A/N: It took me a bit longer but here's another bit, finally. I wanted to show Sherlock's parents like more difficult people, who don't understand how gravely their behavior influence their sons. Nobody's just evil or good, everybody has odd bits and dark bits as well.

The former applies mainly to Sherlock's mother, the latter mostly to his father, who turns up in this chapter.

4. The Tenth Birthday

Knocking.

"Sherlock? Are you awake?" the maid asked and came in. Sherlock was laying in his bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering, how on earth he could avoid the stupid birthday party. It was his tenth birthday today and barring his uncle Arthur and aunt Bella, he really didn't want to see anyone.

"I know it's still a bit early but you'd better get up. I made you a cocoa, come on, until it's still warm." She winked, absolutely unconcerned by Sherlock's frown, and crossed the room to draw the curtains back. It was lovely day outside and Sherlock hated it already.

"I'd rather have coffee," he said abruptly. The maid turned around, quite surprised.

"Coffee? But you never drink coffee, Sherlock."

"I'm about to start. I'm ten, after all. Mummy's been drinking coffee since she was ten, I heard her say that." It wasn't true, but he was sure the maid wouldn't verify that.

"Alright. I'll make you coffee then. Now get dressed, for now something casual will do, and come down. Everyone will be here in two hours or so." She left.

Sherlock sat up, huffed a bit and slowly he went to his bathroom to brush his teeth. He got dressed and headed downstairs, when he heard his mother speaking with someone else down in the living room. The door was ajar.

His mother giggled a bit – drunk already, what a surprise. It meant his father wasn't at home yet, Sherlock deduced. – and then she whispered rather loudly, "You see, that was pretty something!" She sighed dramatically. "This stuff is excellent. Thank you, Bella." Her sister was here, obviously. Sherlock started to descend the stairs again, it seemed they weren't talking about anything interesting. But then...

"Oh, Bella, I really hate it. I hate him." His mother hissed. "I really want to just pack my things and disappear, you know..."

Sherlock ceased again, listening carefully.

"Don't say that, Viola. It was your choice and you must endure it. For sake of the boys, at least." Said her sister.

"Don't start with that again! For the sake of the boys! Oh God..." A glass clinked sharply, as his mother put it down. "Mycroft is practically adult. He's been behaving like an adult since his thirteen. And Sherlock..." She sighed deeply. "Sherlock... is ten today. ...Bella?"

"No, I think you've had too much already." More clinking, his aunt was clearly putting away whatever they'd been drinking this morning.

"Bella?" his mother wasn't complaining, it was a better day, then. If she was a bit grumpy today, she would never let her sister to put an alcohol away. "Bella, I think I can't do that," she sniffed. Sherlock was leaning forward now, trying to catch anything his mother said.

"He's ten now, do you see? It all happened so fast, I can't... I just don't know... He will be adult soon, as well as Mycroft, and then they'll both leave..."

Sherlock frowned. He quite couldn't recognize his mother in this sniveling creature. His mother was very cold very often and now she was contradicting everything... No. Don't make conclusions, Sherlock, not yet.

"Now, now, Viola. Don't tell me you have sudden mother instincts, sister. You've been more than cruel to both of them. To Sherlock particularly." His aunt replied sharply and then there was silence.

"I know," Viola answered quietly. "But I had to. They have to be strong, both, and they couldn't have become independent if I mollycoddled them."

More silence. And then clapping of heels, steady steps, his aunt was pacing across the living room vividly.

"I think I'm going to be sick. You are a horrible person. Every time I'm here I see how you behave, and don't tell me now it is for their own well-being. The boys are clearly depressed, but you don't even observe, how well they hide it. Deep. Down."

Sherlock frowned. Depressed? That was a bit exaggerated. He'd never be depressed. Mycroft, maybe, he was a good actor to hide anything he was thinking about, indeed, and his face was mostly blank, recently, so he could be. Maybe. But why would Sherlock care? Nobody in this freaking family cares about anyone.

"So don't start with all that caring, sister. You're just drunk and you behave like a cow, right now."

Sherlock's brow rose. That was pretty harsh even for his aunt. She was always kind and quiet.

"Bella, I mean it. I'm not so drunk to not know what I'm saying. I regret it. I love them both, but..."

"Oh and now you say you love them. Don't do that, Viola, or I swear that –"

While talking, Sherlock's aunt was striding towards the door and Sherlock froze. He clearly eavesdropped something he shouldn't have heard and now, standing in the middle of the stairs, he was going to be caught.

But his aunt only shut the door and then Sherlock couldn't hear anything more than a quiet muttering behind the door.

He exhaled and slowly descended, but then he saw Mycroft standing in the end of the corridor, looking strangely lost; Sherlock couldn't have seen him before from his position on the stairs.

Mycroft looked up at his younger brother, and with a strange gaze, full of something Sherlock couldn't recognize, he turned around and left, the door clicking almost silently behind him.

He had been eavesdropping as well, as it seemed. Sherlock smirked and headed for the kitchen.

He sat down at the counter and at first smelled, then sipped his coffee. It was quite bitter and awful, he put a suger in it, and then another one. Tolerable, now.

He mused about what he had heard before, drinking the coffee absentmindedly. It was so strange to hear his mother talking like that. But she seemed to be honest, whether it was odd or not.

And then Mycroft. Surely he had heard something more, even before Sherlock appeared up the stairs?

Suddenly the door into the kitchen opened and his uncle Arthur, Bella's husband, came in.

"Sherlock! Good morning, boy," he patted Sherlock's shoulder gently and Sherlock smiled.

"Are you looking forward to your presents?" Arthur winked and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Not really, uncle. I think I know what I'll get."

"Really? And is that a bad thing, then?"

