This chapter was a little awkward to write because of trying to put in touchy-feely stuff and I'm not very good at that... yes I am a high-functioning sociopath. But here goes: feel free to tell me how to get in touch with my inner nice amiable person. (She's hidden very deep down)
***
Evanna's POV
Even though I knew that with my savings I could just about afford to rent a flat near Baker Street, Sherlock and John insisted I stay with them, accounting for the fact that whoever killed my mother would probably be after me too. They were talking sense, so I agreed. After a long and emotional day I flopped down on their sofa, not even bothering to change my clothes, and slipped away into the safety of my dreams to the melody of my uncle's violin.
When I woke up at 3am, I couldn't remember my dream. Well I say I couldn't, but I actually mean I wouldn't. I've always regarded dreams as being the distorted reminiscences of the previous day, and that was one day I would really rather not relive.
I found that I couldn't fall back to sleep and so I decided on a trip to the bathroom. However as I walked down the corridor, I saw a light coming from Sherlock's room. I tiptoed past, trying to be as quiet as possible, not even daring to breath knowing his temperament.
"Evanna" came a voice.
I jumped up and pulled a knife out of my pocket, pointing it at where my ears had told me was the source of the voice.
Then I lowered it when I realized it was Sherlock. "Bit tetchy are we?" he said. "Come in."
I eased open the door and peered inside. He was still in his day clothes too: a purple satin shirt, a black cardigan, and trousers in the same colour. His knees were huddled to his chest as he sat on his bed leaning against the wall, and his fingers were steepled just below his nose. Although he knew I was there, he had his eyes closed and seemed not to acknowledge my presence.
I took this as a cue to sit down on the bed, crossing my legs. Eight minutes I counted we sat in silence. It felt like a lifetime however until he spoke.
"Tell me about her" he whispered, opening his eyes but still not looking at me.
I furrowed my eyebrows, confused. "I've already told you all I know"
"I don't mean the technical data" he sighed. "What was she like as a 'person' if you will"
Sherlock's POV
"She was very protective of me," she started. "Never even liked me going out on my own. We argued a lot about that" she laughed quietly. "But, even though she made sure she was wary of everything she was quite gullible too, and, not exactly the smartest of people"
I turned my head to face her. "Is that so? Interesting."
And so she continued, telling me about my sister's kindness, and charity to the homeless. Interestingly she had never gotten romantically involved with anyone. I didn't suppose this was for the same reason as I, a more probable hypothesis would have been trauma from her sexual abuser. Apparently they never found him.
Evanna was halfway through telling me a story about her mother's terrible cooking skills when I compelled myself to say what had been itching to burst out of me all night.
"WHY DON'T I REMEMBER HER?!"
Evanna simply stared at me, then the ceiling, finally making eye contact once more. "I don't know Sherlock."
I punched a pillow in fury. None of this made sense! Where did she come from? Was she really my sister? Why was she hiding? And who was she hiding from? An infinite number of questions, but no answers. Yet.
"She trusted no one Sherlock. Not even- not even her own daughter. That always angered me deep down" she whispered, picking at the lint on the duvet cover. "She demanded to know every single detail about my life. But when it came to her? Nothing. Only that we were Holmes', I am your neice, that you had no idea, and that I should keep it unsaid. There's nobody who might even known a smidgen of her past" she said, tears rolling down her pale cheeks.
"I wouldn't be so sure about that" I smiled comfortingly, laying my hand on top of hers. "In the morning, we will get answers."
***
Yes, yes you heard me right. He was wearing the purple shirt of sex.
*imagines it*
*looks at attached image*
*pterodactyl screech*
*cries on the floor from the beauty*
*cough* Erm excuse me ladies and gentlemen.
Woops there goes my dignity.