Origins

Chapter Two

"You know, the drama with disguising yourself in the shadows wasn't necessary."

"I know, but I just couldn't pass up the opportunity." Mycroft scowled at his Uncle Rudy's sly grin. They sat at a corner table in the village's only small café, the light above their table buzzing and flickering occasionally. "At any rate, I wanted to make sure that I got your attention," he continued as he flipped a lock of chocolate brown hair over his shoulder.

"Your outfit would've done that all by itself," Mycroft said. Uncle Rudy sighed and looked down at the dark blue bodice dress that he was donning with a set of shiny black heels.

"This color just doesn't suit me," he complained through a pout. Despite his best efforts to remain serious, Mycroft briefly smiled at the surprised reaction of a couple a few tables down from them. Quickly, they went back to their food, occasionally shooting wide-eyed looks at the back of Uncle Rudy's head.

"So, what brings you all the way from Cornwall?"

Uncle Rudy folded his arms. "Now, how did you know that I came from Cornwall?" Of course he had to see how the famous deductions were done. Mycroft rolled his eyes; to the family, it was more of a circus act than anything else. Pathetic.

"You've been in an area with a lot of sun, recently. You have faint tan lines on your shoulders from where you've spent time outside, but your occupation is most active during the night. I'm venturing that there were events and places in the area that you stayed in that were only active during the day. Cornwall is a tourist attraction." Mycroft sniffed the air.

"There's also the fact that the smell of the sea isn't exactly hard to hide. Salt is a preserve; it dries things out, so it would make sense that the locks of your wig would be stiff if you've been in the ocean recently. Also, you've lost weight. That dress doesn't fit you like it once did; the seams are wrinkled and faded from the amount of stretching they endured. An influx of vitamin B12 would cause your metabolism to increase, which is interesting because you don't eat meat if you can help it." He glanced to the bowl of greens on Uncle Rudy's plate. "However, you will eat fish, and Cornwall is an ideal place for getting your fill of seafood. Therefore, you came from Cornwall."

A grin spread across Uncle Rudy's face. "Chris wasn't joking when he said you were observant. And you would be right, I came from Cornwall."

"Arrived on the first train into the station, too."

"It shows, doesn't it?" You would've had to have been an idiot to not notice the faint purple moons under Uncle Rudy's eyes. "I'm not a morning person," he continued. "And trains aren't exactly ideal sleeping places. But I had some clients in this area that I needed to see, and I thought I would just drop by."

Mycroft scoffed. "You're hardly the type to just 'drop by'."

Rudy fell silent, running his finger all around the rim of his teacup. His lifestyle of a cross-dresser had made him the black sheep of the family, and it wasn't a secret to the entire Holmes clan that he preferred to keep his distance from them to avoid the whispers and stares.

"True," he finally agreed. "But I made an exception in this case."

"You made an exception for me?" Mycroft's eyebrow rose. "Whatever for?"

"You know, you're at the age where you need guidance about your future," Uncle Rudy explained simply after a few moments of silence. "I have connections that could help you get to where you're going, if you want them. I suppose you could say that in a way, I could…be a mentor to you."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to consider my other options first."

"Of course. I didn't expect any less from you," Uncle Rudy said with a smile, pulling some notes from what Mycroft assumed was the less-than-impressive bra underneath the dress and setting them down. "Shall we go, then?" They got up and left the café to walk down the sidewalk. As people stopped and stared all around them, Mycroft couldn't help but fidget at the uncomfortable stares and points.

"How do you do it?" He asked shooting an elderly woman that was openly gaping at them a very harsh glare.

"What?"

"Ignore them."

Uncle Rudy lazily looked to a couple of teenage boys that were jeering and whistling at them. "Oh, them," he said with a sense of airy boredom. "You get used to the attention after a while." As they walked by an alleyway, a hiss from the darkness caused Uncle Rudy to yank Mycroft to a sudden stop. As he opened his mouth to complain, a figure emerged from the shadows, dressed in a bright red gown, his blonde wig catching the light of the lamppost.

"Rochelle," the mysterious person said. Mycroft shook his head at the greeting; it was so strange to hear such a deep voice coming from someone dressed as a woman.

"Miracle," Uncle Rudy said happily. "Haven't seen you around in ages, old friend."

