TMOSH- Mummy Holmes- I Still Love You
Mummy Holmes has never been more disappointed in Sherlock than she was now.
Sherlock stood facing his mother, head down in shame, arms tight and parallel against his body, and his hands clenched in fists in frustration. She could be so dense at times. She wasn't even listening to him, or seeing the bruises on his own body. That boy attacked him. Sherlock would never do something like that, and Mummy knew that. She was only believing what she saw at the end, and not every other piece of evidence that was there. Sherlock hated that she had to be so dense sometimes.
"William, are you listening to me?" she demanded.
"Don't call me that. And yes," Sherlock replied with a terse tone.
"Don't get snappy with me. Do you know what you'll have to put up with now? Now that you've made it known you can fight? We gave you those lessons for defense. Not for you to use just because someone is speaking inappropriately to you. I can't believe this…" she sighed, putting a hand to her forehead.
He looked up at his mother. "But I wasn't! He attacked me and then—"
"I don't want to hear it, William!" she yelled. '
Sherlock shut his mouth quickly and looked down again. "But, Mummy, I—"
"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, what did I just tell you?" Mummy Holmes seethed.
Sherlock was quiet. He didn't say a word as Mummy took him by the arm and led him to his room. She stopped when they were both inside with the door shut and began to scold him more.
"Do you regret it?" she asked, letting go of him when she led him over to the bed to sit down.
Sherlock thought for a moment and shook his head.
Mummy shook her head in disbelief and said, "Do you know how disappointed I am in you, Sherlock?"
Sherlock began to tear up. Not only did she use the name she knew he would respond better to, but she said she was disappointed in him. She was never disappointed in him. Even if she was, she would never, never admit it to him. His lip quivered and he brought his hands into a relaxed ball in his lap. He shook his head slowly.
Mummy sighed, shook her head once more, and left. She slammed the door loudly behind her, as if the amount of sound she could produce was on par with her level of disappointment. Once Sherlock knew she was far enough away, he burst into tears, the salty drops spilling from his eyes and falling down his reddened face. His nose began to snot, his throat became sore from sobbing, and his eyes burned from the constant tears spilling from them. He rolled over onto his side and brought his hands up to his face, as if he could hide from his shame.
She was right. He shouldn't have done anything. She hated him now. It was all over her face. She hated him. Maybe if he had let that kid beat him up, this wouldn't be happening right now. He didn't want to disappoint her. That was one of the only things he aimed for in life, and he failed. He failed so horribly, he could barely breathe knowing he failed.
After thirty minutes of sobbing, wailing, and crying, Sherlock quieted down. After a few minutes, he was asleep, his 14-year-old body unable to stay awake after such an exhausting crying session any longer. Mere seconds after he was asleep, Mummy walked in.
She sat down carefully beside him and began to pet his curly hair behind his ear. "Oh, Sherlock," she uttered, "I still love you, Sherlock." With that, she planted a kiss on his cheek, got up, and left.
Already deep within his dreams, Sherlock's conscious mind registered nothing of what just transpired. His dreaming mind, however, responded. The love from Mummy Holmes crept into his dreams and he smiled.