She pushed back a few golden curls as she looked up from her small paperback novel and looked out into the small expanse of grass and sand and playthings. She only found her small, curly haired son staring down at a puddle of what seemed to be a four year-old girl. "Sherlock!" she called from the green metal bench as she stood up and raced over to where he stood by the jungle gym, "What have you done?"
The five year-old shrugged in his loose-fitting wool jumper, "She thought her father had gone out to a business trip, I simply told her the truth," he said, eyes flitting from the pile of white winter coat and striking red hair on the ground to his mother to the another woman a few yards away, who was presumably the girl's own mother.
"Sher," she cooed, squatting gracefully down to his height, placing a her gentle, painted fingers onto his shoulder, "You can't say everything that comes into your mind like that. It may have been obvious to you, love, but it's not kind to tell little girls that their fathers have died."
Sherlock shrugged under her hand, "I don't see why it isn't kind, she would have found out anyway," he said, eyes fixed on reading the small girl and the mother who was now helping her up and the Holmes' an evil glare as she led her child away from the boy who had hurt her.
"But, Sher, it hurts people's feelings when you do that. Oftentimes, they don't see what you do and you have to watch what you say about what you see. Do you understand?" she asked, pushing back her golden curls again as the wind was beginning to take them.
The boy shrugged again, "I'm not sure, Mum," he said, "I'm not sure what people's feelings has to do with what I notice about them."
She sighed with slight resignation and a quiet frustration, trying to change the way she was attempting to teach, "Let's see... Now... Let's say you had been in an accident or something of the sort and you wanted to keep it a secret," she said, "but somebody pointed out that secret to you. You wouldn't feel so good, now, would you?"
"It depends on the secret," he said, "But, I don't see the point in trying to keep a secret anyway if people will find out about it," he shrugged once more.
She blew a small stream of air out of her painted ruby lips, trying not to give up on the lesson, holding back the thoughts that her son would never have proper friends, "But other people don't like to have their secrets spelled out for them, it makes them uncomfortable and sad, can you try to put a filter on it, honey?"
Sherlock nodded as though he was put on a mission, "I can try for you, Mum," he said as she stood up and he latched onto her hand, "But I don't know how long I can keep it up for."