"Been busy," Miracle replied with a curious look to Mycroft. "Who's this?"

"Oh, this is my nephew." Uncle Rudy clapped his nephew's shoulder. "My youngest brother's oldest."

"Ah." Miracle nodded. "Nice to meet ya."

"Same," Mycroft replied dumbly, clearing his throat to try to snap himself out of his surprised stare.

"Oi, speaking of your brothers, I got some news for ya," Miracle said. " 'eard through the grapevine that Henry and Aaron got themselves that shop they had their eye on."

"Did they, now?" Uncle Rudy sounded deeply pleased. "Looks like my talk with that pesky landlord made him change his mind after all."

"More like your threat," Miracle replied through a chuckle. "You always get what you want, don't ya, Rochelle?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say 'always'." Uncle Rudy waved his hand in dismissal. "But a good deal of the time, I do. It certainly helps when you know some deep dark secrets to hold over their heads."

"Righ'. Well, I bette' be off. Good to see ya, Rochelle and nice to meet ya," he finished with a smile to Mycroft, who shyly smiled back. As Miracle turned around to walk back down the alleyway and into the shadows, Mycroft looked to Uncle Rudy.

"So that's how you've been keeping tabs on us." It all made sense then; how Uncle Rudy knew exactly when to send birthday gifts; how he knew about each child that was born into the family so he could call and wish the parents all the best and how he knew exactly what was happening with everyone without ever exchanging a word. He shrugged.

"It's better this way," he said with an slight air of sadness. "Your father is always trying to convince me to try and make an effort to be around more, but…I just can't bring myself to do it, no matter how hard I try." Silently, they started to walk again and as they traveled, Mycroft pondered about his uncle's very untraditional way of looking after his family. Maybe, he thought to himself, that would be a way to look after Sherlock as he gets older…

Maybe. Just maybe.

The cracks and pops of meaty hands echoed across the small space in which all of the boys stood. Sherlock was assessing every weak point that he could on his opponent, barely paying any mind to the soft murmurings that were happening around him. Not many, he thought to himself, his jaw clenching in frustration. Damn.

"Well, c'mon then, 'Olmes," Lile taunted, smiling at the group behind him that snickered. "I'm waiting."

"So am I," Sherlock shot back. "You're the one that wanted to meet me here, I thought I could count on you to make the first move."

Lile's gang looked to their leader for his next move; he sniggered. "Oh, is wittle Sherlock 'Olmes scared? Now dat big brawda isn't hewe, you so scared?" Griffin made a pouty face. "Wittle Sherlock 'Olmes can't stick up for himself; he's always got to have Mikey do his dirty work for him."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and with strong steps, he made his way forward and he and Lile met in the middle of their makeshift arena. Slowly, like two lions about to engage in a fight, they began to circle each other.

Clumsy on his feet, Sherlock noted distantly as Lile lightly struggled to keep in time with his pace. Stay below the waist, focus on attacks around the legs and groin-

Lile lunged toward Sherlock to grab him, but missed as Sherlock neatly and speedily dodged out of his way. The gang of boys roared various curses and jeers at their leader as he spun around to face Sherlock again, red in the face and huffing like mad. He put up his fists.

"Whasa matter, 'Olmes?! Chicken?!" He barked. Sherlock smirked; oh, if he thought that was actually going to 'hurt his feelings', he was sorely mistaken.

"No," Sherlock replied coolly. "I'm just waiting for you to exhaust yourself in your attempts to show me up. It shouldn't take you long; you're like a hamster on a wheel at any rate." And that was giving Lile more credit than he deserved.

"You little twit," Lile growled. Somewhere close to them, a loud noise sounded and like a fool, Sherlock turned toward the sound. He hissed a curse as a fist connected with the side of the head. How he had managed to stay on his feet from the force of the blow, he didn't know, but with a seething rage, he blinked through the white and black spots speckling across his vision and charged at Lile. His fist connected with something soft and squishy –probably the big bully's stomach- and he felt his neck suddenly encased by a thick arm. It began to squeeze around his windpipe and he fought to get out of its grasp.

"Is this all you got, 'Olmes?" Lile hissed in his ear as his grip tightened. Sherlock struggled harder against the lack of oxygen, his body beginning to grow weak. I'm about to pass out. With as much force as he could, he stepped on Lile's toes and felt bones pop beneath his heel.