"Well, at least I can prepare for the embarrasing ones," muttered Sherlock and Arthur laughed. Sherlock snickered.

"Oh I hope my present won't be among them!" He patted him again and left.

Sherlock finished his coffee – feeling excited already – and headed for his room. He hated waiting. Especially when this waiting was for his father, whom he saw few times a year. Thrilling, rueful, unhappy – these were his prevalent feelings because of waiting for father.

He ended in the bathroom again, looking miserably into the mirror. He really tried to comb his hair in something more representative, but it was useless. He threw the comb in the drawer and got his tie. He already could tie it in several styles, but decided he should be reserved today – as to celebrate his fathers' arrival. He smirked nervously and tried to calm himself.

Yes, it was utterly ridiculous to even try to look better, steadier, bigger... More mature.

On the other hand he had to try! It was his father and in spite of all the distance Sherlock knew his father loved him. In his own, very strange way.

He remembered what his mother had said the morning and shook his head. He could feel whatever bizarre feelings his father was hiding and yet he wasn't so sure about mummy.

He went to his room and pulled on a vinous waistcoat and a jacket and stood before big mirror beside his wardrobe.

A knock on his door again, but Sherlock barely noticed.

"You look nice," said Mycroft and Sherlock glanced at him before looking back in the mirror.

"It's useless, though. He won't notice I tried, because he doesn't know I don't look like that generally."

Mycroft closed the door and came closer to his younger brother. He knew Sherlock tried hard to arouse father's notice, because he desperately wanted his approval. He would do anything and yet it wasn't enough to their father, ever. Mycroft stopped trying when he realized that. At least he told it to himself he had stopped. Even though he was often nervous about father's presence as well.

"Sherlock, I think you should just stay as you are, really. I had told you this before –"

"Yes, yes, you had," Sherlock murmured and brushed his shoulder as to wipe off a mote. He turned around, looking into his older brother's eyes steadily. "So. Is he here, then?"

Mycroft nodded.

"He's with mummy and others down in the living room."

"Alright. Let's go." Sherlock sighed heavily.

"It's your birthday, after all, try not to be so hung up. I'm sure there will be good things among the awkward ones."

Sherlock stared at him dubiously and they went down together.

He certainly could deduce most of his presents before tearing the wrapping paper off, and tried to smile politely, although Mycroft saw through and often rolled his eyes at those lame attempts of acting.

It was really unexpected when his father rose and passed over to Sherlock with a small package in his hand. Sherlock was utterly baffled, looking at his father, who was smirking slightly.

He had never given any present to Sherlock. Both parents just payed for something together (well, it was mostly a present chosen by Mycroft and payed by parents, as Sherlock had found out). So he gaped a bit before remembering his manners and thanking out loud.

Mycroft was leaning forward, quite nervous. He knew Sherlock will remember this day just because of this moment, and he will delete other events of the day, probably. It didn't matter whether it would be a nice present or a very tasteless or cruel one. So it was extremely important that it would be something pleasant.

He glanced at his father who was watching Mycroft steadily.

Sherlock was a bit trembling, and he took his time to unwrap the present neatly.

It was an envelope and inside was...

"An air ticket!" Sherlock exclaimed in disbelief. "To America?" He stared at others and mostly at his father with his mouth ajar. It seemed his mummy was surprised as well, she blinked quickly and finished her glass of wine.

Mycroft was scowling, there was something wrong with that. There must be something wrong.

"Can I look, Sherlock?" he asked his brother hesitantly and Sherlock showed him, beaming happily. The others recovered from their awe and started to congratulate Sherlock.

"It isn't only a ticket, Sherlock. Look in that envelope properly," said Mr. Holmes.

Sherlock frowned a bit but obeyed, and he pulled out another piece of paper. He unfolded it and started reading, at the end he looked at his father again, totally dazed.

"What is it?" Mycroft asked nervously.

"It's a permit to one of CSI's department, in New York. I can go there and watch how they actually work, and I will be allowed to go with forensics to crime scenes –"

"What?" his mummy stood up abruptly. "Absolutely not!"

"I'd rather see you elsewhere than at any crime scene, Sherlock." Mycroft was throwing daggers at his father now, knowing exactly what was this about.

But Sherlock heard none of that. He was absolutely in awe, looking up to his father, who was smiling back at him, with an odd spark in his eyes.

"It's your tenth birthday. I know you are very mature, Sherlock, you're not a child anymore, and I wanted to give you something special."

Mycroft took a deep breath. "Father, I think this is not a good idea." Mr. Holmes turned to his older son, sliding with his haughty gaze up and down, slowly, deducing him, until Mycroft's heart was pounding madly. But he couldn't let this happen. He couldn't just allow to send Sherlock away, somewhere to the bloody USA and its wild world, where Sherlock would be just mocked even more than here, with his posh accent and his genius mind, where he wouldn't have anyone at all to count on, where he'd just be vulnerable and on his own...

"I'm not going to discuss it with you, of all people. I insist Sherlock go and enjoy his present."

There was silence.

Sherlock was still looking at his father like he was a god, mummy sat down again, looking really pale, Mycroft was furious but not able to do anything with that. The others, including Bella and Arthur, who were looking quite uncomfortable, looked anywhere but at the honoree and his father.

"You're leaving in a week, I recommend you pack with forethought. Now I have to leave, I'm afraid."

"Thank you, father," Sherlock blurted out before blushing. "But couldn't you just stay a little longer? For a cake, at least?" His last question was uttered really quietly, because Mr. Holmes sr. had just glared at him and left promptly.

Sherlock felt a pang of regret, but then he remembered the awesome birthday present. He didn't notice how Mycroft and his mummy exchanged an unnerved look.

This was his best birthday, ever.