"What?" John gaped at his friend who came walking at him on the gravel path, "horse riding? Are you being serious?"
Sherlock nodded, but assured his friend quickly. "Not today, though. Perhaps tomorrow will do. It's almost tea-time, so I think we'd better head back. I'm sure you will be able to appreciate Mummy's tea. Shall we?"
He opened the gate for John and followed. When he turned back to close it, he saw Jeremiah looking at him, the look on his face indecipherable. Sherlock nodded curtly as a greeting and turned away to follow his friend.
When they entered the house half an hour later, it was very quiet. Sherlock threw his coat over a random chair (the nearest) and walked straight to his laptop which rested on the table. John hung both their coats on the peg rather automatically and asked his friend after his gaze had trailed around the room, "where is the book case?"
Sherlock made a fluttering movement with his good arm. "Library."
"Ah," John murmured mockingly, "library, of course. And, if I may ask, where is the library?"
"Upstairs, the double-doors room," Sherlock answered absently. "Oh, and John, would you mind bringing me the book that lies on my nightstand? I wish to read it."
John rolled his eyes but left the room without further complaining. He climbed the stairs and found himself standing in front of Sherlock's bedroom door. He bit his lip, he felt like invading Sherlock's privacy. Even back home, at Baker Street, he had only walked into Sherlock's bedroom once, when the detective had a violent flu.
He opened the door slowly and peeked inside. It looked a lot like his guest room, only a lot messier; much messier than he had expected.
Sherlock's room at Baker Street had been very neat, only the necessary stuff was present. But, John thought to himself, the living room was always filled with all kinds of rubbish.
John grinned. He was sure Mrs. Holmes would never accept a mess to be created in her house, and John couldn't disagree with her.
He stepped over the threshold and tried walking over to Sherlock's nightstand without standing on shoes, shirts, books, note blocks and even a baseball cap. Where Sherlock even needed a baseball cap for was a mystery to John. The room was literally covered with sheets of paper, pieces of clothing, petri-dishes. The only thing that looked clean was the violin case in one corner of the room, and the nearby music rack.
He reached the bedside table in tolerable safety and searched for the book under a pile of various papers and dossiers. Finally he saw it: a thin book with a deep-blue linen cover. On front was written in golden letters Treasure Island, by J.R. Stevenson.
John grinned and shook his head in disbelief. Who would have thought; Sherlock Holmes doesn't read crimes or detective stories but something boyish as Treasure Island.
With the book in his hands he left the room, continuing his quest for the library. Really, what house still had a library these days? John wondered as he tried to remember what Sherlock had said about how to get there.
When he finally arrived at the double doors, he pushed them open and stepped inside. His jaw dropped. It really was a library. The walls were all covered with book shelves, and the shelves were covered with all kinds of books; old and new, dusty and clean all mixed together.
In the middle of the room stood a large mahogany table with a couple of comfortable chairs around it. He placed Sherlock's book on the table and slowly walked around the room, sliding his finger over the books present. At last he was happy to settle with a very expensive-looking edition of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, a book he had never read but the film had been great.
He picked up the book from the table, and with the two books tucked safely under his arm he left the room to join Sherlock in the living room.
When he entered the room, he immediately saw that habits are hard to kill, because Sherlock lay sprawled all over the sofa, with his shoes still on.
John decided not to say anything and just threw the book in Sherlock's lap.
"Thanks," Sherlock murmured.
"You're welcome," John said good-humouredly. He was looking forward to just a quiet night in, reading and in nice company.
When John had been reading for over a good hour, he felt like drinking some tea.
"Sherlock?" He lifted his head to look at his friend but the sofa was empty. He glanced around the room, but the consulting detective wasn't present at all. John just shrugged and walked over to the kitchen to make some tea.
Some minutes later he sunk in the nice chair again and sipped from his tea. The house was eerily quiet; Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were somewhere they hadn't told John about, Sherlock had gone god-knows-where and Mycroft was in London at the moment.
He picked up the book and continued reading, but was interrupted some thirty minutes later when Mr. and Mrs. Holmes entered the room, closely followed by Mycroft.
John greeted them politely, but couldn't answer their questions about their youngest son and brother.