"Jesus!" Lile suddenly let Sherlock go and he fell forward to the ground, gasping and coughing for breath. Behind him, the bully howled and cried like a baby monkey, curse words raining from his lips in between cries. "You're going to pay for that, 'Olmes!" Sherlock tried to get away, but Lile grabbed his ankle and brutally dragged back, turning him over to lie flat on his back.

The first punch hurt the most, and he almost passed out from the pain in his nose, but a shake made him open his eyes. The snarling face of Lile hovered over him.

"This is for thinking you're smarter than everyone else." Sherlock saw stars in his left eye from the force of the punch. "And this is for being such an arrogant git." The other eye went dark as well. "And this is for being bloody." His mouth ached from a punch. "Sherlock." Punch. "'Olmes." The world suddenly sounded muffled through the haze of pain radiating through Sherlock's body. Do something, you idiot! His mind screamed.

With every bit of strength he had left, he managed to flip them over and blindly reached to grab Lile around his thick neck. He squeezed as hard as he could, breathing loudly through his mouth. Damn Mycroft's advice with trying to outwit them; he was going to kill that son of a…

"Boys, boys, boys!" A mousy voice called out as he ran toward them. "Stop this right now!" A sudden jerk brought Sherlock to his feet and the face of one of the French teachers, Mousier Zale, appeared in front of him. "Good gracious," he said, a look of horror crossing his features at the bruised and battered face of the young Sherlock. From behind him, Lile cursed as he was yanked up from the ground.

"Boys, follow me." Mousier Zale turned around to walk back up the hill toward the school, the group of boys following him.

His nose was broken at a forty-five degree angle. Perhaps Lile was smarter than he looked after all.

Sherlock held an icepack to his broken nose and tried his best to keep the slit openings of his eyes on the shiny forehead of Principal Hardin, who was wrapped up in his sweeping lecture about 'fighting doesn't solve your problems, young man' and 'I'm going to have to call your parents and talk to them about this'. How he could ignore the grotesque injuries of the young man sitting across from him and lecture him about proper ways to sort out your differences, Sherlock couldn't understand. At least Lile didn't take any of his teeth; thankfully, his last punch wasn't as strong as the first three, so there was at least that positive.

"So you've called my father already?" Sherlock suddenly asked, cutting across Principal Hardin.

"Your father is in a meeting, according to his secretary, so I had to call your mother."

"My mother?" Sherlock repeated, trying to sound as though he wasn't bothered by that tidbit of information, but in reality, he found himself slightly cowering. Mummy wasn't exactly the easiest parent to talk out of a punishment. At least with Daddy, there was some leeway. Great.

As Principle Hardin opened his mouth to speak, footsteps into his office stopped him.

"Ah, Mrs. Holmes," he said brightly. Sherlock shrank down in his seat as he felt the back of his head burn at her searing gaze.

"Hello, Principal Hardin," Linda replied politely, her graceful and elegant tone a cutting contrast to her normal motherly chatter. Which meant only one thing: she was mad as hell.

"Please, have a seat-"

"I appreciate the offer, but I'd rather not," she cut in coldly. Sherlock winced; oh, she was past the point of 'mad as hell'. I'm never going to hear the end of it, now, he thought to himself grimly. "I'm rather busy today, so if you don't mind, I would like expedite this little talk. How many detentions does he need to serve for this one?"

Principal Hardin cleared his throat and thought for a second before answering her.

"Well, Mrs. Holmes, I'm sorry to say that I'm past the point of giving Sherlock detention." The silence in the room grew thick with tension. "I'm going to have to issue a five day suspension for his behavior. He's had too many incidences." Sherlock heard Linda take a deep breath and slowly let it out.

"All right," she finally said tightly after a few seconds.

"Sherlock can return to school on Monday."

"And what about the other boy? What's happening to him?"

"I don't think I'm at liberty to discuss that-"

"If Sherlock is being punished for something he didn't start, I surely hope that the other boy is being dealt something worse." Now that was a surprising reaction from Linda. Usually, she was extremely polite in dealing with school officials.

Principal Hardin must've picked up the undercurrent of hostility, because he cleared his throat. "Mrs. Holmes, I can assure you that Mr. Lile will be dealt with properly."

