The Beginnings of Us
"The unexamined life is not worth living" - Socrates
"You're writing a book about our family." Mycroft Holmes looked positively unmoved at his father's announcement.
"Yes," Mr. Holmes replied cheerfully from his position at his desk in front of the laptop where he was furiously typing away. "Well...it's more of a book about my life, but I suppose you can say it's about all of you, too; after all, you all are a big part of my life." The apples of his cheeks glowed with an affectionate smile.
"How intriguing." Mycroft took a lazy sip of his tea and Sherlock scoffed from his chair by the fireplace where he was lounging back; in other words: 'how utterly boring'. Mr. Holmes chose to ignore what he assumed was an undercurrent of an insult, and went back to his task. Using a laptop wasn't the same as using pen and paper like he was taught, but it was certainly faster and easier than writing everything out by hand.
And Mr. Holmes had a lot to say about his life. Placing his fingers on the keyboard, he felt the wave of words begin to flow through his fingers:
To you, the reader:
I have to admit, as I write this, I have yet to understand how my life could have enough significance and purpose to be put into a book. My accomplishments, I suppose, have led me here, but to say that my life should be penned and sent into the masses of other autobiographies on the shelf is a far stretch. My publisher and editor stressed to me that I needed to write out my story, not only for others to read, but for myself as well. I can tell just by writing this introduction that this process will not be easy, but bear with me; I promise to tell only the stories that are important and that will leave an impression on your memory, as they have on mine.
I'm afraid that I must inform you, dear reader, that I am no one special. I grew up with a single mother, the youngest of five sons in the countryside of England. I went to university and studied English, and by chance, I met someone special and we got married. Along with editing papers that could make theoretical physics look like baking cakes, I became a father and lived life in the editing world before taking a chance and submitting my own series of crime novels, achieving massive amounts of success even in old age. And now, here I am, at the decline of my natural life, sitting down and writing a memoir.
In essence, we could say my life is somewhat normal. However...it's not.
I am not just "the youngest" of the family. I am a Holmes in every sense of the word and title. Though we are each different, my brothers and I carry the essence of the family name and spirit within us, whether alive or dead, and through trials and struggles, we have made our mark on history individually, yet together.
I didn't just met someone special and get married during university. If anything, I would call meeting my wife, Linda, a divine arrangement by something outside of ourselves. After over 50 years of marriage, I can honestly tell you that I don't deserve one ounce of her love, devotion and commitment to me. She is my rock, my shelter, my greatest strength, my greatest weakness, my best friend, the mother of my children and the woman of my dreams. I couldn't have asked for a greater blessing than to stand by her side.
I didn't just have a career as an editor and author. Not only did I help to give birth to some great works of literature by others, but my own stories and characters are a part of me, of my world. I told their stories with vigor, with life and feeling, as if they sat down across from me and relayed every word to me themselves. Telling their stories, whether happy or sad, dark or light, gave me more of an appreciation for my own life. The pages of their tales have an end, but their influence knows no limits.
And I didn't just become a father . Taking on the name of "Daddy" was literally the most frightening, exciting and heartbreaking experience I have ever inherited, but I was glad for the addition to my ever-growing list of credentials. Because as I watched my boys, Mycroft and Sherlock, grow up and make their choices (good and bad), only then did I even begin to comprehend how a father could love his children so much. I will even go far as to say I didn't really know what love was until I held each of them in my arms for the first time. My sons have taught me more about who I am than anyone else in my life.
Within this book, you will find stories of all different kinds; stories of new beginnings, love, passion, loss, tragedy, and even betrayal; but most of all, you'll find stories of a family seemingly normal, yet absolutely unique. A result, if you will, of a price I willingly paid many years ago in order to live the life that I'm about to retell.
Hopefully, this memoir will show you that the rewards of my sacrifice greatly outweighed the cost.
Christopher William Holmes
"Mikey, is this your laptop?" Mrs. Holmes's question broke through the silence of the room and Mr. Holmes turned to see the tea tray sitting on the black laptop that belonged to Mycroft. With a very deep sigh, probably to hold himself back from saying something extremely rude, her son smiled at her coldly.
"I suggest you get an eye exam soon, Mother; your eyesight is certainly failing you in your...age." Used to dealing with his snarky remarks, Mrs. Holmes rolled her eyes.
"You've always been so horrible at leaving your things lying around." As she and Mycroft began to argue, Sherlock excused himself and disappeared through the front door (probably to smoke, Mr. Holmes thought to himself warily. At least it was better than the alternative...). Turning back to the laptop, he began to type up the contents of what he knew would be his last published work...