"Oh, poor boy," Mrs. Holmes suddenly said, after placing her hand tenderly on John's shoulder. "Have you been sitting here on your own without food?"
She took her coat off and handed it over to her husband who walked away to place it somewhere else.
John lifted his eyebrow at Mycroft, while mouthing, 'poor boy?'
Mycroft just grinned and placed his umbrella against the chair in which he seated himself. He crossed his legs and leaned backwards comfortably. "So," he said, "you've been enjoying yourself I see. How were Jeremiah and his wife?"
John didn't even bother to ask how he did it, and just told them what happened and how Sherlock played the piano.
Mycroft chuckled softly. It was a soft noise John had not yet heard from the cool politician, but he found it pleasant none the less. Somehow the Holmes' boys were very comfortable in their parents' home.
"Yes, that's Sherlock; always refusing to listen to someone who really knows better."
The door flew open and Sherlock strode in, shrugging off his coat in the middle of the room. He fell down on the sofa and sighed.
Mycroft rolled his eyes. "What now, Sherlock? I know you're just begging to tell us, so please,"his voice was rather mocking, "enlighten us."
Sherlock's grey eyes locked into his brother's. "I'm not begging," he said, narrowing his eyes at his elder brother.
"Oh, yes you are," Mycroft said, the tiniest of smirks playing around his lips.
"Definitely not." Sherlock sighed dramatically again and stared at the ceiling. Suddenly he looked fiercely at his brother and sneered, "why are you still here? I thought you had some very important work to do."
"Well, as you can observe the job is finished." Mycroft smiled comfortingly at John, which caused the doctor to be rather nervous.
"Neglecting your duties," Sherlock said, clucking his tongue in mocking disapproval. "That's not very good, brother dear. What happened to 'Queen and Country?'"
"Ah," Mycroft said, looking at his annoying brother. "Well, it's nothing that a few phone calls can't solve. And, besides, I am perfectly convinced that the South Korean economy can ruin itself without my interference."
John's eyes widened. "You fixed it?" His voice sounded rather hopeful.
"I fixed it," Mycroft nodded, "and now I can enjoy some restful days at my parental home, in peace and quiet."
Sherlock huffed and flipped over to his other side, facing his back at the room.
"Or," Mycroft added, looking at his sulking brother, "that's what I had rather hoped."
"Boys, dinner's ready," Mrs. Holmes announced. "Sherlock, you are coming too."
"No," he answered, not planning on moving any time soon.
"Sherlock Augustus Holmes," Mr. Holmes bellowed. "Come here, immediately."
John gulped. "Augustus?" His eyes wide, he looked at Mycroft who only shrugged.
"Lovely name, isn't it, John?" he asked while he got to his feet to walk over to the dinner table.
"Yeah," John nodded. "Augustus," he softly repeated to himself, joining Mycroft.
"Don't, John," Sherlock's deep voice warned from the sofa. "It's not like it's any worse than Hamish!"
When they were all seated at the table, Sherlock walked in too, obviously against his will.
"Sit down, Sherlock," his father warned when it took him too long. Sherlock threw him a dirty look.
"Don't look at him like that, Sherlock," his mother said. Sherlock sat down and stared at his empty plate.
Mycroft looked at his younger brother and when Sherlock lifted his head, they met eyes. He didn't read the usual unmeant hatred and venom in them, but something completely different. And Mycroft understood. He quickly glanced at John, but he was just talking to Henry Holmes, enjoying himself.
When he looked back at his brother opposite him, the look was gone. He cocked his eyebrow, but Sherlock shrugged and picked up his fork to play with the peas his mum had offered him.
"Don't play with your food. Dear Lord, I sound like the mother of a toddler," Mrs. Holmes said exasperated. "Can't you behave like a grown-up just this once?"
"You wanted me to come here in the first place," Sherlock said. It remained unclear whether he meant the table of just this house in general. John thought it was the first, Mycroft knew Sherlock meant the last. Sherlock picked up his knife after a while and started eating reluctantly.
John threw Sherlock a glance and lost his appetite. There was something really wrong. Sherlock had been very relaxed the past few hours, but now his shoulders were tense, he was snappy and uncomfortable.
