Interlude- A Midwinter Day's Tale
"Come here, Sherlock, my boy," Father's commanding voice resounded sharply into the vast corridor, blending with the thump of my hurried footsteps against the wood. I scampered down the large oak staircase as quickly as I could, trying in vain to button up my new, very stiff, black waistcoat.
"I'm coming, Father," I responded dutifully as I arrived at the high double doors leading into the front parlour, my father's words, respond if and only if you are spoken to; respect must always be shown to your elders, echoing in my mind.
Abandoning the buttons of my waistcoat as a futile exercise, I looked to briefly examine my reflection on the polished wooden surface before me. A slender faced boy with pale eyes and slightly tousled dark hair blinked bemusedly back as I reached for the intricately carved brass handle on the entrance before me. Always ensure a pristine appearance; the first way to tell crudeness is through a man's clothing, I recalled as I raked my fingers through my hair once to calm the slight mess before I ventured to step through the threshold.
The first sight to greet my eyes as I peeked into the spacious and chilly room was my mother seated straight-backed at her usual velvet cushioned chair by the empty hearth with her needle at hand, busily working on her embroidery. Tall and almost painfully thin, she was clad in the same garment she always wore—a simple plain black dress with no extravagances whatsoever. The darkness of her clothing was awkwardly juxtaposed against her light blue eyes and locks of strawberry blonde hair that were always tightly knotted into a strict bun. She glanced up as I closed the well oiled door with a quiet click and offered me a small smile that indicated her former beauty as I stepped further into the parlour.
"Good, Sherlock, I'm glad to see that you're as punctual as always," Father stated firmly, and I turned with a jolt to see his gaunt and austere figure looming by the open window. The pale rays of the morning sun glistened over his head of carefully combed jet black hair just beginning to give way to strands of grey, and cast half of his face into darkness, illuminating only his sharp, hawk-like nose, his jutting high cheekbones, his chiselled angular jaw, and his pair of piercing iron-grey eyes. "Always keep your wits about you, boy," he reprimanded sharply as he took in my shocked expression. "You never want to lose sight of what's around you; it makes it too easy for others to take advantage of you."
"Yes, Father," I replied, schooling my features back into a look of neutrality.
"Now, since it is your birthday today, your mother and I have decided to give you a present," Father continued, his outline silhouetted against the light of the window as he stalked towards me. "Here you go, boy," he continued, handing me a small black leather box. "You may open it now."
I lowered my gaze from his piercing grey eyes that towered overhead to the gift before me, and carefully flipped open the box to reveal an intricate pocket watch of white gold. The family crest was ornately carved onto the silvery outsides of the timepiece, glinting brightly from the morning light. With a slight press of a silver release at the top, the lid popped open with a spring, revealing the equally extravagantly decorated inside. Behind a glass cover, the golden hands of the watch pointed to the Roman numeral hours made of a dark stone that was inlaid in the white opal surface.
"As this is the last year before you leave for boarding school, we thought it appropriate to ensure that you are as prompt to your appointments there as you are here," Father commented idly. "It would not do to foster bad habits."
"Thank you, Father," I replied solemnly, bowing slightly in thanks as I slipped the watch into my pocket, pinning the chain onto my waistcoat.
The thin lips on Father's face twitched slightly, before resuming the stern line once again. "Margaret, bring Leona down, my dear."
"Yes, Sebastian," my mother replied as she placed her needlework neatly beside her and swept quietly out of the room with the swish of her dress.
"Now, my boy," Father continued, beckoning my attention to return to his looming form, "Your brother, Mycroft, will be returning home this evening at 6 o'clock. That means that you still have most of the day to yourself. I think that a trip to London would be just the thing for you."
"Yes, thank you, Father." Trips to London were rare and thus savoured, and I had a most difficult time maintaining my expression of detachment at the thought of all the places we could see in that grand metropolis.
The clicking of the opening door extracted me from my excited thoughts, and I turned around as my mother ushered in followed by my sister, Leona. She was only three years my elder, making it easy for us to relate to one another; and, despite my father's feelings of apathy towards her, she was the closest member of my family to me. Unlike my brother and I, who have inherited Father's straight black hair, Leona was an almost mirror image of her mother, a portrait of whom stood behind thick black drapes in my father's locked study. She had a mane of golden hair the colour of brown sugar glistening in the summer sun. Her eyes, bright drops of fresh liquid honey that stood in stark contrast against her pallid skin, were also different from the cool pools of blues and greys seen in the rest of the family. I remember her telling me once that her mother had named her after her eyes, uttering, "You have the eyes of a lion, my beloved," with a hushed whisper in her ear.
