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~CATCHING BUBBLES~

Sherlock woke up that morning, earlier than usual. In truth, he was astounded by the fact that he actually slept at all. He had already slept yesterday, before they headed out to the crime scene.

He blinked out the remnants of sleep from his eyes - and only now did he feel the bundle of warmth next to him. He looked down to see none other than (Name), sleeping soundly - thumb resting at the bottom of her lips. He smiled fondly at her - then did something completely out of character.

He softly placed a kiss on her forehead.

Within a few seconds after doing so, he then stood up ramrod straight - as if electrocuted.

'No. No. You can't do that,' he mentally berated himself.

He shook his head - emotionless mask back in place.

He grabbed his blue dressing gown, and headed out to the kitchen - certain that John had two cups of tea ready.

If he had stayed a second longer, he would have seen a small smile, creeping onto (Name)'s features.

~SH~

John was shocked when he saw the detective walk out of his room. It was 7:30 in the morning - what was he doing up?

He shrugged it off, and set down two plates of toast and eggs on the table - and went back to the stove.

The blogger was cooking a separate batch of mini-chocolate chip pancakes for (Name), knowing children weren't particularly fond of dry toast.

With great care, he poured the batter in three separate areas on the pan. He smiled to himself, as he moulded the liquid into various shapes. He had learned this little trick as a child - when Harry wouldn't make them for him anymore.

After a few more flips, and a shape here and there, he couldn't help but feel pride as he carried his handiwork to the table. There - in pancake form - was a bear. It had a face, ears, and even a bowtie (which he was quite sure (Name) would eat first). He stopped by the fridge - careful of the head - and then poured a glass of milk for the 6-year-old. He closed the fridge with his foot, and made his way to the dining area. What he saw almost made him drop the food he was carrying.

Sherlock was eating.

Eating.

John then ran through the dates in his head. No. There was no occasion. Nothing of significance or anything. So why was his flatmate eating?

He stood there - dumbfounded - but then regained his senses. His eyes were still on the detective as he put the food down - the younger man - wordlessly munching on his toast, while reading the newspaper.

John sat on the opposite end of the table, and - after a minute of silence - decided to voice his question.

"Alright - what's going on?"

Sherlock lowered the paper, and looked at John quizzically.

"What?" the detective asked.

"This," John said - gesturing to Sherlock's form, then to the plate where the half-eaten piece of toast rested.

"I'm eating," the man with the inky hair, replied. "I thought that would be fairly obvious. Really John, your powers of deduction are unparalleled."

The older man sighed, then continued.

"No, really. What's going on? I mean here you are - eating bloody toast, in the bloody morning - and for once, I don't have to threaten your mould collection or the decomposing liver in the microwave!"

It was Sherlock's turn to sigh.

"Well, (Name) had prompted me to take care of myself mor-"

"So what?!" John interrupted. Surely there was another reason! "I mean she just tells you to and you do it? Where as I - I have to nearly shove the food down your throat!"

"Shhh..." Sherlock said, lifting a finger to his lips - silencing the doctor. He then pointed towards the direction of his bedroom. "She's sleeping."

John laughed incredulously. "See? That's exactly what I'm talking about! I mean you play your violin in three in the morning - but now you're worried about me waking up your little sister!"

"Of course I am," the lanky man rebutted. "What kind of older brother would I be if I let you wake her up?"

John still couldn't fathom what was happening. What had caused this caring side of the detective to come out? His sister? It was entirely possible - but-

"How?"

"How, what John?"

The ex-army man could've slapped himself for voicing out his thoughts. He sighed - might as well get answers.

"How can she affect you this much? I mean I see you and Mrs. Hudson - the way you are around her - and I thought that was as far as it got. Then this kid comes along, and you're this close to becoming Barney!"

"Barney?" Sherlock asked - a confused look on his face.

Slap two for John. Of course the detective wouldn't know who the purple dinosaur was. His childhood shows would have been National Geographic or something.

"Just - why do you care about her so much?" John asked - which was rewarded by a sigh of exasperation from the younger man.

"I can't believe I'm the one who's explaining emotions to you now," Sherlock said - lightly chuckling. Oh, how the tables have turned.

"Well, obviously, she's my sister - we share the same genetic properties - so that in itself is a reason," he said - and finished the last of his toast.

"But that's not all is it?" John asked. "I mean, look at you and Mycroft."

Sherlock took a deep breath - as if preparing to say something he had never confided to anyone else - and John was well aware of that. The detective then wore a small smile.

"She's the first one who's never criticized me," Sherlock said, in a voice full of fondness - as if he was reliving a happy memory. "She was the first one who genuinely looked up to me - not for favor, or help, or to satisfy their need for danger - but just because I was simply - in her opinion - brilliant."

The silence that followed lasted for a few moments - before the sound of the bedroom door closing, interrupted it.

The two men looked up - and there was (Name) stretching at the doorway - causing the duo to smile.

"Morning," she said - well, yawned/said.

Sherlock picked up the plate of pancakes and put it in front of him. Afterwards, he picked (Name) up, and settled her comfortably on his lap.

She smiled at her brother - and began to dig into her breakfast. Sherlock sported a smile as he watched her eat the pancakes - bowtie first.

John gave up.

He knew he'd never know the full extent of how much the detective cared about her - but that was alright. He didn't need to know. He looked at the pair, and saw the two were laughing, most likely something only they would understand.

He didn't need to hear Sherlock tell him how much he loved (Name) - because there - at the dining table - he was witness to the amazing affection the two siblings held for each other.

And he couldn't help but smile.