses all.

So, I'm not sure how I did with the drunk speech.

Hope you guys liked it!

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