Deduce Me

Twenty-one: Meeting the Parents

(I'm sorry that I have to make Sherlock's parents into complete asses. I really do love them... Anyway, let's get on with it.)

John

It was a few weeks later, already almost halfway through December, when I brought it up. The holidays were coming up.

"Sherlock?" I asked as I climbed into my bed. It was already dark outside, the stars twinkling coldly through the frozen air outside.

"Hmm?" was the only response I got, because Sherlock was already curled on his side and nearly falling asleep.

"What about Christmas?"

He blinked his eyes open. "What about it?"

"Well... I mean, the 18th is our last day... That's this Friday. Four days, Sherlock, and then I won't see you for three weeks."

A worry line creased between his brows. "Urgh, my parents are forcing me to come home this year, too. Something about something or another. I don't even know what exactly, but all I'll be doing is hiding away in my room."

"Yeah, me too," I admitted. "Harry is, ah... Usually very drunk around this time of year. She's not normally a pleasant person to be around, especially when she starts having temper tantrums."

Sherlock sat up. "She gets abusive??"

I rolled on my side to look at him. "No. Well, kind of. Normally, when she's wasted, she just yells- about anything and everything. Sometimes, she starts throwing things around: beer bottles, lamps. She threw a chair, once. It went right through a door. She never really gets pissed at me, but it's still best if I stay out of the firing zone."

"So, she's violent. John, you can't live there over the holidays, especially if this is her worst time of year!"

"Well, where else am I going to go?" It was a rhetorical question.

He answered it, anyway. "Come to my house. We have plenty of room, and that way we won't have to be separated."

"Oh..." I thought it over. It definitely sounded like a better option than listening to Harry drink herself stupid before going on a rampage. "Do you think your parents would mind?"

"Of course not! Besides, Geoff spends most of his time over, anyway. What's one more guest?" A satisfied smile stretched across his face as he lay back down.

"Actually, that sounds fantastic... Wait, Geoff??"

"Yeah."

"Who??"

"Geoff Lestrade...? Football player, dating my brother...?"

I giggled. "Sherlock, it's Greg."

"Is it?"

"Yes!" I couldn't stop laughing.

We quieted down after a while, and my eyes were drooping heavily. "John?"

"Yeah?" I slurred.

"I'm sorry about your sister."

"Don' worry 'bout it," I drawled sleepily. I didn't really want to think about it.

"No, really... I know you're disappointed that she drinks so much, and gets so violent."

A lump formed in my throat, but I pushed it down. "'S okay, 'Lock. Really." My voice cracked unevenly.

It was silent for a minute or so before I heard the springs in Sherlock's mattress shudder. My bed dipped low as Sherlock slid his body under the covers and wound his arms around my waist, his legs threading through mine. "What're you doing?" I asked, but didn't object.