Special note: Thank you guest reviewer for your review. As I cannot answer guests personally I will keep this note up for a short time so you can see it.
Baumgartner was not intended to be a Jewish name per se, was just one I came up with due to the German nature of the singer. Translated into English it means tree gardener. I'd love to see more guest reviews and thank you in advance for anyone who takes the time to review, guest or not.
Sherlock didn't know how he had managed to hold it together through the reading of Victoria's poem.
As he had continued to read, he had seen various faces, most notably his mother's, crumple as they dissolved into grief and then his son had led out a huge sob. People in the church had been moved by the words and other people had begun to sniffle. He had been determined though to do justice to the poem, to express the wonderful words of hope penned by his daughter. His eyes had continued to stray though as well to the coffin ahead of him, and when he had read out Victoria's words about his father's blue eyes it had brought back memories and the knowledge that he would never again see that soft, kindly gaze meeting his own.
It was only as he walked back to his seat that he allowed his self-control to slip, and the comforting touch of Molly's hand seemed to give him permission to allow himself the release of the tears he had been holding back.
Sherlock could see his mother's shoulders shaking and that Mark had placed an arm around her.
Molly's head turned to press a kiss to his shoulder and he looked at her, observing the grief etched on her own face, as tears ran in rivulets down it, despite the fact that she was trying to offer him some measure of comfort. He barely registered that the readings had begun as Molly mouthed silently, "I love you" and he did the same.
He focussed his blurred vision back towards Reverend Brown and felt Molly's head lean against his shoulder. He didn't really register the words that were being said, too caught up in his own sorrow, but he was roused from it when the readings had ended and the exquisite sound of Amalie Baumgartner's voice filled the church as she sang the Pie Jesu. Her tone, he thought, was magnificent, with a controlled vibrato that gave the piece a purity of sound. He found himself relaxing. He knew Molly had a keen appreciation for music, having a lovely singing voice herself, and he had the feeling they would be discussing the singer and her beautiful performance afterwards.
After the soprano finished singing, there was a hushed silence within the church for several moments. Sherlock was sure that if it had not been a funeral, the woman would have received hearty applause for her efforts.
Once she took her seat, Reverend Brown came up to give the message.
"Thank you, Ms. Baumgartner," the vicar began. "Your voice is just as I imagine voices will sound in heaven when lifted in praise to our Lord."
Sherlock saw a few heads nodding at that.
"Dear friends, today is a difficult one for those of us who have known and loved William Holmes. In our finite minds, we cannot comprehend the glory and mystery of what occurs at the moment of death when a person leaves their mortal body to be welcomed into heaven. However, we have the assurance of God that although he is now absent from the body here, his spirit is with the Lord."
There were some general murmurs of agreement from the congregation and Sherlock thought the vicar had certainly made an excellent opening statement. It was true that despite the lack of exact knowledge of what had happened at the moment of his father's death, he believed in that assurance wholeheartedly.
Father - Reverend, Sherlock reminded himself, Brown continued.
"I have been privileged to know William Holmes and his family for many years. I can say that without a doubt he was exceptionally proud of each and every member of his family. Every time we talked, he would have something to say about one or other of his children or grandchildren, mentioning this accomplishment or that. He lived for his family as indeed he lived for his beloved Violet, his loving wife and companion for over sixty years."
Once again Sherlock's eyes blurred with tears at the heartfelt words of the vicar. The man was a wonderful speaker, putting together not only a message of comfort for the family but also one of hope.
Sherlock took a hanky out of his pocket and wiped his eyes at the conclusion of the message. He had heard many people, including Molly and the children sniffling and blowing their noses. There was also some discreet nose-blowing from amongst the other congregants.
Prayers were said and the hymn was announced. Sherlock rose with everyone else and his voice joined in as he sang the precious words of The Old Rugged Cross. His voice was not perhaps as confident as usual, but he managed it.
Just before the end of the service, Reverend Brown said the words of committal for the body of William Holmes as the coffin was too be transported directly to the cemetery for burial while the family and friends remained for the wake. Sherlock was rather glad that he would not have to stand at the graveside to watch his father's coffin be lowered into the ground. His head was already starting to ache from the tears he had shed and he thought he should see if Molly might have some Panadol.
The organ music began to play and Sherlock waited for his mother, brother and family to head back up the aisle, then he exited the pew as well and waited for his family to walk into the aisle before joining them.
