Hi, this is my first story so please be kind. I am not an avid writer so will more than likely focus on undeveloped one shots. Thanks J
….
John had been apprehensive about visiting the Holmes Family Ancestral home for many reasons, the first and foremost being the elusive 'Mother' Holmes. John often bemused that whoever brought up the infamous Holmes men must have been a genius or insane, isn't it funny how those seem to coincide? Either way he was not to calm about meeting this woman who had invited a stranger to her home.
Anyways, John had somehow been cagouled into travelling to the Holmes estate in Devonshire for a party by Sherlock, whom had been unwilling to go on his own despite Mycroft's persistence. This so called persistence had involved two weeks of sulking, several elaborate pranks in the flat and snooty gentleman's club that Mycroft frequented and many, many kidnappings on Mycroft's part to convince Sherlock.
The Holmes estate was in a word, bare. The long, winding, gravel drive had seemed to go on for miles when this great mansion of looming grey stone started brimming from the horizon. The weather seemed to make the sleet grey stones look dark and foreboding whilst the bare landscape made it seem isolated. Altogether it looked like something out of a horror movie, the haunted house that the mad lady lived in all alone. This did nothing to help my nerves.
I turned to Sherlock, "Are you sure about this? I mean it's your mother and I know nothing about her."
Sherlock didn't seem too pleased with my assessment and levelled me with that look of utter distain mixed with expiration that he seemed to get whenever I said something he seemed to think was unimportant or plain idiotic.
"John, Mother invited you. If I had not brought you with me she would have been terribly insulted." He them chose to completely ignore my stuttering and pointed out a small worn out shed on the edge of a wooded area before perking up "That is where I did the majority of my experiments."
He then got this sort of mellowed look on his face, "Mummy said I could not undertake them in the house anymore when she had to get the west wing fumigated."
"What?! Fumigated?!" I yelled in surprise
"I was eight, Okay." He then turned his back on me, well as much as he could on the other side of the car, and ignored me the rest of the way to the house.
….
The house was even more daunting the closer you get to it and I found standing at the looming great oak doors like an ant about to be squashed or a pig going to slaughter, unnecessarily small and feeble.
Then without so much as a knock on the door the great doors creaked open to a large foyer with great marble floors and reaching arches that seem to silhouette a boundless staircase that swept up to the ceiling. Sweeping down the staircase with one hand draped gently over the bannister was a tall, elegant woman who looked to be in her early 50's with long curly black hair with silver strands seemingly artfully swept through. The mystery woman had one of those faces that could never be tough or cruel, all laugh lines and finely arched brows.
"William my darling boy!" she called down to us.
William? I thought confused. She must be delusional the poor woman, well I had thought so until Sherlock groaned beside me.
"Mummy, I have told you time and time again, I go by Sherlock now."
The 'gosh you're so stupid' look was back but it was softened by the look of a petulant child determined to get his way.
This look was met with a raised brow. "I believe when you were born I named you William Scott Sherlock, now as much as I am all for individuality you have always been William to me and shall always be William. I blame Michael, calling you Willie was a terrible nickname."
Gasp, Shock, Horror! Mostly from Sherlock though, "Mother" was uttered before Sherlock started grumbling under his breath and sulking to himself who made the woman roll her eyes and seemingly dismiss Sherlock for me. Uh oh. "Hello Ma'am, My name is Doctor John Watson and I work with Sher-William on cases in London."
She smiled at me and it was like being hit with a million watts and looking at the sun all at once, I was in a word, stunned.
"It's perfectly fine John, call me Maggie, Michael keeps me informed and I have been following your blog. So much more informative then Sherlock's little website, poor boy, he never socialised properly, sadly similar to his late father."
"Oh, thank you Mrs Hol-Maggie, if it doesn't seem presumptuous to ask, who is Michael?"
"Michael is my first son; I believe he introduces himself as Mycroft? A silly nickname William made up as a child, Michael Crawford, Mycroft. The boys were quite similar as children but with the age gap I believe Michael may have rubbed William the wrong way, and their father was no help."
By this point Sherlock had predictably wandered off to his room for some unknown reason, leaving the bags to be taken by some of the housekeepers. I however was intrigued by Mrs Holmes and all the potential stories.
"I am curious, would it be audacious of me to ask for you to tell me about She-William and Michael's childhood, their behaviours caught my attention, the differences between their behaviour and a well, normal person, is astounding to me as a doctor."
She smiled at me, "come let's have some tea and I'll tell you all the nitty gritty embarrassing stories about them as children."
"I'm so glad you understood Maggie." I said as a smirk grew across my face.
Hours later
Mycroft entered his childhood home which would probably be his one day only to bump into Sherlock leaving. "don't go in Myc, she has gone batty, john has gone batty, I should never have brought him along, worst idea ever, can't believe it" he grumbled walking out of the house and towards his shed with a bag in tow as his voice drifted out of hearing reach, never once stopping to explain himself. Mycroft turned confused towards the door, following the sound of cackling out to the kitchen where he found his mother and John bent over what seemed to be a photo album, tea long forgotten as Mother gasped out some story or another. He politely cleared his throat, "Hello Mummy, John."
Mycroft startled the chortling couple into looking around at him stood confusedly in the doorway, looking out of place in his three piece suit. Mrs Holmes called out to him, "Hello darling, so sorry I couldn't meet you at the door for a proper greeting. John and I were just having a lovely chat, sharing stories and such."
John looked like the cat who ate the canary, "yes Michael, we have been sharing stories." It slipped out like oil on a leafy salad, rolling off the tongue with a smirk and raised eyebrow. "Such lively stories"