Father did not approve of Leona's appearance as much, however. Her wavy tresses were completely tucked underneath a black cloth bonnet, and her golden eyes were hidden behind a pair of thick wire-rimmed glasses that were unnecessary for her vision. He had never grown close to her—well, as close as he got to anyone—like he had grown close with Mycroft and me. Leona was always the black sheep of the family—the outcast—and Father would always address her with the cold, distancing politeness that he would use in speaking to a servant.
Mycroft told me once that it had to do with Leona's mother, who had died in childbirth soon after naming her. "Father had loved his first wife with a vigour that has never been matched since," my brother had told me once. "The death broke him like nothing else could, and he was a broken man before you brightened his life, Sherlock. Even afterwards, Father blamed Leona for her mother's death, and has never forgiven her since."
"You wanted to see me, sir," she uttered quietly with her head bowed, her rich voice echoing slightly in the vastness of the room.
"You are to accompany Sherlock to London for the day," Father directed sternly. "Take him anywhere he wants to go, but be sure to return by five o'clock; I will hold you accountable for that."
"Yes, sir," was the meekly respectful reply.
"A brougham is waiting for the both of you outside," Father announced in dismissal. "You may leave."
0 0 0
The pale yellow rays of the January sun trickled out from the mounds of puffy, cotton-like clouds for the first time of the year as our coach rattled away from our estate. We had departed as soon as we could, giving ourselves just enough time to collect our coats and cloaks before stepping outside.
The scenery outside was truly a winter wonderland. Green lawn gave way to pure, unblemished white as the vast grounds of my ancestral home were blanketed in a thin, fresh sheet of crisp undisturbed snow. A raven landed gently with a graceful flap upon the tallest branch of the largest oak on the grounds, its glossy ebony feathers contrasting sharply against the snow-laden boughs of the ancient tree. It cawed at us in greeting as our carriage passed by, before spreading its dark wings and taking off once again into the ashen sky.
"I've brought you something for your birthday, Sherlock; I hope you'll like it," Leona's voice uttered brightly from behind me, bringing my attention back into the brougham. She drew out a small bundle of dark blue velvet cloth from within the folds of her coarse black cloak as she spoke, and when I turned to face her, she pressed the folded fabric into my hands. It unravelled into a comfortable and handsome tailcoat with shiny brass buttons that showed my distorted reflection as I stared bemusedly at them. "Sorry, but I didn't have a chance to wrap it."
"It's wonderful!" I exclaimed appreciatively, beaming toothily at her, just itching to give her a bear hug. "Thank you so much Leona, you're the best sister I could ever have!"
"I'm the only sister you can have," Leona retorted airily with lips quirked as she helped me to slip on the coat. "Besides, you don't turn 10 years old every day, so I might as well dote on you a bit."
"Could you take off your camouflage, then?" I asked with as much innocence as I could muster into my voice. Leona shot me an admonishing look, but acquiesced and reached up to remove her glasses. She was always reluctant to take off her "camouflage," as I called it (much to my brother's chagrin), because Father could never bear to see her without her bonnet and spectacles—she had been chastised enough times to realise this. I, on the other hand, enjoyed seeing her without her disguise, as it always made her more relaxed when she didn't have to hide behind her façade. She sneaked a glance at me self-consciously as she removed her cap, allowing a few locks of her wavy hair to bounce freely around her slight cheeks.
"Father will be very cross if he finds out," she mused resignedly as she wrapped her bonnet around her folded pair of glasses and tucked them back into the depths of her cloak.
"You know that I won't tell on you, and Mr. Pierce hasn't ever said anything either," I assured, motioning at the driver. "Besides, this is your chance to be yourself away from Father."
"Oh, Sherlock, don't be so hard on Father," Leona responded with a sigh. "I know that he has a good heart. He just hasn't gotten over some things yet."
The journey was a quiet one after that; the monotony of the ride set in after a few short conversations, and I leaned back, closing my eyes, drifting off as the rhythmic clip-clop of the horses filled my senses.
0 0 0
Of course, when Father said that I could go anywhere I wished in London, he meant that I could visit any of the museums in the city—even Kew Gardens was out of the question, as he didn't approve of wasting time while wandering aimlessly. It was for this reason that Leona and I had headed directly for the British Museum. We spent the rest of the morning quietly examining the intricate Assyrian lamassu sentinels guarding a corridor that lead to reliefs of Mesopotamian gods inscribed with cuneiform writing, and Egyptian sarcophagi of wood and precious metals inlaid with jewels that were inscribed with colourful hieroglyphics and images of the afterlife.