They headed immediately out of the church and then to the hall that adjoined it.
"Do you have some Panadol?" he asked Molly who had ushered the children ahead of them.
She gave him a wry smile. "Of course. I had a feeling we would all be needing it. Crying tends to bring on headaches." Her own eyes had traces of redness around them and he was certain his own did too. "I'll give you a couple when we get to our table and get some water for you so you'll have something to wash them down with." She linked arms with him as they moved towards the entrance to the hall and continued. "Wasn't Amalie Baumgartner wonderful? Her voice had such a pure sound to it."
Sherlock smiled at her. "I knew you'd say that. I agree that she was excellent. I'm glad Mycroft was able to procure her services."
They followed the rest of the family into the hall and towards two large tables that had been set up for them to sit together, with room for the Watsons as well. Sherlock was sure that Mycroft had arranged this, knowing that the Watson family would be unfamiliar with anyone else who would be attending. It had been a very thoughtful gesture. Sherlock turned around and saw that there was a steady stream of people now entering the hall, with his friend and family at the front.
He gestured to John to come to the tables that had been set up for them, and everyone found a place to sit. Sherlock looked over at the activity at the other side of the hall where the food was being set up by several women of the church, buffet style.
Sherlock and Molly were sitting together with the twins on either side. Victoria and Christina had situated themselves with their friends.
"I'm going to go and get us some water," Molly said to Sherlock, indicating the table where drinks had been set up - coffee, tea, cordial and water. "Come on, boys," she told their sons, "let's go and get a drink." She then looked to where Christina and Adam were sitting. "Christina, Adam, do you want to come up with me to get a drink?"
"Yes Mummy," responded Christina, immediately rising and pulling Adam up with her. "C'mon Adam," she told him imperiously and Sherlock had to suppress a grin at the way Adam meekly complied.
Sherlock watched as Molly and the twins got back up and headed towards the drinks table. John, who was sitting across from him, caught his eye. "Really good service, mate. That Reverend Brown is a great speaker, and that singer was amazing."
Kayla, who was seated next to him with Johannah on her lap, added, "It really was lovely. I don't think I've ever felt the presence of God more fully at a funeral then this one, and the poem Victoria wrote was so beautiful and appropriate." She looked down the table towards Sherlock's oldest daughter who was busy in conversation with Rosie.
Hearing her name, Victoria looked up. "Were you saying something to me, Auntie Kayla?" she asked.
Kayla smiled. "I was telling your daddy how beautiful that poem was you wrote for your grandpa."
Sherlock could see his daughter flush at the compliment and look shy, and he thought she looked very much as Molly always did when she was embarrassed. "Thank you."
John rose then and went to get drinks for Kayla and himself, and his daughter and Victoria went with him. "I want a drink too," said Johannah, turning her head towards her mother.
"You can have some of mine when Daddy brings it," responded Kayla.
Sherlock saw Mycroft and Mark also rise from the table after that to get drinks as well.
When Molly returned to the table, she set down a glass of water in front of Sherlock and set down her own glass in front of her. She bent and picked up her handbag from the floor and searched for, then extracted, a small bottle of Panadol. She took out two tablets for Sherlock and handed them to him, then took another two for herself.
"Thanks, sweetheart," he said, putting the tablets in his mouth and taking a large swallow of water.
The rest of the family had just returned to the table when Reverend Brown called everyone to attention. By this time the hall was filled with people. He pronounced a blessing on the food and then indicated that the Holmes family should go first to get their food.
Mark assisted his grandmother to the food tables first as once again the family fell in behind. Sherlock and Molly both juggled plates for themselves and one of the boys. Ten minutes later the family was seated once again and eating. Having not eaten breakfast, Sherlock found he was actually hungry and was able to do full justice to the serving on his plate.
After that came the time for what Mycroft would call "mingling". This was something Sherlock had not been looking forward to. Making small talk with near strangers had never been one of his fortés. It was one thing to talk publicly about a case and answer questions, quite another to speak with people he hardly knew, but he forced himself to make the rounds, as it were. He thanked people for coming, listened to anecdotes about his father, and actually some of them were quite cheering, bringing a smile to his lips.
At one point he noticed his mother lead a woman in her twenties towards Mark and had the feeling Violet Holmes was doing a little matchmaking for her single grandson.
