Sherlock's mother knew many people, which is why there were so many people at her funeral. Everyone was either a relative or a friend of his mother; each face he remembered, as he never forgets a face. They all gave him awkward hugs and words of respect when he was stood at the entrance, but neither gestures meant anything to him. What good were words to him? , he thought. They couldn't bring back the dead.
Everybody was sat inside the church with each seat filled with no spaces left. There was nobody in the room that didn't wear black. Many people wore black as a symbol of mourning; Sherlock wore black because it was always his mother's favourite colour, as he never saw her wear any other colour. Beside him-on his left- was his father with Mycroft sat next to him and on his right was one of his father's security guards that was given the task of following Sherlock around.
At the end of the room was the coffin, covered with black silk and red roses piled together at the centre. The priest that was stood next to the coffin was reading out verses from the bible, but Sherlock didn't have the need to listen. Maybe it might have been disrespectful, however his mind was focused on a lot more pressing issues; there was also the fact that Sherlock was an atheist.
It had been a week since John told him that he was leaving London to live in Durham, and he can admit that he didn't react as caring as he could have. There were shouts and crying and in the end nothing good was resolved; in the end John left him and said he wouldn't come back. At least Sherlock didn't blame him; he could admit he felt partly to blame; after all he did ignore him.
John thought that he wasn't listening when he went quiet, but he was. In actual fact, he was taking every word in and letting it sink; he just wanted to hear what John had to say without Sherlock talking. In the end it lead John to storm out of the house and at that moment when he heard the front door slam shut, Sherlock realised he had made a huge mistake, but Sherlock could admit he didn't have the courtesy to fix it.
Suddenly everyone was gathering to their feet, with everyone's steps drowning out the cries and sniffles from behind him. Four men-which also happened to be part of security- walked over to the coffin and began to lift it up. Once they did, they made their way down the aisle and towards the exit. Sherlock, his father and Mycroft were the first to walk behind the coffin, followed by everybody else.
The graveyard just so happened to be outside the church and where they were going to bury her wasn't that far of a distance. When he was finally outside, the sudden cold air hit him across the face. It was surprising that the weather was like this, since all week it had been sunny and not a cloud in the sky. Now the clouds had darkened and the blue sky was no more.
This graveyard was significant to his family, as many of his ancestors were buried here; there was even a section where they were all buried together. Sentiment, no doubt. Sherlock was never the type to become sentimental, but today was exceptional to be. Over in the distance, he could see the place where they were going to bury her: just under a tree on the right hand side.
Everybody was quiet when they all gathered around the grave; even Mycroft had the decency to silent his phone, which never happens. The gravestone was made of black, shiny marble and had the words: Violet Holmes. Wife. Mother. Friend. It may have been simple, but Sherlock knew his mother wouldn't mind as much.
The priest gave final words as everybody either stood and listened or threw flowers into the grave, "We therefore commit her body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life." finished the priest. Sherlock drew in a breath and held it as people started to walk away from the grave. He looked to his left-hoping that John would be there to comfort him- but he wasn't. It was a horrible feeling to know that John wasn't there when he needed him the most.
Once everybody left the grave, there was only one person left: his father. Mycroft had left with their grandmother and were probably heading to the reception. A rather large hand was placed on his shoulder, which made him draw out his breath finally as he turned around to face him.
"Sherlock," he began, "I know this is hard for you. But you must know that Mycroft and I will be there for you, no matter what." Sherlock stayed silent, "And I believe this is the time to tell you of what will happen now after this. I know you're thinking about it."
"What are you talking about?" Sherlock spat, however he didn't mean to sound so harsh. After a week of intense thinking, Sherlock realised he could hardly blame his father forever. However he couldn't forget how dangerous his job was.
"What I'm saying is-" he stopped and looked around him, as if he was trying to make sure they were alone. It was then that Sherlock noticed that sadness in his father's eyes. Never in his life had his father looked that way before, "Mycroft looked through CCTV the other day. It was then that Moriarty's release from prison was confirmed. I don't know how this had happened, but it doesn't cover up the fact that he's out there. He's been watching the house for months."
"And you didn't realise it?" asked Sherlock, as he shook the hand off his shoulder.
"I've been 'occupied' with more difficult tasks that I didn't...realise he was there." Mr Holmes could see the way his son wouldn't look at him; that his eyes were looking anywhere else besides him, "Sherlock, I've realised that my job isn't the safest of jobs-"
"-did you now?" he asked sarcastically, but was ignored.
"-and I feel like maybe I should change." said Mr Holmes. Sherlock finally looked at his father and his anger died down and was replaced with the look of confusion; his father saw this and gave his son a weak smile, "I've decided to retire."
"What?" asked Sherlock, who was rather shocked that he even heard the word 'retire' come from his father's mouth, "But you've dedicated years to your job, why would you retire? Now of all times."
"I'm getting older Sherlock. Besides, I think Mycroft has the capability of taking over my job, don't you agree?"
"He was practically made for the job." Sherlock admitted. He blushed a little and said, "Never tell Mycroft I said that. It wasn't meant to be a compliment."
