"Harriet." John's voice was deep and emotional. It had been a long time since he had come in contact with his sister.
John and Harriet's relationship had never been complete. For a brother and sister; she didn't tell him anything, he didn't trust her. Their childhood was coarse, their age difference so close yet none of each of their friend or family could think of siblings so distant. Yet they did still love each other. John's compassion echoed in this anger and arguments with his older sister and hers through small gestures of protection. Neither can remember the last each said thank-you, or expressed admiration to one another.
Even though each Watson was renowned for their sense of heart and care, no one knew why they could not love each other.
As Harriet stepped out of the London cab, the Watsons visual inheritance was evident to Sherlock. Harriet's features were a little more feminine, pouted lips, large, diagonal eyes, and all contrasted her brother's masculine. Cliché enough was the sibling's eyes, as both shared the dull, lifeless colour.
"John." Her voice was hollow, worn, tired. John was surprised of the lack of coolness in her voice he was so used to.
Sherlock opened his mouth to begin has deduction on Harriet, but was interrupted by johns plea of showing his sister upstairs, as he proceeded to receive Harriet's luggage from the cab.
"18 months?" asked Sherlock, finding similarity of conversation when he first met John.
"A year and four months" she replied, shockingly calm to Sherlock, who then stop suddenly to retort. "John warned me, ' The Science of Deduction', a man who can tell you your life story within minutes of shaking your hand. He admires you, you know."
"Don't talk, communicate, yeah, I called him last Christmas. You may not believe it, but I care for my little brother, and I won't see him hurt again." Harriet kept her silence, glaring at Sherlock. Sherlock understood the threat, and decided the correct amount of physical and mental distance he was going to keep from his roommate's sister.