He listened as she introduced Mark to Nina who was a journalist with the Brighton newspaper, The Argus. Judging by the animated conversation that followed between the two younger adults, Sherlock had a feeling that his mother might be successful with her efforts. Time would tell.
By two o'clock, the wake was nearing its end. The remaining food was being put into containers for the family to take home as leftovers.
John approached Sherlock."We're going to head off home now," he said. "Take as long as you need and just let me know when you want to start looking at taking cases again. No hurry."
Sherlock embraced his best friend. "Thank you for coming, John. Your support has meant a great deal to me these past few days, and I want you to know how much it is appreciated," he told his friend sincerely.
John smiled. "That's what best friends are for, isn't it?" Sherlock was indeed grateful for the man who had put up with him through the early days of oblivious rudeness, who had helped shape him into a better person, even as Molly had done. He felt truly blessed to have a friend who was more like a brother than his own brother. There would always be a reserve and distance between Mycroft and himself, but with John he could be himself and they could also discuss matters of faith openly as well.
Kayla, who had been saying goodbye to Molly, also gave Sherlock a one-armed hug because she was holding Johannah. "I told Molly to let me know if there's anything you need, to just ask. In the meantime, you are in our prayers. I know this is still going to take some time for you to process and get through, but we are here for you in any way you need."
"Thank you Kayla," responded Sherlock, bending to kiss Johannah's forehead. He groaned when she followed the same pattern as every female in his life and tugged on a curl. "Bye, Unca Sherlock."
Hugs between the families ensued and the Watsons departed. By this time, most of the other mourners had also left. Reverend Brown was still there. Sherlock had not had the opportunity to speak with him earlier so he walked over to the vicar.
"Thank you for your message during the service today," he told the older man. "It was very uplifting and I know my father is in a better place."
"He is indeed," responded the vicar, resting a hand lightly on Sherlock's arm. "As I said during the service, your father was so proud of all of you. He will be missed by our congregation. He was a faithful servant of our Lord and he was so pleased that you share that faith with him, even as he indicated to me his hopes that your brother might one day also come to faith. Your father also told me you have ministered to your sister as well in that regard and that she has a knowledge of God as well."
"My sister is a very complicated woman, as I expect you know. She doesn't see things in quite the way most of us do, but I do believe she understands and believes also, in her own way."
Reverend Brown nodded. "Well, carry on as you have been doing. You are a good witness for your faith."
"I just hope I continue to act in a manner that would make my dad proud," Sherlock said.
"I'm sure you will," responded the vicar with a warm smile. The men shook hands and Sherlock returned to the table to help Molly get the children ready to leave.
Half an hour later, the Holmeses were back at the house, the men carrying various containers of food - more than enough for dinner.
Molly touched Sherlock's arm once they had taken the food to the kitchen. "I'm going to go upstairs for a while and have a rest. Usually the headache tablets work but this time I think I need to just have a bit of a sleep. How are you doing?"
Sherlock suddenly realised his own headache was completely gone. "Fine, actually. The Panadol worked for me. Go have your rest, love. I'll make sure the children are entertained." His lips tilted upwards. "I had planned on asking Mark for a game of pool, but I'll leave that for a time when you are not directly above the games room."
Molly's lips pursed. "No, don't do that. You should spend some more time with your nephew. I'll go to your old room to sleep but first I'll go to our room and get changed."
Sherlock suddenly realised he was still wearing a tie. "I'll join you. I need to take off this tie and my suit jacket as well."
Sherlock's fingers loosened his tie as they went upstairs to the room. He unzipped Molly's dress for her, took off his tie and undid the top button of his shirt as usual, then removed his suit jacket. That definitely felt a lot more comfortable.
He waited for Molly to change into a casual blouse and shorts, noting that she did look a little pale. He hoped she would feel better after her rest.
They headed back downstairs together and Sherlock saw that the twins had begun a game of draughts.
They walked back into the front living area so Molly could take the other set of stairs. "If I'm not back downstairs by dinner time, just come up and get me," she told him.
He bent and pressed his lips to hers briefly, then said, "All right then. Sleep well, sweetheart." He watched her for a moment and then went in search of his daughters to make sure they were sufficiently occupied.
Victoria was in the sitting room with her grandmother. When Sherlock entered the room, his daughter held up a crochet hook to him and said, "Grandma is going to teach me how to crochet, Daddy. She says I'm old enough to learn now." She gave him a proud smile.