"Of course." he said. Mr Holmes placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and turned him around and began to walk away from the grave, "But that isn't the only reason why I've decided to retire. You see, I overheard you tell John Watson how it was my fault that your mother died."
"I-" Sherlock was lost for words and was somewhat embarrassed that he heard, "I'm sorry."
"Please, don't be. You're absolutely right. I realise now that my job has ruined our family, and for that I owe you a thousand apologies. So it has come to the decision that in order to keep you safe, we would have to-" he paused, looking at the way his son was hanging onto his every word, "-go away, for a while."
"What do you mean 'go away'?" asked Sherlock. Now he had stopped walking and gave his father his full attention.
"If Moriarty is still out there, watching over us, then the best choice would be to...move to a secluded area; somewhere he wouldn't find us or harm you."
"Move?" he asked, "You want us to move? Have you gone completely mad?"
"Do not talk to me like that Sherlock. I know this must be difficult, after what happened with your mother, and John." he sighed before taking a seat on a wooden bench that stood on the side of the path, "Sit." Sherlock complied, and took a seat next to his father but making sure there was a large gap between them.
"I've found a quiet, secluded area in the countryside-" Sherlock was about to interrupt, before his father held his hand up to stop him, "Don't worry about college. I have arranged for you to go to the college in the area thirty minutes away, somebody from security will take you every day and pick you up-"
"But father, the countryside? We were both brought up in the city; it's in our blood. How can you possibly believe that living in the country would be a good idea? And what would you do?"
"I've always found beekeeping a topic that I've wanted to study, and now that I'm to retire, I see this as the perfect opportunity to start with the studies." Mr Holmes looked over at his son before moving closer towards him, but still keeping his fair distance, "You could always visit Mycroft whenever you miss London."
"I think I'll pass-"
"You know, you were always so close, Mycroft and you. You both have definitely changed-"
"That's what people do father, they change. They move on-"
"Just like you've moved on from John?" asked Mr Holmes. Even the sound of John's name made him tense. After last week, he had never brought up the topic to his father or Mycroft; in fact, he hadn't told anybody about it, "I know you Sherlock. You're just like me. I once met a woman and I fell in love with her, however fate hadn't been kind to us and we had to go our separate ways, but we were forced to. And you know what I did?" he asked. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, "I tried to forget her. I tried to wipe away any memory I had of her because the thought of her gone was too much to bear."
"And what happened?" asked Sherlock, looking over at his father, "Did you forget her?"
"I married her."
"Oh." said Sherlock, his face clearly shocked but interested.
"After years of our parents keeping us away from each other, we were finally old enough to make our own decisions, and the first one I made was to find her again...and I did. And when I proposed to her, I told her 'Violet, life may be difficult for us, but whatever happens, I will always love you no matter what until the day I die. And I shall keep that promise with me to the grave.'"
They both were now looking over at the large tree and Violet's grave in the distance. Neither of them spoke and instead took this time to think about all the moments that they shared with her.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because, I don't want you to make the same mistake I would have made if the opportunity came. I've never seen you so close to somebody before, and it's the first time in a long time that I saw you smile and laugh in front of me," Sherlock looked puzzled, "Last month. When you were both talking to your mother, do you remember? Or have you 'deleted' it?"
"Of course I remember father, how could I forget that-" Finally Sherlock realised that he hadn't even tried to forget John. That moment was nothing compared to all the other moments they shared. It was then that he realised that maybe he didn't want to forget him. Thoughts of their last talk and last fight flooded back, and he felt his hands curl into fists, "How could I have been so stupid?"
"Sherlock?"
"Father, I've been a fool." he admitted. With one hand he clamped at his hair whilst resting his elbow on the bench, "How could I forget him? Why would I even try? Father I haven't been the best of people. I believe that I have upset John after what had happened, and I haven't done anything to help. I've been...useless, I'm afraid."
"And what do you plan to do to solve that?"
"I-I don't know...when do we move?" asked Sherlock, but the words seemed lost and they sounded like whispers.
"The end of July I believe, which gives us time to pack and make final arrangements and for you-" Mr Holmes made a move out of his seat, turned to his son and patted him on the shoulder, "-to make things right. Don't let John leave heartbroken Sherlock, that's not what your mother would have wanted." With one final pat, he turned and began to walk away from his son, "I'll be waiting in the car for you."
Sherlock watched his father walk away before standing up and-instead of walking towards the car- began to walk back to the grave. Each step proved difficult with no explanation, but he kept walking until he finally reached the grave that still needed to be filled. Over on the other side of the graveyard he could see men with shovels who were now walking towards him.
The air seemed cold around him as the wind moved gently around him. His hands began to get cool and so he dug them in his pockets, but only to find a single flower in his pocket. He had meant to throw it in the grave earlier, but must have forgotten. Quickly he felt the flower's texture in his hands-the way the petal were soft but the stem felt uneasy to touch- before throwing it into the grave.
"I'll make things right." he whispered, "I promise you, mother. I will."
Author's Note: I didn't want anyone to think that Mr Holmes was a bad man, because I thought he would be the caring type towards the teenage Sherlock. So I hope you liked this update, I know nothing much happened but something new has happened. Thank you for every view/favourite/review/follow. They all mean so much :)
