Thanks for the prompt, Kristy LeeKI!
Leaves, wet from the morning's rain, made an unpleasant noise as Sherlock Holmes walked across them. He stopped, drew in a long breath, let it go, and looked up.
Musgrave Hall, his childhood home, stood in front of him. Well, at least the charred remains did.
After the ordeal with Eurus, Sherlock had begun to remember things about his childhood, like how Mycroft always played with him, even though he berated him as well, and how his mother used to hum while washing the dishes, and how Eurus loved to fry different insects with a magnifying glass, to see how long it took each type to burn.
Sherlock would rather have not remembered that.
He strode forward, entering the area where the front door once sat, past the graveyard with the unusual dates where he used to play as a young child. Sherlock looked around, and closed his eyes as a flood of memories washed over him. Opening them again, he continued walking and reached the kitchen.
Here was where the Holmes family sat at the table to eat meals together, where his mother baked cakes and made tea, where his father used to read the morning paper.
Sherlock felt a sharp pang inside, and it took him a second to realize that was sadness.
If only Eurus hadn't burnt down the manor, if only they'd been able to save Victor Trevor, if only he'd realized that she wanted to play too.
If only, if only.
Sherlock was planning on taking a bus back to Baker Street, but not before he visited the beach where he'd played pirates with Victor. He paused at the water's edge and sighed.
"I'm sorry she did that, Victor, I am truly sorry," he whispered to the wind. He could feel tears pooling in the corners of his blue green eyes, and hurriedly wiped them away, but not before one slipped down his face. Visiting Musgrave Hall had stirred up emotions, and feelings, something Sherlock tried to avoid, but found himself experiencing more often, especially after the incident at Sherrinford.
"Sherlock!"
He turned, and saw his best friend in the whole world, John Watson, scrambling down rocks and onto the beach.
"There you are! You didn't come back; you said you were going out?"
"Ah, yes, I was just..." Sherlock gestured around.
"Oh, well, Mycroft told me you'd been to see your old house? How'd that go? Hang on, Sherlock, have you been crying?"
"No, I-" he began.
"No, it's perfectly fine to cry, Sherlock."
He shrugged.
"Do you want to stay here a bit longer?" John asked gently.
"No, I'm fine. We can leave. Actually, are you hungry?"
"Starving, why?"
"There's a good bakery around here, want to go get tea?"
"Always."