John returned his attention to his plate. This food was simple, but really good.
When dinner was over, the party retreated to the sitting room. John had picked up his laptop and opened the lid. He opened Google and typed, 'Anna, France'. He found some matching information, and clicked on some links, but it turned out there were several Anna's, so she could be any of them, or none. John quickly gave up.
After the coffee, John excused himself to Sherlock and his parents. Mycroft had gone to his bedroom a while earlier to make some phone calls. John left to go to bed. He was tired and his shoulder hurt, but when he walked past Mycroft's door, he couldn't resist.
He softly knocked, and when he heard Mycroft's voice calling him inside, he opened the door and stepped over the threshold.
The difference between Sherlock's room and the room he currently was in couldn't strike John any greater. Was Sherlock's room a complete mess, Mycroft's was bare except for a bed, a desk with a comfortable chair and closet, and the necessary accessories like a phone and some books.
"Ah, John," Mycroft greeted him as he turned around in his chair to face the visitor.
"I don't disturb anything, I hope?" John asked, feeling a little nervous at the thought he had interrupted the British Government when he was working on something important.
"Oh, no, rest assured," Mycroft said. He stood up from his chair and offered it at John. John sat down, whereas Mycroft sunk down on his bed.
"Why the honour?" Mycroft inquired forthcoming.
John looked at Mycroft. "I was wondering if you noticed something about Sherlock during dinner. He was… different."
"Yes, I couldn't fail to notice," Mycroft nodded.
"Well, I think it has to do with Anna, whoever she is. She's arriving tomorrow, isn't she?" John asked.
Mycroft nodded again and sighed. He rubbed his suddenly tired face with both his hands. "And now you want to know who she is to Sherlock?"
Now it was John's turn to nod.
"Fine, I'll tell you as much as I can, but I don't know everything," Mycroft said.
"For as far as I know Anna Rimmer was Sherlock's only friend at primary school. She's smart and witty; the perfect match for Sherlock. When they were going to a secondary school, they both visited different ones, but it was always Sherlock and Anna after school time; inseparable, always together."
Mycroft smirked.
"After dinner he'd pretend he'd gone upstairs to do his schoolwork, but I knew he sneaked out of his window to sit with Anna in his tree house. When they had finished secondary school, Anna chose to go to Paris, to follow an education in singing. She has a great voice and I think it was a good choice to make. She and Sherlock met each holiday, as often as they could. But suddenly one holiday Anna wrote to Sherlock to tell she wouldn't be coming home. She had found a nice man who she was dating, and there was a big opera to prepare for, so she couldn't possibly leave France to spend some time with him. Sherlock didn't leave his room for two weeks after he received the letter. I tried to tell him she didn't hate him, and that is was only natural for friends to grow apart. I shouldn't have said that; Sherlock left university to start working with the Met and never spoke about her again. The following years Sherlock often wrote Anna, and she always answered his letters. Two years later she sent him a letter to tell him she was engaged with the producer of the musicals she performed in. she invited him to come over to attend the wedding, but Sherlock said he was too busy with his work and education."
John had silently listened.
"You must understand that Anna and Sherlock were extremely close. She was his only friend, she understood his intellect and she defended him when the other kids got rude. You can imagine Sherlock must have felt like being rejected when she said she couldn't come home and that she was engaged. I could see he was hurt, and his going back to London was his way of dealing with this… this thing that he didn't understand."
John couldn't help but ask, "what didn't he understand?"
"Anna. He couldn't understand why she didn't want to see him any more." Mycroft sighed deeply. "You know Sherlock. And I think now that he is here, and he can't go anywhere, he is forced to remain where he is now. He can't run away like he did all those years ago each time she came to visit her parents."
John understood. "He's afraid."
Mycroft agreed. "Anna divorced from her husband some five years ago. She came to London to talk to him, but Sherlock wasn't at home, because he was in rehab. She visited him there but he doesn't seem to remember. His detox was rather violent and he was more often unconscious than not. When she came to visit he wasn't even lucid. He knows she knows, but they never met up someday afterwards."
John nodded slowly. "How do you think they will respond to each other now?"
