"You shouldn't draw it like this. Purple isn't nice. Rose is," said Rosalyn, six years old, to Sherlock, six and a half years old.
"But I like purple. I don't want it rose," sneered little Sherlock, while he coloured a Mother's Day greeting card for his mummy. There was a huge and a bit odd heart on it and Sherlock thought that it would be better done in his favourite colour, instead of dull rose.
"But it's wrong! It's like it was ill!" said Rosalyn's friend, Lili.
"It is not ill!" cried Sherlock, hiding his card under his elbows, chin up, scowling menacingly at those two insuferable girls.
"How did you draw your cards?" he asked and they both proudly produced their cards from their school bags, showing them to Sherlock.
Rosalyn's heart was quite nice shaped, coloured in sweet rose with flowers on it, while Lili's one was deep red with stars everywhere. Both girls wrote down their names and I-love-yous and Sherlock scowled a bit more.
"This is how it's supposed to look, Sherly," said Rosalyn and Sherlock had just enough. He hated to be called this stupid way, everyone knew it, but those two girls just behaved like they were someone special. He got angry.
"Well, you have a blunder down there, Rosie, can't you write even your name properly? Or is it Rosaylyn, really?" The girl looked startled at her card and blushed.
"And yours? Look at those stars, they are all... crooked, like they were splodges! It's awful."
"No it isn't! My mum will love it!" spat Lili. Rosalyn was looking at her own card ruefully and she sniffed.
"How can I fix it, Lil?" she sniffed again.
"You can't do anything, it will just look worse," muttered Sherlock.
"Shut it, Sherlock! Come, Rosie, let's just leave this awful Sherlock with his awful and ill heart." Both girls stood up, grabbing their things and leaving, Rosalyn was quietly sobbing now.
Other children packed their bags and left, until Sherlock was alone in the classroom with their teacher, Mrs. Timmons. She was writing down something in her notepad and looked at Sherlock from time to time, but didn't come to him.
Sherlock was finishing his card now, writing carefully his note for mummy: To my beloved mummy, from Sherlock.
The purple heart was improved now, encircled in blue, because he loved that colour as well.
"Are you finished, Sherlock? I have to leave, now."
"Yes, Mrs. Timmons," said Sherlock and packed his things in his bag.
"May I see your card?" Mrs. Timmons asked and Sherlock pressed his card to his chest, hiding the picture away. "Come on, I'd like to see it," she smiled and Sherlock hesitantly showed his card to her, waiting for the mockery.
Mrs. Timmons looked slightly surprised and then smiled again.
"Why, this is really beautiful, Sherlock. Quite extraordinary. I bet your mummy will like it very much," she gave him back the card and Sherlock beamed. If any adult says it is beautiful, it certainly must be so.
The Sunday morning, he went in his mummy's room, where she spent most of her time reading or working. Mycroft stood amidst the room, a little box in his hands.
"Hello, little brother," he said.
"Hello, My, is mummy at home?" asked Sherlock.
"She is, she told me to wait here, she will be here any minute," Mycroft replied. "What do you have for her?" he tilted his head to side.
Sherlock showed him his greeting card.
"Oh. Interesting," said Mycroft pensively and in that moment, Mrs. Holmes came in. She glanced at her older son, dismissing the younger instantly.
"What is it, Mycroft, dear?" she asked haughtily. Mycroft moved to her and gave her the box.
"Happy Mother's Day, mummy," she let him kiss her cheek and took the box, looking inside curiously.
"Mycroft! That's rather nice. Thank you," she said fondly and took out a small cake with a chocolate icing and a cherry on it. "We will share later, alright?" She loved sweets as well as Mycroft.
Mycroft grinned and left the room. Mrs. Holmes turned to her desk, putting her little cake back in the box again, when the telephone on her desk rang. She answered the call, when she noticed her younger son still staying in the room.
"One moment, please..." She covered the receiver. "Sherlock, what do you want?" she asked impaitently.
Sherlock straightened a bit and with his heart pounding madly in his chest, he came closer and gave his greeting card to mummy.
"I have a present for you as well. Happy Mother's Day," he said headlong and waited for her face brighten, as it had done with Mycroft before.
He waited, but...
His mother was looking at the card with a slight frown, then glanced at him.
"Why is it purple? And blue?" she asked bewilderedly.
"Because I love purple," Sherlock replied hesitantly.
"Oh." She smiled weakly and put it on her desk, right on top of a huge pile of various papers and forms, which were long forgotten. "Thank you," she said abruptly, turned around and resumed her call.
Sherlock's heart sank.
His card wasn't worth a kiss. Maybe it was truly awful after all.
He left his mummy's room and went to his own room, his pace slow, his shoulders slumped.
He decided he didn't like the Mother's Day at all.