As much as I enjoyed all this perusing of ancient art, I hoped to spend my day with things less morbid than dried corpses belonging to those who had been dead and gone ages before I was even born, and sought for a more exciting turn to our outing. Leona was heading towards the wing containing Asian art when I approached her, synchronising my stride with hers as we walked.
"Can we go visit somewhere else?" I asked as she stopped in front of an ornately painted cerulean Ming dynasty vase.
"Where would you like to go?" She asked, looking from the artefact before her, her eyes peering to gauge my plans.
"How about the zoo?" I suggested eagerly. "I haven't been there in a long time."
"I haven't been there at all, brother mine," Leona responded quietly. "What's more, Father would never approve—you know how much he hates animals. Even if we were allowed, we would never be able to return home by five o'clock if we went there now. There wouldn't be enough time to see everything."
"Oh, come on, Leona, you need to learn how to live a little," I countered more loudly that I ought to have, causing several heads to turn in our direction. "Besides, it'll be a new and fascinating educational experience," I continued in a hushed voice, trying to appeal to my sister's tastes.
"Don't try to tempt me, Sherlock," she countered calmly, empathy showing on her features. "I know that you want to go, but I just don't want to risk getting either of us into trouble—you should know what Father's like when he's angry."
"Well, you're not following Father's instructions either," I retorted sharply, angered by her unwavering opposition to my idea. "He told you to take me wherever I wanted to go."
Leona broke eye contact with me at this, looking down at her pale hands as she thought, before replying. "Why don't we have lunch near Trafalgar Square and then you can go and see all of the pigeons. It's amazing how many birds are there, even at this time of year."
"Fine," I quipped sharply, before staying sullenly silent until we left the museum. Leona stopped me as we approached the front steps before the edifice's Romanesque façade, addressing me as she leaned me against one of the fluted shafts of the Corinthian columns.
"Look, I'm really sorry about earlier," she began with a sigh. "I don't want you to be melancholy on your birthday, and I don't want anyone to be angry with you. Could we make up right now so we can at least enjoy ourselves for the rest of the day? After all, does it really matter where you are, if you're enjoying yourself and your company?"
"No, it doesn't," I responded apathetically with a shrug of my shoulders. Although still a little disappointed that I wouldn't be visiting the zoo, I found myself unable to maintain my resentment against Leona for long—her empathetic features full of honesty could loosen the tightest lips into a smile and thaw out the iciest heart with only one exception to my knowledge.
Even my grudging reconciliation brought a smile to her lips, and it was with brightened amber eyes that Leona took my hand once more and headed in the direction of our waiting carriage.
0 0 0
A small hamper of roast beef sandwiches, warm chicken broth, and fresh apples awaited us in a wicker basket that sat on the leather padded seats when we climbed back in our brougham, which we gladly opened and to which helped ourselves. The food brightened my spirits somewhat, until I bit into a crisp green apple and received a blast of sour juice that stung my taste buds.
"Remind me never to eat those apples again," I muttered with a frown, squeezing my eyes shut and scrunching my tongue in an attempt to disperse the tartness.
"Don't be so hasty about that, Sherlock," Leona replied with a smile at my antics. "The taste isn't as bad as it might seem on the first bite; you might have to eat your words later."
Shooting her an annoyed glare, I threw the apple away and returned to my soup.
0 0 0
"I thought you said that there would be lots of pigeons!" I exclaimed in disappointment, pointing to a scattered group of less than ten birds after expecting to wade through a carpet of birds.
"Well, it is winter, Sherlock," Leona responded calmly. "Most of them must have gone to roost early. At least this is better than nothing, and maybe we can lure a few more with some food." She withdrew some crumbs that remained from our lunch, and placed them into a small glass jar before placing the container into my hands. "Go ahead, Sherlock, try feeding the pigeons some of this."
I glanced at her with scepticism, but decided to humour her and at least give it a shot. Stepping forward, I stood with arm extended, offering the jar of food to the pecking birds. "They're not doing anything," I announced with a huff after a few moments of being ignored by those animals, eliciting a small chuckle from behind.
"They're not going to come to you if you don't even show them that you have food," Leona said with a smile as she stepped up and coaxed the jar from me, scattering a small pinch of crumbs from onto the ground before us.