"That sounds lovely, princess. Where is your sister?"
"Christy went upstairs to read more of The Adventures of the Wishing Chair, said Victoria. Sherlock recalled that Christina had been working her way through Molly's collection of Enid Blyton books and had recently finished The Magic Faraway Tree series. Victoria suddenly frowned slightly. "Where did Mummy go?"
"Your mother has a headache and went upstairs for a rest before dinner," Sherlock explained.
"Poor Mummy," his daughter remarked. "I hope she feels better. I don't like headaches. I had one earlier but she gave me a tablet and I'm all better now."
"That's good to hear." He walked over to his mother and bent to kiss her wrinkled cheek. "I haven't spoken to you much today, Mummy. How are you feeling?"
"Better than I expected, actually," she answered. "I'm quite surprised I don't have a headache myself. Elizabeth also went upstairs for a rest, and Mycroft as usual said he needed to do some work." She shook her head. "That son of mine is such a workaholic. At least you had the good sense to reduce your workload when you became a husband and father."
"I think that is his way of coping with things," said Sherlock thoughtfully. "Back in the old days for me, I would do the same, to lose myself in work as a distraction from other things."
"I suppose so," his mother said with a sigh. Then she brightened slightly. "Everything went off very well today, didn't it?"
"It did indeed," agreed Sherlock. "I'll leave you and Victoria to it. I'm going to see if Mark would like to have a game of pool with me."
"That sounds very nice, dear. Have fun."
He went in search of Mark and finally found him outside on the terrace with his laptop open before him. He had passed the boys on the way, noting that they were intent on their game.
"Mark, can you tear yourself away from your laptop for long enough to have a game of pool with me?"
Mark eyed him warily. "You aren't going to spoil the game for me like you did with Molly, are you? And you aren't going to go on about all the differences between English and American pool tables either, right?"
Sherlock huffed and took the seat beside his nephew. "I shall endeavour to keep my comments to myself." Then he added, with a smirk, "However, I might just ask what your intentions are towards that lovely young woman I saw you with earlier - Nina, I think her name was?" He raised an enquiring brow.
He was intrigued to see the flush that crept up his nephew's face.
"You noticed that, huh?"
Sherlock crossed his arms casually in front of himself. "I may be fifty, but I do not think my powers of observation have failed me yet. I saw my mother introduce her to you and I observed that you spent a considerable amount of time in conversation with her."
Mark closed the lid of his laptop. "She was very interesting to talk to. She's also very well read and in touch with the current political climate. She was very interested to hear that I go overseas at times on diplomatic missions."
Sherlock smiled at his nephew. "I assume you exchanged telephone numbers?"
Mark's fingers tapped on the closed lid of his laptop screen. "Yes, we did, as a matter of fact. She comes up to London quite regularly as well for her job, and I suggested next time she comes that we get together for dinner."
Sherlock leaned back in his chair and decided to tease his nephew a little. "Oh, I see romance in the air."
Mark rolled his eyes. "You can hardly talk, Uncle Sherlock. Watching you and Molly is still like watching some kind of romantic Hallmark film."
Sherlock scowled at that. "Please don't compare the real love Molly and I share to that romantic fustian displayed in those films."
Mark chortled with laughter at that. "Did you really say the word 'fustian'? Oh my God, Uncle Sherlock, you really are some kind of vintage Victorian hero, just as Molly tells me you are. Have you been reading her Barbara Cartland novels again?"
Sherlock glared. What secrets had Molly been divulging to his nephew? She and he needed to have a serious talk on what was appropriate and what was inappropriate information to divulge to his nephew. It was true, he had entertained himself at times in reading some of his wife's romantic novels, he seemed to have an affinity for the Victorian era in particular, but it was merely for fun. Anyhow, he happened to prefer speaking in a more educated, aristocratic manner than the usual fustian - rubbish? types of speech so often used these days.
"If my wife hadn't taken to her bed with a headache, I would be having stern words with her about divulging matters of a personal nature to my nephew," he said shortly, to which Mark guffawed with laughter.
"Uncle Sherlock, do you even hear yourself? 'Taken to her bed?' instead of 'gone for a lie down' with a headache? You truly are a relic from the Victorian era!"