Mycroft shrugged. "I can't tell. We'll see tomorrow, won't we? What I do know, is that our granny died, shortly after Anna's wedding. I entered Sherlock's room after the funeral and saw him lying there, on his bed. I asked him how he was doing. He didn't answer. I sat with him, because I didn't want him to be alone. I tried to tell him it was okay to be sad, that's only natural when one cares. He turned his eyes on me. "All lives end," he said, "and all hearts are broken. Caring, Mycroft, isn't an advantage." That's what he said, and I'm sure he meant Anna with that too."
Mycroft smiled sadly, lost in thought.
John had heard enough and stood up to leave the room, but before he opened the door, he turned back to Mycroft. "All the villagers, they all seem to think Anna and Sherlock are still best friends."
Mycroft chuckled. "Mike Stone, he told he saw them kissing the last night before Anna went away to France, but Sherlock never said anything about that. Neither did Anna, but most of all, I didn't see anything. I would've known."
"Ah," John said, having his own thoughts about this matter. "Well, thank you for telling me all this, Mycroft. It makes things a lot clearer."
John opened the door, but Mycroft's voice called him back. "My parents may not have asked, but we will all visit the church tomorrow morning. I know they would appreciate it when you were to come with us."
John looked surprised. "I've never been to church. Do I need to bring anything?"
Mycroft shook his head. "You can borrow my book, it's fine. Breakfast is at 7.30 tomorrow morning. Good night, John."
"Good night, Mycroft," John said before leaving the room.
"Oh, and John?" Mycroft waited until John looked at him. "Thank you." For being you. For taking care of him. For being here.
John walked over to his own room, deep in thought, and slid between the sheets ten minutes later. He was almost asleep when the door creaked, and a stream of soft light entered the room.
"John?"
John blinked and sat up. "What is it, Sherlock?"
"My bandages, they need some refreshing I think. Sorry."
John sighed heavily. "Couldn't you've asked earlier? I was almost asleep."
Sherlock shrugged. "I forgot."
"Fine. Let me get my stuff."
Twenty minutes later Sherlock left the room, but before he could close the door behind him, John said softly, "Sherlock?"
"Yes, John?" Sherlock asked, peeking his head around the door.
John cleared his throat nervously. "You know, if there is anything you want to talk to me about, you can. That's what friends do, you see?"
A surprised look appeared on Sherlock's handsome face. "Wha- oh. You've been talking to Myc, haven't you?"
John admitted it, embarrassed. "Sorry. You didn't tell me anything about her, and I just wanted to know..." his voice trailed off.
A slight smile curled Sherlock's lips. "What do you always say? 'It's fine, it's all fine'? Well, it really is, John." He seemed to hesitate a little. "And thanks, John. I'll keep it in mind."
John smiled at his friend who closed the door carefully. He slid underneath the sheets once more, and closed his eyes, satisfied with today.
Well, that was chapter 10, folks. Not that I am really superhappy about this one, nothing really happens in here. Anyway, the action will be back next chapter, when we will finally meet Anna! :D Are you guys excited?
Thanks to:
MadTARDISTraveller: Thank you again! I deleted the A/N, so perhaps that's what's wrong. I hope you liked this one, even though I didn't really :$ Next will be better, I hope.
M: Oof. That was really embarrassing! Blame the auto-correct and my Dutch-ness. I changed it, now it is good. Or at least better.
IAmDoctorWhoLocked: Wow. I am so flattered you feel that way about my story. Thank you for following this one. You're my favorite reviewer so far! :D
MonkeysGoWoo: Well, I'm not a musical person, I just liked the music and felt it fitted Sherlock. If I make any mistakes, just tell me :)
Eternal Paradox: Thank you for reviewing. I'm glad you liked it, hopefully I didn't let you down with this one.
Thanks to everyone for favoriting and alerting, it is very inspiring to receive feedback and comments on my story. Well, I'm signing off, trying to come up with something better next time. :P Anna will pop up, perhaps some old friends of Sherlock. And when I say friends… I don't mean it. xD Bye all, and please leave a review, it's very stimulating!
P.s. How do you feel about Anna? And just because I'm curious; what about Johncroft? Would you like that? xD Not that I'm particularly planning, but it might be very interesting.