Sherlock sat inside Mycroft's black Rolls Royce, arms folded, and started straight ahead. His older brother sat beside him, gripping his umbrella in his right hand.
"So. How was the aquarium?" Mycroft smirked.
"Boring." Sherlock replied.
But in his mind, he typed out the word "boring", put a strike through it and typed out "interesting" next to it. He tried to add words next to it, but to none came into his mind.
Was the afternoon with John fun? Was it nice? Was it new?
New. Sherlock thought. It was new.
A few minutes later, the car pulled up into the Holme's manor. Sherlock opened his car door before the driver could reach him. He ignored the driver and made his way into the house.
Their mother sat in the living room, on the Victorian sofa with a book on her lap, and a cup of tea on the table. She lifted her head when she heard the door open.
"Ah, boys. Good that you're back. Mycroft, the mail just arrived, could you be ever so kind to sort them out? I seem to have misplaced my glasses."
Mycroft nodded, and walked to the dining room table.
"Mummy, your glasses are right here." Sherlock picked the glasses and handed them to his mother, only catching her playful eyes.
"I know, darling, I know." Andrea put her glasses next to her tea and took her son's hands into her own. "I just want to know about your first day in the new program. I know you don't like Mycroft listening to them."
Sherlock managed half a smile, and also surprisingly managed not to pull his hands away from his mother's warm caress.
Behind him, he could hear Mycroft talking on the phone with the bank. Andrea peered over his shoulder, looked back at her youngest son, and shrugged: "Well, that will keep him occupied."
Sherlock smiled.
"It was fine, Mummy. Really."
Andrea smiled. "If you say so, dear. If it's getting worse, tell me, and I'll pull you out. All right?"
"All right." Sherlock kissed his mother's cheek, and went upstairs.
He arrived at his room and sat down at his desk. He hung his head from the back of his chair and thought of John. Never before had he seen such innocence. Such bliss. So peaceful. So serene.
And with that Sherlock's head dropped onto the desk, and fell asleep.
Sherlock woke up to the harsh sound of knocking on the door.
"Dinner, Sherlock."
"Mycroft! Don't disturb me! I don't want it!"
No reply.
Sherlock stood up and pressed his ear to the door.
No breathing, no heartbeat, no quiet shuffling of feet.
Mycroft had went back downstairs.
Still frustrated, Sherlock pulled an old Chemistry textbook out of his bookshelf, and opened to a random page, and started studying. Realizing that the book was printed in 1998, Sherlock took a ballpoint pen out, and proceeded to note down all the mistakes that were changed throughout the years, or the mistakes that he corrected through his own experiments.
Hours passed, a knock from his mother asking if he wanted soup came and went. Sherlock finished reading the thick textbook, then moved onto writing a letter to the publishing company on the mistakes that he found. When the letter was finally finished, he slipped it into an envelope, sealed it, then walked downstairs to mail it.
Another day has passed.
Author's Note:
Hello Hello!
This chapter is really boring, I know, but I thought that skipping straight to the next meeting with John would be too quick.
And I tried to find Sherlock's mother's name online, but there was no answer, so I just named her Andrea. If anyone knows the actual name, please let me know!
Thanks for reading!