The morning had just started in the Watson household. John woke up at 7 am, showered, brushed his teeth before and after breakfast (which was benedict eggs and a glass of orange juice), then proceeded to get dressed.
Harriet, on the other side, was still in bed. She wasn't stupid, despite what her teachers and her parents say. She learned how to act as if she wasn't hung-over everyday, or that her head didn't feel like bursting or that she might vomit any moment. It took practice.
She got out of bed, her feet coming in contact with the warm rug. Harriet rushed to the bathroom. She took a quick shower, then after drying herself off, she applied make up to hide the dark shadows under her eyes. Harriet practiced her facial expressions in front of the mirror, before walking out. As she opened the door, she jumped with surprise. Her young brother stood in front of her, his eyes not meeting hers.
"Sorry," Harriet said in an undertone, then slid past him. She wasn't on good terms with John. Not like she ever is. They decided not to mention the whole 'cut bottle' incident which occurred several weeks ago. Of course she was dying of guilt, but what would she say to him? "Apologies for cutting open your forehead with a broken bottle and ruining your childhood,"?
She didn't have to fake much in front of her parents. She drank lightly yesterday anyways.
Janine was interesting. Her hair was dark and skin light. She had a voice of an Irish, but a face of a Middle Eastern, or somewhere around. She was pretty nonetheless.
Sherlock started talking to her during science class. They were even lab partners. She was surprisingly easy to talk to. Sherlock had accustomed a liking to her.
Sherlock had also started sitting next to Janine during recess. Turns out, Mary and Janine were friends. Mary went over to their table, her face filled with content. She left them alone and walked back to her table, where John sat, his face aghast. Mary insisted they left the two alone.
John and Mary sat at the table, silence between them like an iron wall. Mary was admiring the newfound couple sitting tables away. "Isn't this splendid?" She asked, her chin resting on her palm, smiling.
"What? The school lunch?" John asked, snapping back to reality.
Mary slapped his arm, smiling slightly. "Sherlock and Janine, you dumbo. I think they're a good couple. But knowing Janine, she's gonna wanna take things quickly."
"It's just weird having Sherlock not sitting here," John said as he stirred his mashed potatoes with his fork. After a split second of saying that, John instantly regretted it. "I mean, why can't they both sit here? Everybody would be happy."
"Yes I'm sure everybody would be happy. Maybe except you," teased Mary, a sly grin growing on her face.
"I don't know what you're talking about," replied John, his voice now hushed and his eyes distracted.
"Sure you do," Mary laughed. John had never been so embarrassed. At least nobody else heard it.
Sherlock had spent the past few days working on the Janine masterpiece. It was weird. It didn't feel like drawing John. When he drew John, he felt the warm, living, breathing human behind the drawing. But when he drew Janine, it was much like drawing something animated. Unreal. Like painting a bowl of fruit.
Bowls of fruit had no significance to Sherlock. They didn't have a familiar laugh, or a particular tone of voice, or a way of walking. It was dead. A corpse that was never alive. Boring.
Yes. He did just call Janine a corpse that was never alive. He didn't feel bad about it. He sort of lost any affection that was there for her in the first place after he caught her talking to another boy next to the lockers. He was even a little bit hurt.
When his mother asked him about the painting, Sherlock told her it was his girlfriend. A real person this time, he promised. He even showed her the photo he had taken of her for referrence. It wasn't a surprise that Mrs. Holmes was astounded. She left the room, in a way relieved. Was she relieved her son wasn't gay? Yes. Was she ashamed about feeling relieved? Absolutely.
Mr. Holmes had been wanting (for a very long time) to spend some quality time with his children. Some 'man' time. His wife was definitely on board with the idea. Some free time in the house sounded pretty good.
Mr. Holmes wanted to go fishing. He knew Sherlock was a fan of the water, and Mycroft had never gone fishing, therefore it was something Mycroft had no knowledge of. And Mycroft wanted to know everything. Mr. Holmes was already excited.
"That sounds stupid," remarked Mycroft, "we're going to be baking out in the sun for hours, catching fish with bait, only to let it go afterwards? What the hell is the point?"
"Mike! Don't make me clean that foul mouth with soap!" Mrs. Holmes yelled from the living room. Mycroft sighed.
"We're not allowed to bring the fish with us. It's violating the lake rules," Mr. Holmes replied, slightly disappointed at Mycroft's reaction.
"Lake rules? You have got to be kidding me. If we are to do any of this 'bonding' time, at least perform something productive," Mycroft said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.
"The point of this bonding time is to grow closer as a family. We're very distant from one another, and it's not healthy for our household and our relationships," Mr. Holmes replied, staring at the floor.
"You realize, father, that there is a reason we are distant from one another-" began Mycroft, but was interrupted by his father. He had started weeping into his hands. Sherlock was glad he had stayed out of the conversation.
Mrs. Holmes rushed over to comfort her husband, shooting dirty glances at Mycroft. "Father always gets his way," Mycroft said in an annoyed tone, "fine, we shall attend."
The two Holmes children began to dread the upcoming Saturday, as it was the day of the fishing trip. Mr. Holmes had already packed for it when his sons awoke. Mrs. Holmes made breakfast for the three, then waved goodbye as they set out on their trip.
