Sherlock emerged from the hall to the balcony overlooking the gilded foyer, too small to see over the polished brass railing. However, he could see through its design and what met his eyes was less than welcoming.
People he barely cared to know were packed into the large space, swirling around like a flock of geese. All of them were honking and far less interesting than the birds they resembled. Sherlock could immediately pick out his mother among the party goers- who could miss her? She was certainly in her element as hostess, strutting around like some puffed out peacock in fancy clothes and expensive perfume. But there was someone missing.
The sight of his mother in makeup always terrified Sherlock. He had seen her once without it, and that certainly put the metaphorical fear of god in him. Ever since she seemed to be wearing this rouged mask over an aging entity of gathering wrinkles and sharp angles. What lay beneath the painted surface never left, and Sherlock often combined the two when he saw her visage. It stared up at him now, meeting his stare with upturned lips and cold eyes: the Kraken emerging from the dangerous sea the Great Pirate Holmes was about to dive into headfirst.
Her voice seemed to rise above all the small talk and general hubbub with a dark magic that was all her own.
"Here's the little man of the hour! Sherlock, come down and say hello to your guests!"
Filled with false, ringing mirth, the words dragged him downwards to the waiting sea of family friends and tiresome conversation. He slowly sheathed his dagger in the back pocket of his pants, letting his jacket fall over it like a secret. He was Moses from the fairy tale, and the people parted before him leaving a clear path to his mother. He approached her unwillingly, and felt the weight of her hand on his shoulder, holding him in place like an iron trap. Those who had previously backed away swarmed around him- suddenly not as unappealing now that he was in the control of his mother.
He accepted their well wishes in sullen silence, the claw on his shoulder a reminder not to speak out with the other sharp dagger in his mouth. However he could not be kept silent for long. A group of children his own age approached, all looking just as miserable as he must have appeared. They seemed angry to be there, obviously forced to attend by social climbing parents and shoved into the same kind of miniature finery as the birthday boy. There should have been some sort of commiserating kinship of understanding between them, but there was nothing except blatant dislike and feelings of superiority on both sides.
"Happy birthday, Sherlock." They chimed together, like so many sheep in a herd. Although some had the look of only submission etched on their features, the majority had a defiant tone to their voice, snide and cruel to show their anger at being in the same room as their classmate.
Sherlock did not reply for a moment, a bit taken aback at their presence. His eyes narrowed, and before he could remember to be polite the words had left his mouth.
"Why did you invite them."
"Sherlock-" his mother began, hand tightening on his shoulder. Her voice, although still polite and cheery, was beginning to have a hint of wrath swirled into the mix.
He blazed on.
"Why are they here. I don't want them here."
The group of children shifted awkwardly, while Sherlock's mother drew herself up to launch a tirade about his behavior. But Sherlock's mind was already beyond this unpleasant encounter.
"Where's Mycroft."
And that was when the silence went from simply unpleasant to truly still. His mother seemed to deflate, and the children took that moment to fade away into the background, thankful that they were released form the situation. Now it belonged to mother and son alone.
With a hand still clamped down on him, she guided him away from the party, laughing and apologizing as she went, all with the falseness of society. They reached the secluded hall leading to the kitchens when she finally dropped the charming housewife act to reveal the harpy beneath the makeup. The plastic dagger poking into the small of his back was the only comfort against the storm that was approaching his small ship.
He stared up into the face of the Kraken, and saw the wheels turning in her head. Her cunning was something he was quite familiar with, and the look on her face set his teeth on edge- a battle neared.
"Where's Myrcroft." He repeated, with more force.
She stared down at him, a decision made somewhere within her.
"He's gone."
Her simple answer gave him pause.
"Gone? But it's my birthday. He's always here on my birthday."
"He's outgrown you. He's off to pursue some fantasy where he's this government freedom fighter and the rest of the world doesn't matter. This stupid little scheme doesn't seem to involve any family whatsoever."
"You're wrong," Sherlock declared without emotion. "You're the stupid one. And you're wrong!"
Fury engulfed the little body easily, sweeping him away down into a current that was pulling him towards a conclusion. But he couldn't think with all this noise, this useless idiotic pretense. But The Great Pirate Sherlock never ran. He held his ground, staring chaos and destruction in its powdered face.
Both entities hated losing, and his mother had a power he didn't- an unmatched authority given to her by parent status.
"Go sit in the kitchen until this…this little tantrum has passed. When you're ready to act like an adult you will come back to the party and apologize to those children."
He glared at her for a moment, before breaking. He stomped to the kitchen doorway under the hateful gaze of his mother and stood in the doorway defiantly.
"I'm doing it because I want to, not because you told me to!" He roared, before he slammed the door behind him leaving him in peaceful solitude.
He did not even have time to take a breath before his mind swept him back aboard the Mind Palace, where suddenly everything began to click. The cook had a day off, thankfully, or else this setting would not be possible for his ship to exist. It only appeared when no one was watching.
He sat under the counter's overhanging marble surface in darkness, letting the Mind Palace sail through the undertow. He was buoyed up by it as he went through these dangerous waters.
Mycroft is gone. Gone on my birthday. Not only that, but he had a new tie which meant that he no longer wanted to be connected in such a close way to me. By severing that connection, there could be only one thing he wished to accomplish- solitude. I certainly can't blame him for that…but why? He knows I would understand the need for peace. Unless…he's not only outgrown the connection. He's also outgrown me. Now that I'm older, such behavior isn't suitable in his eyes. He thinks I'm…I'm…
"Bizarre."
The word came as a whisper, like the last gasp of a dying man. It tasted dirty on Sherlock's tongue, as the Mind Palace broke around him dashed on the hard and twisted rocks of reality.