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“Who is Scarlett? “ John entered the flat with a letter in his hand, given to him by Mrs. Hudson for Sherlock when he returned from work.
Sherlock looked up shortly from his laptop before he went on staring at the screen. “Not important.”
“Strange. Only the first name, no address of sender. That implies a certain… intimacy? Or one of those “ladies” who offer “special” services. But usually that doesn’t happen via old-fashioned letters.” Amused, John waved the envelope in front of Sherlock’s face.
Sherlock grabbed the letter and put it under his laptop. “You are right. Old-fashioned.” His attention returned to whatever he was researching. Making clear that he wasn’t interested at all to go deeper.
John shrugged his shoulders and went into the kitchen.
---
“Did you read it?” John asked, interrupting reading his book.
Sherlock watched a documentary about forensic medicine on TV. “I’m not an expert on that. But I’m sure the cut they suggested to open the skull is nonsense. Have to talk to Molly about it someday.”
“Sherlock, did you read the letter?”
“Which letter?”
“The letter I gave to you yesterday. Scarlett… remember?”
“Um… that… yes.”
“So?”
“So?”
“Am I allowed to know anything about it?”
“As I mentioned before, it’s not important.”
“Strange that you don’t want to talk about it. I thought… after I split up with Mary… you would have more trust in me… that you and I were more than just friends…”
“To be precise you didn’t split up with Mary. She left you in a cloak-and-dagger operation and took your daughter with her.”
Sherlock turned off the television. “I shouldn’t waste my time watching these poorly researched documentaries. Do you remember the one about mummies? That was even worse. I don’t understand how halfway educated people… What is it?”
Sherlock became aware of John staring at him.
“Sometimes I really doubt that you have a heart.” John answered stony-faced.
He stood up and went into his room without saying another word.
---
On the next morning, Sherlock was already busy in the kitchen and wearing his usual dressing gown, when John came down in pyjama trousers and a t-shirt.
“Sherlock, what are you doing?”
“Making breakfast. I’m not sure… how do you want your eggs… boiled… fried… scrambled? Coffee is ready. And toast as well. Take a seat.”
“Breakfast. YOU are making breakfast.” John pulled a chair from the kitchen table and sat down.
Sherlock shortly turned around to John, smiling, and then continued his work as house husband.
“Sherlock, what happened? Why are you doing this? It’s the first time in all those years.”
Sherlock turned around again with a seemingly guilty face, an egg in one hand, a spatula in the other and John had problems to stay serious because Sherlock looked so funny.
“I had a chat with Mrs Hudson about what happened yesterday. And she said I should…”
“You had a chat with Mrs Hudson? When I left last night it was late already.”
“Don’t worry. She had her sleep. I knocked at her door a few hours later.”
“A few hours later. When exactly?”
“Ah… maybe three or four o’clock. Can’t remember. Anyway she supposed I behaved too rude and it would be…”
“Hang on Sherlock, you woke up poor Mrs Hudson in the middle of the night only to discuss your behaviour that you aren’t able to control? I can’t believe it.”
“It wasn’t that bad, really. In fact she seemed… touched that I came to her. She said things like “I’m so glad” and “Finally you face up your feelings”. Sounds… good, doesn’t it? Well, I wasn’t aware that being frank could be… um… hurtful. I am really sorry, John. You know my brain is full of useful things but being tactful isn’t part of it. But it is fact that Mary… Anyway I want to apologise, I must apologise. In fact I couldn’t sleep after I… you left… Oh, Mycroft would burst of laughter if he could see me now. Mrs Hudson had tears in her eyes when she said I should be honest to you… just once. What I’m trying to say… when you didn’t live in Baker Street anymore and married Mary… inside me something… hurts… my non existing heart, you know… never had that before…”
“Sherlock, would you please put that damn egg away?”
“Um, why?”
“Because of what I am going to do now. It will break.” John stood up, took Sherlock’s head in both hands and pressed a gentle long lasting kiss on Sherlock’s mouth.
The egg burst on the floor.
---
After breakfast John sat in his chair, reading the newspaper, and Sherlock stood at the window, observing life on the street.
“So, you want to know who Scarlett is.”
John immediately folded his newspaper. “Yes… if you want to tell me.”
“Alright then. She is my sister.”
“You have a sister? Why did you never tell me? That Mycroft didn’t is no surprise, but even your parents never mentioned her.”
Sherlock turned around. “She is, well, the black sheep of the family.”
“The black sheep? With brothers like you and Mycroft? That’s hard to believe.”
“My parents and Mycroft haven’t seen her or heard of her for ages. She left when she only was 18. To be precise she eloped with a man who was nearly 30 years older. The relationship didn’t last long. She is a free journalist now, travels around the world. I have contact to her via email again for around three months now. In fact I still… love her? She wants to come for Christmas this year. Do you mind?”
John smiled. “If I mind? I would love to meet her.”
“Good. I will send her an email.”
“And Sherlock?”
“Yes?”
“I have to apologise. You definitely have a heart. A big one.”