They loaded into the family car, Mycroft ridding shotgun and Sherlock in the backseat, which he was perfectly happy being.
The family arrived to the lake at 10 am. The morning was still fresh. The odor of nature and salt water filled their nostrils. Mr. Holmes rented a boat while the children waited in the car. It didn't take long, as the place was empty. They set the boat on the surface of the water, and climbed in.
Mr. Holmes paddled the boat, while explaining how to put the bait on the hook. They used pieces of corn instead of worms, as it made Mrs. Holmes sick having them in the garage.
"Pull the fishing hook back, and throw it forward. Make sure the bait is not going to fall off. Rile backwards if you sense movement," he said, looking out to the water, then looking back to his sons.
Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I know how to fish, father." Sherlock could feel his father roll his eyes.
"Then go ahead, Mike. Let's see if you catch anything," his father said, his tone showing he was unconvinced of Mycroft's words.
"Fine," Mycroft spat, as he took a piece of corn from the can and stuck it through the hook. He pulled back the fishing hook over his head, then pulled the hook backward. It landed in the water with a 'plop'.
Several minutes passed. Mr. Holmes' attention turned to his younger son. "Sher, why don't you try? Let's see if you can get something before your brother!" His expression said nothing but affection.
"But you started before me," began Sherlock.
"The fishes don't know that!" Mr. Holmes said, a chuckle arising.
"I think you'll find it's 'fish', not 'fishes', father," said Mycroft. Mr. Holmes didn't reply to his rude remark.
Sherlock repeated what Mycroft had done. Almost instantly after the hook was in the water, the bob moved down and dragged Sherlock down too.
"Dad! I got one!" Sherlock said. He didn't even try to hide the excitement in his voice.
"Rile it backwards, Sher!" Mr. Holmes replied, sharing the same enthusiasm. Sherlock obeyed, and a salmon flew through the air, the hook still in it's mouth. It wriggled around, trying to get free. Sherlock hovered the hook over the water and the salmon fell in.
Mr. Holmes looked elated as he nestled Sherlock's hair. Proudness reflected in his eyes. The two started cheering and hugging. Commotion rocked the boat. Among the noise, Mycroft felt a tug on his hook. He riled backwards, and saw a large salmon, larger than the other one. He grinned, and turned to his father. He was too distracted with Sherlock's achievement to pay attention to Mycroft.
Mycroft felt disappoint flood over him as he unhooked the fish and threw it back into the water.
John ran into Janine and Sherlock during class passing time. She had her arm wrapped around Sherlock's. The sight created a knot in John's stomach. However, he greeted them as they passed by one another.
"Hey, John," Janine said. Her voice was cheery and high.
"Hi, Janine. Hi, Sherlock," John didn't even try to hide his rude tone.
"We're just going to science together! Think we'll be lab partners!" Janine said, the same voice. Sherlock didn't say much, but he nodded.
"Well, alright. I'm just heading to math. See you two later, then," and with that, John and the two lovebirds parted their ways. When John came to class, he couldn't have been less in the mood to learn.
Sherlock explained his plan to John and Mary the next day, in first recess. He would dump Janine before the gallery, so the judges would feel bad for him. Instant advantage.
"Sherlock, she like likes you," John said, slightly sick with what he just heard.
"Exactly. Human error," Sherlock replied, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. He was growing more and more like Mycroft.
Sherlock walked the school halls, his chin high, with confidence in his stride. Janine was at her locker. She looked beautiful. Her olive skin shone in the light, her black hair in curls, and her eyelids heavily coated in black eye shadow. It looked good on her.
He walked over to her. She turned around to see Sherlock. She greeted him with her charming smile, but Sherlock didn't return the greeting.
"You alright, Sherie?" Janine asked in her rich accent. Sherlock leaned over to her, his lips near her ears. The feeling tickled a bit.
"We need to talk. Somewhere private," he whispered. Janine felt physical goose bumps climb her back. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it.
"It's over." Sherlock announced. They were outside in the playground. Nobody hung around the playground anymore because it wasn't 'cool'.
Janine shook her head in disbelief. "I don't understand, Sherie. It was going so good." Her fingers began to interlace with his. He shook them off.
"Don't call me Sherie," he spat with disgust in his voice, "I'm serious. It's over."
It finally came to Janine that he wasn't kidding. "We didn't even kiss! You can't do this," she protested, fury building up inside. Sherlock merely shrugged and walked away, ignoring Janine's angry demands and threats.
John was more than happy to see Sherlock sitting with them again. He didn't want to admit, but he was relieved that they weren't going out anymore. He denied it, but something told him it wasn't only because Sherlock would be sitting with them again.
"As long as you're happy, Sherlock," Mary said. John nodded and cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Anyways, I should be going. I want to show Mrs. Hoffman my portrait of Janine. She's the art teacher anyways, and tomorrow is the day of the gallery. See you guys later," Sherlock said, packing his lunch and getting up from his seat.
Mary and John said their farewells. John stared at the seat where Sherlock sat. He was now all too familiar with his absence, and he didn't like it one bit.