Hey, everyone! Welcome to my very first Sherlock multi-chapter! As you can see, it's called As Best He Could and while it doesn't focus on Johnlock, I hope you all enjoy it. I would love to see your reviews. Even if you don't like it, let me know what you don't like, so I can see if I can fix it, or see if I can add something to suit your tastes. That's all, I guess. Enjoy.

'Harry…' I warned, eyeing the glass bottle my older sister was reaching for. 'That's your fourth bottle today.'

I knew she would ignore me. She always did. She positioned her fingers around the neck of the alcohol bottle and raised it to her lips. 'Harry!' I screeched. I lunged forward and whisked the bottle out of her grip before any of the liquid could slip down her throat.

She glared at me while I screwed the lid back on the bottle. 'I hate you, Kodilla,' she muttered, her words already a little slurred.

'See?' I pointed out. 'You're already a bit tipsy. John's going to kill you if he finds out you're drunk.'

'I couldn't give a stuff what John thinks,' she countered.

I walked over to the doorway of our living room. I looked back at her with a scoff. 'You'll rethink that when he gives you another one of his lectures. Now, go and get changed. He and Sherlock are arriving soon.'

I walked out of the living room, ready to go and change myself, but then I poked my head back in the room. 'And, my name is Kodi. Not Kodilla.'

I slipped the bottle back into the kitchen fridge without waiting for her reply. I ran back upstairs and slammed the door to my room. My thigh-length midnight blue dress sat waiting for me on my bed, along with my white fur coat.

It was the first Christmas we would spend as a whole family in six years. Harry wasn't keen on family dinners, only because they consisted of our brother's rants and lectures.

John hated the fact that Harry was 'a severe drunkard'. He wouldn't even use the term 'alcoholic'. And he made sure that Harry knew that he hated it, using incredibly strong language and insults. That made Harry loathe John, which made for a horribly sour brother-sister relationship.

John and I, however, got along like bread and butter. We shared our interest in getting Harry off the drugs, although I went about it in a softer way than John did. I didn't want to ruin my relationship with Harry, even though she wished I would stop nagging at her.

I picked up my dress, running my hand over the soft silkiness. It was my favourite dress; my ex-boyfriend Liam bought it for me on my birthday a year ago.

I got undressed and put the dress on, before my phone pinged.

On our way in fifteen minutes. Sherlock just having a bit of trouble with his suit! - JW

I laughed at John's text. I didn't know why, considering today would be the first time I met his flatmate. I guess I was just thinking, who the heck has trouble with a suit?

I positioned my fingers over the keypad on my phone, ready to type out a reply.

Get here when you can. We're almost done preparing. See you soon. - KW

I sat at my dressing table to do my hair. I pulled it free from its messy ponytail and picked up my brush.

As I brushed my hair, I couldn't help but think about John's flatmate. Sherlock Holmes. John had described him as a 'socially-awkward, often rude but totally gorgeous sociopath'. I had to take my brother's word on that. Being bisexual, John really knew how to pick out the hot ones. But would he reciprocate John's feelings? I had heard enough of men breaking my brother's heart that way.

I cleared my mind, focusing on the task at hand. I pinned my bun into place with a couple of hairpins and then set about doing my makeup.

After getting dressed, I went back downstairs to see my parents laying the table.

My mother glanced at me as she placed a dish in the middle of the table. 'Give us a hand, won't you, Kodi? Harry's disappeared into the bathroom again.'

She and I both rolled our eyes as I stepped into the kitchen to help her. I gently plucked the quiche from my father's hand, placing it on one of our chocolate mats. As I reached into the drawer for the cutlery, I said, 'John and Sherlock will be here soon. John said they'd leave soon.'

At that second, Harry emerged from the downstairs bathroom. 'Is there still a chance I could back out of this?'

My mother, father and I all shook our heads. 'It's about time you started interacting with the family again, dear,' Mum told her.

'Whatever,' she mumbled. 'I'm going upstairs.'

She retreated from the kitchen.

Ding-dong.

'I'll get it!' I announced, literally running up to our front door.

I flung the door open and threw my arms around John. I heard him chuckle as he hugged me back.

And then I heard a baritone voice say, 'John, I didn't follow you here to be kept outside.'

John immediately let me go, rolling his eyes, and pushed me aside to let the man behind him enter the house.

This was his flatmate. This was Sherlock Holmes. I stared at him, transfixed. John was right. He was gorgeous.

He had a long, black coat draped over his incredibly slim figure, with only a few centimetres of black trousers and his black patent shoes showing from underneath. He had a navy blue scarf wrapped around his neck. His hair was a mess of black curls, unruly and untamed. His eyes were the most amazing mixture of blue-green I had seen. Beautiful.

Sherlock walked past us into the house, slipping his coat and scarf off along the way. He hung them on the hooks fixed on the stairs. He was in a black suit with a white shirt, the top button undone.

