Mother Dearest
(Do Please Shut Up)
Sherlock glanced from side to side briefly, flicking his gaze about his immediate self. When he found no one within immediate vicinity, he picked up one of the strawberry tartlets and bit into it, sighing pleasantly as the flavour cascaded over his tastebuds.
"Sherlock!"
He straightened up immediately, hand holding the aforementioned tart vanishing behind his back. He looked towards the source of the voice, trying to not look appropriately abashed for the situation.
"Yes, Mum?" he asked, licking his lips.
"You're not supposed to be in those yet, are you, love?" she asked.
"In what?" Sherlock asked innocently.
"Oh, Sherlock. Here, you've got strawberry jam on your face."
Sherlock leaned away reflexively as his mother came towards him with a tissue- plucked from God knows where, probably deep within the crevices of their sofa and brought to the wedding- and stumbled a step back. The back of his legs hit the table and he staggered slightly. "Mum, stop it," he said, swiping the tissue from her, albeit gently. "You'll need that for later. Or something."
He tucked the tissue back into her purse and licked his lips again, desperately trying to chase away the remains of the strawberry.
"Oh, let her coddle you, Sherlock," his dad said. "She never gets to see you as it is. It's in her nature."
"Right," Sherlock muttered.
"Sherlock, did you... oh, hello, Mr and Mrs Holmes," John said, coming up behind them.
"Oh, God," Sherlock muttered, seeking out the nearest exit.
"Stay there, I need to talk to you in a minute," John said, before looking back at his parents. "Did you enjoy the wedding?"
Sherlock sighed and sank into the nearest chair, turning his back to his parents and best friend. He returned his unfinished tartlet to his lips and finished it off, licking strawberry from his fingers as he became aware that the conversation behind him had suddenly- and quickly- jumped tack.
"He was always quite fond of this little stuffed dragon. He used to take it everywhere with him. I don't know how many times I had to mend it."
"Really?" John asked incredulously.
Sherlock sighed heavily through his nose. He could feel John's eyes on him but he studiously refused to meet his friend's gaze.
"Yes, Mum, now probably really isn't the time," Sherlock interrupted, looking up to face his mother for the umpteenth in the night. "John's got to... to... dance! Yes, that's right." He looked at John. "Don't you and Mary have to do a dance thingy?"
John raised his eyebrows. "No, not right yet. You should worry more about the speech you have to give in half hour."
Sherlock made a face and looked back at the glass of champagne sitting before him. He wasn't sure that he wanted to drink that. Especially with a bloody speech. Although, he sort of did want to drink it, purely because John had sent his parents- his parents- an invite for the wedding on basis that it would be 'their son's best moment' or something without bothering to ask.
"And you could take that coat off," John added. "We've been here fifteen minutes. Cool down. The wedding's over." He stopped. "Actually, aren't you supposed to be saying this to me?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes and flipped his collar up, picking up the glass of champagne.
"He's hopeless," John said affectionately, looking back at Mrs Holmes. "So, more about this dragon..."
Sherlock kept his bottom planted firmly in his chair as John escorted Mr and Mrs Holmes over to get another glass of wine, staring into the depths of his not yet sipped champagne.
"I see John's got her on about Draggy."
Sherlock bristled at the tone of his brother, looking up to face him. "Shut up. I don't want to hear anything else about it."
"Isn't it funny? You, trying to hide away everything from your childhood and, suddenly, all it takes is an overbearing mother and it all comes to light?" Mycroft asked, sitting down opposite.
Sherlock scowled, setting his champagne down again. "If you're trying to drive me to drink so that I'll make a fool of myself during the speech, need I hardly remind you I won't need alcohol to do that in the first place?"
"I'm quite looking forward to it, Sherlock," Mycroft commented, sipping at his own glass of... wine, red, third of the day although not necessarily from just the wedding.
"Well, I'm bloody well not," Sherlock muttered. "And I'm not pleased about that, either," he said, raising his head to look at John and his parents. "I don't see why he had to invite them. He doesn't know them."
"Oh, I think he's getting to," Mycroft said, as John and both his mother and father laughed at something. It made Sherlock instantly suspicious and vaguely embarrassed.
"Undoubtedly," Sherlock muttered, standing. "Excuse me, Mycroft. I have to go stop a war."
"- used to wet his jammies every time he so much as seen a horror movie," his mother was saying as he walked up.
Feeling his entire body turn cold but his face burn hot in a strange paradox, Sherlock quickly cut into the conversation. "Hey, hello, yes, hi. Mum, I think Mycroft wanted to talk to you about something over there, so...?" He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her away from John. "Dad, you should come, too. It's been ages since we all sat down as a family..."
And hopefully it would be ages before they did again, Sherlock thought, as he led his parents away from a triumphantly grinning John.
He wasn't sure he could handle the embarrassment if this became a regular thing. He would end up dying of shame if the reminiscing didn't kill him first.
Inspired by first a conversation that I and Lady Juse [kudos!] had a good while ago about Sherlock's parents and then, of course, how adorable Sherlock seems to be with his parents in The Empty Hearse. (Albeit if he does shove them out, he doesn't interrupt during their drivel and he glances back at John before whispering that he promises to call. :p) So, it's adorable.
I do not own Sherlock. Thank you!