" 'Will be'? So he starts the fight and you're dealing punishment to the victim first? Forgive me, Principal Hardin, but I don't agree with how you're handling matters."

Sherlock smirked from behind the ice pack at the bite of Linda's voice.

"That's not up for you to decide, Mrs. Holmes. I'm only asking that you be responsible for your child, as will I ask of Mr. Lile's parents." He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Mr. Holmes, you are herby suspended until Monday." Sherlock nodded. "At any rate, I better get on with Mr. Lile's punishment. Mrs. Holmes, you're free to take him home."

"Come, Sherlock," Linda said curtly. The boy quietly got up from his chair and followed his mother out of the office, trying his best to see through the slits that his swollen eyes could manage. They walked in complete and utter silence until they got to the car.

"Mum," Sherlock said as after the car doors shut. "I didn't start it-"

"I know you didn't," Linda interrupted gently, turning to look at her son in sympathy. "Now, that doesn't make your reaction right or justified, but you were defending yourself all the same." She reached out and stroked his hair. "My poor darling, you must in so much pain." Sherlock slightly relaxed as her fingers ran through his hair to massage his scalp.

"I think my pain threshold has increased tenfold," he replied.

"I'm sure it has." She pulled her hand away and started the car to drive home. Thankfully, the evening passed without talk of a punishment, and with a full belly and a nose brace on his face, Linda insisted that Sherlock get some rest. She followed him into the bedroom and hovered around him as he made himself comfortable. Redbeard jumped up on the bed and took his usual sleeping position beside his master.

"Can you do what you were doing in the car?" Sherlock asked as she handed him some painkillers and water. She tucked the blanket around him.

"Do what?"

"Pet my hair."

She stopped and smiled, endeared by the fact that even at an age of independence, Sherlock still wanted Mummy's comfort. Sitting down by his head, she gently massaged his scalp. When she was sure that he was in a deep sleep, she kissed his forehead and left, quietly shutting the door behind her.

It was late before Chris got home from work. He walked into the master bedroom and Linda looked up from her book to see him standing by the bed with a bouquet of red roses in his hand, his hazel eyes twinkling with delight.

"Good evening, ma'am," he said. She smiled.

"Who are those for?" she teased with a soft laugh.

"I bought them for my wife." He winked. "But I think you need them more."

She took the bouquet from his hand. "They're beautiful. Thank you, darling." They exchanged a tender kiss that made Linda's stomach flutter.

"The school tried to call me today. Was everything all right?" Chris asked as he sat down beside her.

"Sherlock got into a fight." She sighed and ran a hand through the mess of blonde curls on her head. "His face is all bashed up and he's been suspended." Her husband looked rather thoughtful at the news.

"How long has he suspended for?"

"Five days. I sure hope that Lile boy gets something worse. If I found out he didn't-" she trailed off at Chris's quiet chuckle.

"Darling, relax, I'm sure everything was sorted out," he said.

"I doubt that, but we'll see. I don't have a clue what he's going to do with all of this free time. You know him; he gets bored. Maybe he'll find some poor animal carcass to conduct studies on or something." Then I'll have to clean up the mess, she thought to herself dully. Per usual.

"Maybe we should send him to stay with Mum for a few of those days just to get him out of the house," Chris suggested with a shrug after a brief moment of silence. Linda paused.

"I highly doubt that Sherlock would enjoy staying with your mother for any period of time." Truth be told, Nana Ruth wasn't exactly the easiest woman to be around. Linda was sure that Sherlock would rather be confined to Alcatraz than to stay in Chris's childhood home in the countryside with who he considered was the most unbearable family member of them all.

"It's just a suggestion," Chris said, taking the roses from her hand to put on the bedside table. "But we can talk about this tomorrow. For now..." He leaned toward her and gently moved her head to the side to kiss her neck. "You sound as though you've had a stressful day."

"I have…" Linda closed her eyes and softly groaned at the attention; even after twenty-six years of marriage, she could still melt at Chris's touch like a candle under a flame. She ran her hands up his arms as his hand cupped the back of her head to keep her upright. He softly whispered in her ear and she bit her lip at the sweet nothings.

My God, I love this man.

She captured his lips in a deep kiss, and she felt him push her back to lie down on the bed, the roses at the bedside temporarily forgotten"