'Sherlock, no one gave you the invitation to go and make yourself feel at home,' John scolded.

'I know,' he replied. He turned to my father, who had just come out of the kitchen. He held his hand out saying, 'Good afternoon. I'm Sherlock Holmes.'

Dad shook his hand. 'Josh Watson. Good afternoon to you too,' he replied.

John muttered to me as they both went into the living room: 'Just out of interest, how many bottles has Harry had since I last saw her?'

Since he last saw her? John and Harry saw each other at our house four months ago. 'I don't know, but today alone she's had four,' I whispered.

I saw John's brow furrow. 'Right. I'll corner her about it later.'

I smirked as a thought crossed my mind. 'Hey, is Sherlock always this hot?'

John's frown instantly moulded into a smirk that matched mine. 'Yeah. But this isn't his hottest. Not even close to it.'

I raised an eyebrow. That looks pretty hot to me. 'It isn't?'

John shook his head, smiling like a maniac. 'Nope. When he puts on that tight purple shirt of his with those skinny black jeans and actually makes an effort with his hair, you should see him. Oh god, that is when he looks beautiful.'

'Does he know?' I asked. 'About your sexuality?'

We started up the stairs. Harry came out of her room at that point and she and John glared at each other. I swallowed, waiting to see if an argument would brew. However, John knew better than to taunt her, so he just opened the door to his old room (the now spare room) and we sat on the bed.

John looked around, commenting how the room hadn't changed since the last time he'd been here.

'John!' I called, reminding him about my question.

'Oh, yeah. I haven't told him, but he probably knows. He is Sherlock Holmes, after all.'

My eyebrow shot to my hairline. What did that mean? I voiced my thoughts.

'Kodi,' John sighed, as if I should know this. 'Sherlock can tell an accountant from the amount of hair product he uses, he can tell how many affairs someone's had by looking at their shoes. If he doesn't know my sexuality by now, then there's something wrong with him.'

No one, I repeat no one can tell if someone's an accountant by looking at volumes of hair product. Right? That was just impossible. Beyond human possibilities.

My phone pinged again.

Hey! Is Sherlock at yours yet? Is he hot? What's he look like? Give me details, girl! - T

I laughed. That was Tara for you. Tara Grahams was my best friend. She was my support (along with my parents and John) when Liam broke my heart in the worst possible way. She kept me going when everything else let me down.

Yes, he is. And he is hella hot. Literally. But John said that he can go even hotter. Chat later, bit busy. - KW

I looked up to see John smiling at me. 'What?' I asked him.

'Was that Grahams?' he asked.

'Might have been,' I replied indignantly.

Mum poked her head into the room. 'Er, John,' she asked. 'Is everything alright with Sherlock? He seems a bit… patronising.'

John heaved a sigh. 'That's Sherlock,' he explained. Just ignore his patronisation. He can be really sweet when he's not patronising.'

'Right…' Mum went off into her own world for a second but then shook her head. 'Well, we were thinking we could get lunch done now?'

John and I both nodded, getting off the bed. 'Alright, Mum,' I said, wrapping my arm round her shoulders.

At the table, as I took my place in between John and Mum, I caught Sherlock squinting at me across the table. I raised an eyebrow at him, but it didn't stop him looking as if he were studying me.

He opened his mouth to speak, but John got in there first. 'Don't, Sherlock!' he warned.

But Sherlock dismissed it. 'Kodi Watson, am I correct?'

I gave him a nod, suddenly unable to speak. What was he trying to do?

'How are you coping after that very messy break up of yours?'

I heard John groan.

I couldn't answer; the words wouldn't go past my lips. Not that Sherlock gave me any time to answer.

'Am I right in thinking you actually thought Liam would come back to you? That he'd leave his current, more pleasing girlfriendfor you? That you lost your assistant librarian job because you couldn't cope with the reality of relationships in your workspace? Really, Kodi. I thought you were strong. Yes, Liam was incredibly unfair, writing you a break-up song, but-'

I didn't hear anymore. I couldn't stand it.

I heard John say, 'Have you had enough now, Sherlock?'

I ran up the stairs at lightning speed. I slammed the door to my bedroom, curling up on my bed.

How had I thought this guy was cute? He was cute looking, yes, but nowhere near cute-minded.

The tears sprang to my eyes at the terrible memories. I closed my eyes, trying not to let the tears fall. I had vowed I wouldn't cry over him. That I wouldn't shed a tear when I was reminded of him.

I probably wouldn't have, if Sherlock had said it in a nicer way. Not like he thought I was a bad person for it.

I heard my phone ring but I paid no attention to it. I needed to let out the tears.

And that was what I was going to do after six months of bottling it up inside me.

Done! What did you think? Leave a review? Please?