The Side of The Angels (A Sherlock Holmes Fan-Fiction)

Chapter Twenty-Six: Men's Shirt

When I woke up the next morning, Sherlock was gone. I assumed he had gone after John, or was doing goodness knows what, so I didn't question it. I decided to continue to wear Sherlock's shirt, despite how unsanitary that probably was, because despite the fact that I had slept in it, it still smelled like him, and that smell comforts me.

I slipped on a pair of black jeans, tucking the shirt in so that it was still loose, but it didn't hang down. I put on my black converse and grabbed my coat, heading down to the pub. I took out my phone, preparing to text Sherlock when I ran smack into somebody's back.

"Oh, my gosh, I'm sorry..." I trailed off as I looked up into the face of my brother. "Greg..."

"Hi Claudia..." He trailed off as well, only for a much different reason. "You're wearing a man's shirt."

"This is my shirt." I told him.

"No it isn't. Since when do you wear men's shirts?"

"Since always, they're more comfertable."

"Because of the size, but you're the type to just go up a size in women's clothing. you've never purpousley bought men's clothing unless you were shopping for someone or...oh my gosh, I recognize it."

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"You're wearing Sherlock Holmes' bloody shirt! Why are you wearing his shirt?!" So...fun fact, I hadn't exactly told Greg about Sherlock and I being involved.

"It's my shirt! Where are they anyways, is it hot in here?" I stepped outside, running my fingers through my hair. He better hurry up, whatever he's doing.  I looked over to see John, Sherlock walking backwards in front of him.

"You may not be the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light, you are unbeatable." Sherlock said, turning around.

"Cheers! What?"

"Some people who aren't geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others. "

"Hang on, you were saying sorry a minute ago. Don't spoil it. Go on, what have I done that's so bloody stimulating?" They came to a stop in front of me. Sherlock held out a notepad with the word 'hound' on it. 

"What if it's not a word, what if it is individual letters?" He showed it to us again, with dots after every letter.

"You think it's an acronym?"

"Absolutely no idea...Claudia, why were you just standing out here?" Sherlock realized.  I bit my lip, nodding at the door to the pub. Greg was standing there, his hands in his pockets. "What the heck are you doing here?"

"Oh, nice to see you too. I'm on holdiay, would you beleive? Only to find my sister wearing a familiar men's shirt, one that you currently are not wearing-"

"No, I wouldn't. " he said, answering his first question, and choosing to ignore the shirt comment.

"Hello, John."

"I haven't told him, please don't say anything." I whispered to Sherlock.

"Greg." John greeted.

"I heard you were in the area. What are you up to? Mostly those two. Are you after this Hound of Hell, like on the telly?"

"I'm waiting for an explanation, Inspector, why are you here?"

"I've told you, I'm on holiday, and I'm waiting for an explanation myself, why is she wearing your shirt?"

"I think you know the answer to that inspector, now you're brown as a nut. You're clearly just back from your holidays."

"You're kidding me. Him?! My bloody sister is dating Sherlock Holmes!?"