Sherlock's expression darkened further, and then he suddenly realised the truth in Mark's words and laughed himself. He laughed so hard the tears ran down his face, for the first time in many days not prompted by grief. Mark joined in and when finally their laughter had subsided, he conceded, "Very well. You are correct. I mean - you're right, I am a relic. Perhaps I was born into the wrong century. At any rate, I do prefer to speak correctly whenever possible." His lips quirked. "Besides, I'm not the only one. Your father speaks the same way."
Mark nodded. "I suppose he does, at that. Well, It's one of the things I love about you, and I assure you, Molly has told me it's one of the things she loves about you as well."
Perhaps I won't get cross with Molly after all, thought Sherlock to himself. It meant a lot to know that his nephew and wife both loved the way he talked. "In that case," said Sherlock, standing, "Why don't you come and have that game of pool with your old relic of an uncle?"
Mark stood as well. "Gladly, old man."
As soon as they entered the games room, Noah looked up at Sherlock. "Daddy, what was so funny? I heard you laughing outside."
Sherlock went over to his son and ruffled his hair. "Your cousin was just reminding me that I have a rather odd way of speaking sometimes. Are you enjoying your game?" His gaze dropped to the game board where it seemed the boys had the same amount of pieces still in play.
Noah beamed. "Yes, Daddy. Scott even said he will play a game of chess with me afterwards if I go easy on him and help him."
"Yeah, Noah's smarter than me," said Scott mournfully.
Sherlock moved to put a hand on Scott's shoulder. "You are a very clever lad as well. May I remind you that you are both reading, which is something the majority of children in reception were not yet doing last year."
Scott seemed somewhat mollified at his father's words. "I guess so."
"Well now, you boys go back to playing draughts. Your cousin and I are going to have a game of pool."
The twins nodded and returned to their game. When Sherlock turned around he saw that Mark had already retrieved all the balls from the pockets and had set them up. "Do you want to break or should I?" enquired his nephew.
"Go ahead," said Sherlock, going around the table to pick up his own pool cue.
He was quite impressed with his nephew's skill, only winning in the end with one ball to spare. "You play really well, Mark," he told his nephew who was standing on the other side of the table.
Mark smirked, "I have a confession to make, Uncle Sherlock. A couple mates and I go out every month to a pool hall for a few games."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Well, perhaps you'd like to invite your old uncle along sometime to play as well?" he suggested. "I do enjoy a good game of pool and I'd much rather partner you than John whose playing is decidedly inferior to mine, not that he'd have time to go to a pool hall anyway."
Mark blinked at him, looking slightly surprised. "Are you sure Molly would allow you out of the house at night?"
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Allow me? Contrary to popular opinion, I am not a kept man. If I want to go out for a few rounds of pool with my nephew, I shall do so."
Mark chuckled, "There you go again with that old English speech. My friends might laugh at you if you talk like that. We tend to be a little more relaxed in the way we talk and uh, their language can be a little colourful at times."
Sherlock shrugged. "I may not care to use profanity except in the case of inflicting severe pain upon myself due to a stubbed toe or the like," or driving in heavy traffic on Christmas Eve when my wife is in labour, he thought, remembering how he had let a few colourful curses fly in his fear that she might deliver in their car, "but if others choose to do so, who am I to judge?" Then he sniffed. "Besides, I am the great Sherlock Holmes. They should be honoured I would deign to dignify them with my presence."
"Modest, aren't you?" countered Mark teasingly and Sherlock was tempted to tell him off for being rude to his elders but decided that would make him feel as if he really was old, so he let it slide and merely smirked.
Scott came up and tugged at Sherlock's arm. "I wanna go to a pool hall too."
Sherlock looked down at his youngest. "Maybe in a few years. You'll have to learn how to play the game properly first." He looked back over at Mark who was grinning. "Well, what do you say?"
Mark went around the pool table and stared Sherlock in the eye. Mark was actually a fraction taller than his uncle and Sherlock was not one to enjoy a height disadvantage. "Can you play without the need to correct everyone on their technique or acting like a prat because you happen to be famous? I mean, I'll admit, they know you're my uncle and all, and they might be a bit star-struck by that, but I don't want you showing off by making deductions about them."
Sherlock pursed his lips. "I shall restrain myself in that regard and only talk about my cases if they request it."
Mark held out his hand and Sherlock extended his own. "Then you have a deal, uncle mine. I'll call you next time we make arrangements to visit a pool hall and see if you are free."
