I believe in you - Sherlock Fanfiction.

Chapter thirteen - Bonfire and rats.

"No."

"Why not? She's beautiful, isn't she?" His mother says to her husband, and i just blush, "She seems lovely, too."

Sherlock just sighs and sits back onto the arm chair.

"So, um, want anything to drink?" I ask them. I hate that all I ever do in this house is make people drinks. I wish I would just sit down and ask them some questions and start a conversation with them instead of being so god damn awkward.

"So happy you asked, dear! I'll have a cup of coffee." Sherlock's mother smiled, and his father said he didn't want anything. I nodded and go into the kitchen to put the kettle on. I start filling the cups and then pour the boiling water and milk into the mugs before returning and sitting next to them on the sofa.

"Thank you, love." She smiles and holds the cup in her hand, "So how long have you known Sherlock?"

"Since he was risen from the dead." I chuckle. She chuckled, too.

"So smart, our Sherlock is. But yet he turns down the money he needs to even live here. So I offered him our lottery ticket..." She starts talking. I feel rude for just zoning out, but at least they didn't notice. My mind trailed to lots of things, such as my last job, and that stupid boss that fired me. And then I started to wonder if John was okay before thinking about Sherlock. I found him so intriguing. He wasn't like anyone I had ever met before, he was different. Yes, most people would hate me. But then there are people like me and John who decided to ignore his flaws and put up with him, and once you do that you start to see that he isn't so bad after all. Sherlock closes his eyes, sighing quietly and occasionally drumming his fingers on the arms of the chair. It was then I realized his parents have been talking for some time, now.

"...Which wasn't the way I'd put it at all. Silly woman. Anyway, it was then that I first noticed it was missing. "Have you checked down the back of the sofa?" I asked.

Sherlock screws his face up, then tilts hes head forward a little, almost nodding off to sleep until his head jerks back up again.

"He's always losing things down the back of the sofa, aren't you, dear?"

"Fraid so." Sherlock's father says. I smile at them, mainly at his father as he looked like he wasn't bothered in the topic at all. Sherlock opened his eyes and glared towards the kitchen.

"Keys, small change, sweeties. Especially his glasses."

"Glasses." His father repeats. 

"Blooming things." I said, "Why don't you get a chain – wear 'em round your neck?" And he says, "What – like Larry Grayson?""

"Larry Grayson." He says, almost simultaneously again.

Sherlock then rises to his feet quickly, buttoning his jacket as he walks towards his parents, "So did you find it eventually, your lottery ticket?" He then steps onto the coffee table in front of us and then onto the sofa between his parents. His mother leaned onto the side near me, getting out of his way, and his father stares up at him as Sherlock starts idly flicking through the paperwork stuck on the wall.

"Well, yes, thank goodness. We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see, er, St Paul's, the Tower ... but they weren't letting anyone in to Parliament. Some big debate going on."

"That sucks." I say.

"I know." His mother looks at me, and was about to say something but the living room door opened, snapping our attention to it. John walks in, and Sherlock looks around in surprise. 

"John!" 

"Hey." I give a slight, lazy wave.

"Sorry – you're busy."