Oh my. It is getting increasingly difficult to update. But I promise I'll do it at least once a month.

I'm assuming that Sherlock would have dropped out in his first/second year so that would make him about nineteen/twenty. Also, I feel that this incident would have made him run to London to be a Consulting Detective but instead of doing that he goes off the rails and turns to drugs. I want to write a drug addicted Sherlock and Mummy interaction in the future! :D

Update: In The Sign Of Three, Molly remarked that Sherlock was a Chemistry graduate. So I suppose he didn't drop out. But I'm keeping this here anyway! :)

Mummy was sitting comfortably in one of the plush chairs in the Homes' Manor reading a book when the phone's shrill ring disturbed the silence.

"Hello," she began tentatively, "Oh, Mycroft. Yes?"

"It's Sherlock," Mycroft said exasperated. How many times has he begun conversations with Mummy like that? How many more times will he have to?

"Oh dear. What has that boy done now?"

"He's dropped out off uni, Mummy. I'm expect he's on his way back home from Cambridge,"

Silence.

"Mummy?"

Silence.

"Mummy, please,"

"Do you know what happened?"

"I'm not too sure of the details. Yet. But apparently it was a myriad of reasons,"

Silence.

"Thank you for phoning, Mycroft. I shall have a word with him when he gets back. If he turns up in London, please send him back home,"

Within a few hours, Sherlock was on the doorstep of the Holmes' Manor and by that time, Mycroft had reported back to Mummy with all the details. He opened the door quietly. He was sure that Mycroft had informed Mummy and at the moment, he would rather not deal with her. He was halfway up the grand marble stairs when he heard a door shut and light footsteps behind him.

"Sherlock Holmes," she said firmly.

He considered ignoring her and walking away but soon thought better of it. He turned around and looked at her. She had a calm exterior but behind her usual gentle and understanding eyes there was an anger and frustration that he was well acquainted with as a child. Gingerly, he walked down the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the empty foyer. Although he was more than a head taller than her, her stare reduced him to a little boy.

"Care to explain yourself?"

"I'm certain Mycroft has already explained the situation,"

It's always Mycroft. Always telling on me, ever since we were children.

"I would like to hear it from you,"

He looked away, avoiding her eyes.

Silence.

"Sherlock," she growled.

Silence.

"Alright. Behave in this manner," she spat, "Let me do the talking then,"

"Mummy, I— "

"Do you know what I was told? You were expelled for failing your Tripos exams, skipping classes and practicals, not to mention for the 'blatant disrespect for the rules'," her voice was raised in anger.

"Not being able to walk on certain patches of grass is a stupid rule,"

"I'm talking about stealing equipment from the labs and then performing dangerous experiments!" she shouted.

He simply hung his head and stared at his downcast reflection in the marble floor. If it was anyone else, there would be poisonous words spewing from his mouth in retaliation. But this was Mummy. He could never do that to Mummy.

Her voice became a bit softer, more desperate, "What are you going to do now, Sherlock? No one's going to take you in when they learn that you were expelled from Cambridge,"

Sherlock chanced a look into her weary eyes. They no longer held anger but instead were filled with resignation. She placed her hands on his shoulders.

"Mummy —"

"I don't know what to do with you, Sherlock. I've been picking up after you all these years. But this is one thing I can't fix,"

She walked away from him with a sigh and disappeared into the conservatory, where she often retreated to when upset. Sherlock stood, rooted to the foot of the stairs for a few moments before going back up the stairs to his room. He avoided Mummy for the next few days and when he ran off to London, the only thing he left for her was a short note:

Going to London for an indefinite amount of time. You are no longer entitled to fix any of my problems. Don't try to find me.