The dark was quiet. I used to like the quiet. Quiet meant I could think. Quiet meant that nobody could bother me and I could retreat within myself and be alone. But now, the quiet was too quiet. "John, pass me my phone," silence met my words. I opened my eyes to continued darkness and remembered. Oh, yes. I'm dead. Well-in a manner of speaking. I sighed and listened to the sigh echo like a ghost around the darkness. Memories, memories of life gone by flashed before my eyes again. The doctor used to sigh like this. When Mycroft disappointed him, or I couldn't be...normal...he'd sigh. The memories of why my father sighed brought back another memory. She was taller than me by five inches and sneered down with a pinched freckled nose. I could still see her bright red pig tails swinging and hear the derided laughter...
"Freak!" Annaly Bakersby's words bounced around my head, hitching caboose on every train of thought and jumping tracks at every station. "Freak!" Not even my violin could distract me from it. Furrowing my brow, I put away the string instrument, flicking the bow back and forth. The dust from the rosen filtered into the air, glinting dully like tiny stars in miniscule galaxies. My eyes tracked a specific piece, watching it swim and swoop up slowly until it disappeared into the shadows of the ceiling. Downstairs a door slammed and the muffled voice of my older brother came through the not thick enough floor. The sod was home from Edinburgh, likely looking for handouts and a good meal. Studying government, I'd told him, was pointless considering it would fail us in the end. That had earned me a smack on the back of the head and a telling off. At least I wasn't burning flags. I was doing more useful things with my teenage years.
"Sherlock," the door to my bedroom opened and the angel came in. She had grown older, maybe even more older than this morning when I'd plagued her with questions about breakfast. "Mycroft is home. Why don't you come downstairs?" she smiled at me. The dim light of my lamp caught the silver strands in her blonde hair and created shadows in the wrinkles by her jaw and eyes. Over the years, the simple questions had become orders and the orders had become commands. "Sherlock," she said again, more firmly this time, "Come downstairs." A faint flush of fuschia came over my cheeks. Those wrinkled certainly weren't just Mycroft's fault. I rose and followed her out the door.
"Sherlock, good to see you brother!" Mycroft cried jovially, turning from his conversation with our father. He held out a hand, smiling. I looked at him, then his hand, then turned away. There was a moment of tense silence then Mycroft coughed and took a stab at conversation again,"How are you doing? Grades good? Eating?" I nodded yes in reply to them all. Uni had changed my older brother. Gone were the days of sneaking out and plotting protests. Gone were the days of choking me or beating me up because I'd nicked his stuff. He was now a student of government at a good university. He was now a local hero, destined to be PM. But to me...he'd always be the catalyst for getting me in trouble. An icy silence had descended on the room, the only heat being the rising color of anger in my father's face. The doctor had let himself go a bit. He looked more like a walrus now than an avenging angel of life. The real angel decided to break the ice.
"I've laid lunch in the kitchen, do tell me you're staying?" she smiled earnestly. The prodigal son smiled in return and the happy family retreated to the kitchen, me dragging along behind.
"So," Mycroft began, after indulging himself on everything- I'd barely touched my salad- "How are things at home?" Instantly I tuned out.
Nothing my mother could say about Mrs. So-and-so's daughter or Mr. and Mrs. Next Door's domestics would interest me. The sun outside had risen to the middle of the sky and was covered by a mass of long white clouds. A sharp breeze shook the branches of the cherry tree outside the window, beating a tattoo on the glass window. Winter was approaching faster than I liked and soon snow would blanket the lane. Then would come the long months of white. Blah. Nothing. Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored... "Sherlock?" I blinked. They were all staring at me. I blinked again,
"What?" Mycroft shifted in his seat.
"I asked," he apparently repeated, "Got a girlfriend?" I turned away,
"No, not really my area." The silence that followed felt prime to explode. I glanced around the table, confused. The walrus had turned red again and the angel was surprisingly pale.
"Uh...boyfriend?" Mycroft tried again, "Because, if you do, I mean- that's fine." I turned my gaze on him. "I know it is," I stated simply. Mycroft blanched.
"So," he tread carefully, "Got one?" I furrowed my brow.
"No." The tension seemed to release a bit, but the walrus stayed pink.
"Well," Mycroft coughed again, turning to look at the snow white angel, "got any dessert?"