Sherlock shook his nephew's hand and smiled. That "uncle mine" had sounded remarkably like the way Mycroft liked to say "brother mine".
Scott's voice alerted him to the fact that his son was still next to him. "Teach me how to play pool properly, Daddy," he demanded even as Noah, who had apparently been putting the playing pieces away, came up as well.
"Me too."
"And on that note," said Mark, "I think I'll leave you to it. Thanks for the game, Uncle Sherlock. Maybe next time I'll win."
"It is a possibility." Sherlock smiled.
He watched Mark pick up his laptop and return outside, then focussed his attention on his sons.
"Alright then boys, this is how you hold a pool cue properly," he began, and for the next hour, until it was time to think about getting Molly, who had not reappeared, up for dinner, he instructed his sons on how to use the pool cue to hit the white ball towards the desired ball. It was a little difficult. The twins could barely raise their arms high enough to hold a pool cue, but by the end of the hour, Sherlock was pleased with their progress. It really was rather a shame their house in London could not accommodate a pool table.
Christina entered the games room just as they were putting the cues away and the balls into the pockets. "I finished my book. When's dinner?" she asked. "I'm starving."
That was his Christina, Sherlock thought fondly. Always ready to eat. It was lucky she was so active or she would undoubtedly already weigh one hundred pounds. "Soon, I expect," he answered, looking at his watch and noting that it was already past five o'clock. "It will just be leftovers though, poppet," he added.
Christina looked around the games room. "I saw that Victoria is in the sitting room with grandma but where is Mummy?"
"Your mother had a headache so she went to have a rest in the boys' room. I'm going to get her up now."
"Good," responded Christina, apparently not even paying attention to the fact that her mother had not been feeling well. "I want her to get my dinner ready."
At that moment, Elizabeth appeared in the doorway with Mycroft. There was a slightly smug look on his brother's face and Elizabeth too seemed a little flushed. Having a rest and doing work indeed, thought Sherlock with an inner smile. Sherlock was rather confident in his deduction that Mycroft had been enjoying some afternoon comfort from his wife. Apparently Sherlock and Molly were not the only ones who liked to indulge in a little "love in the afternoon" when the children were not underfoot. That had been one of the biggest benefits to the boys starting reception the previous year and having the house to themselves for a few hours during the day when Sherlock was not busy with a case. Well, if Mycroft was still able to enjoy that kind of intimacy when he was fifty-seven with his wife who was ten years his senior, Sherlock was pretty sure he'd he'd be able to keep up his own level of intimacy with Molly for many years to come. That idea pleased him immensely.
Mycroft frowned at him. "What are you smirking about, brother mine?"
"Oh, nothing," responded Sherlock dismissively. "I'm going upstairs to wake my wife. She went to have a rest in my room because she had a headache. I hope she was successful." He gave Mycroft a meaningful look and he could have sworn both his brother and sister-in-law blushed.
He walked past them and headed upstairs, then opened the door to his old room. He looked over towards his old bed to see Molly lying on her side on top of the duvet, one hand curled beneath her cheek and the other arm in front of her. There was a flannel beside her head that had apparently fallen from its position on her forehead. Sherlock knew that Molly always used cool, wet flannels on the heads of family members when they had a particularly bothersome headache. She had obviously been downplaying the severity of hers and he sincerely hoped the rest had done her good.
Bending down, he stroked her cheek with his thumb and then kissed her forehead. "Time to get up for dinner, love."
She opened her eyes slowly and he thought as he often did how beautiful those luminous brown eyes were when they gazed into his own. It was too bad they had to go down for dinner, he thought, as she sat up and smiled at him. He would have rather liked a little love in the afternoon of his own.
Author's note: So, I know this chapter began on a rather difficult note but I hope you enjoyed the transformation into something more amusing and light-hearted. With the closure afforded by the funeral and wake that followed it, I felt that it was time to show how life goes on.
I hope you found the vicar's sermon moving. A good deal of it is based upon what our own pastor said at my father-in-law's funeral in August.
I've often thought it interesting to listen to the way Sherlock talks in a more formal way and in fact, I adore that. It is one of the things that makes me think he'd be the perfect romantic hero (his total hotness notwithstanding).
Two chapters left in this story. Please critique my writing. I am aiming to move towards professional publishing of original material so would appreciate any constructive criticism or tips to improve my writing, or encouragement if you just enjoy it as is.