Soon enough, the pigeons took the hint, and all of them flocked over with a flurry of flaps and feathers, joined even by a raven that had been observing from a nearby rooftop. As Leona knelt down with her palm outstretched, the birds gladly flew up groups—landing on her arms and shoulders—and pecked the leftover crumbs from her hands.
"See, all you have to do is be gentle," she asserted as she stood up with a hearty giggle of jingling bells, lightly stroking some of the cooing birds that were still perched precariously on her shoulders.
"Fine," I replied with exasperation at not being able to perform such a simple task. "Can I try, now?"
Leona beamed brightly, the light of her amusement reaching her twinkling amber eyes, as she took a final pinch from the jar before handing it to me. As soon as the jar touched my fingers, the flock of birds scuttling below us rose up sharply en masse, dive bombing at the crumbs mercilessly.
"Hey, get off!" I cried angrily, startled at the ferocity of their attack.
Undaunted by my outburst, several pigeons landed on the jar itself as they strained and scrambled ravenously for their meal, flapping their wings with such vigour that it created a harsh wind that stood my hair on its ends. The large raven swooped down, its talons latching onto my scalp as it alighted on the top of my head with a caw.
The force of the landing was too much for me, jerking my head forward enough to knock me off balance. The jar slipped from my fingers, and I distantly heard my sister's cry, "Sherlock, be careful!" before I saw the ground speeding up to meet my crumpled form and heard the tinkling of the glass breaking into a thousand shards.
"Oh Sherlock—let me call the carriage—are you hurt? Are you all right?" Leona's voice uttered, filled with alarm and concern as her arms reached out to help me from my sprawled position.
"No, I'm not all right," I replied bitterly, shrugging away her hands, hastily brushing off the glass fragments that had dug into my slightly torn trouser legs, and wiping the blood from my grazed hands onto my new waistcoat as I stood. "I've had it with your stupid pigeons!"
"Sherlock, please—"
"No!" I exclaimed, livid as hot fires of fury, that had been threatening to boil over all day, erupted inexplicably from within. "You knew those birds trouble from the very beginning, but you insisted that we come here because you knew that they would only like you!"
"Sherlock, please calm down!" Leona implored vehemently as I turned on my heel and started stalking away, scattering any of the remaining birds. "Let's sit down so I can help you clean your scrapes—"
"I don't need your help!"
"Please, Sherlock, stop—you are not in full control of your senses—"
I halted in mid-step at her words, and turned heatedly back to meet her gaze. "So now you're calling me crazy, is that it?" I spat, glaring daggers into her shocked amber eyes. "Well, we'll see what Father has to say about that, you witch!"
She was struck speechless for a moment at my open threat, as we both knew well that, though Father was strict on me, he would always liberally dealt out punishment for Leona whenever he had the slightest provocation. Her eyes closed despondently as she took a deep breath, but she continued with a calmness that betrayed none of her inner thoughts.
"You didn't mean that, brother mine."
That simple statement dissolved all the anger from my heart, leaving an empty hole of weariness in me that weighed heavily upon my shoulders and dragged down my legs and eyelids.
"Let's just go home," I muttered quietly, unable to muster an apology from my lips. I kept my eyes fixed on the paved ground after that, striding swiftly with hands firmly stuck into trouser pockets to where I knew our brougham was waiting.
The world around me faded away as I became lost in contemplation about everything, yet nothing at all. My father's voice drifted into conscious hearing briefly, the words, your mind is like a storage room—always keep it well organized, flitting through my mind amidst the swirling torrents of thought before it submerged once more, giving way to a mass of indecipherable confusion.
'Why did I get so angry?' I wondered dimly, guilt pouring steadily into my soul at the memory that I had yelled at my sister so only moments before. Never let the fires of fury consume you. Control must never be lost by allowing others to see that you have been weakened, and you must not sink to the levels of those that are below you, Father's words beseeched autocratically. Glancing sideways, I observed the flock of pigeons mocking me with bobbing heads as they waddled along beside me, careful to stay just clear of kicking range. 'Blasted birds.'
Returning my gaze to my feet as they continued to lead me forward, I did not notice when the birds ceased to follow me as I stepped from the pavement. I was deaf to the loud rattling sound issuing urgently from somewhere on my left and oblivious to the muffled gasps issued from the bustling crowd around us. I only raised my head at my sister's frantic shriek of "SHERLOCK, NO!" and saw with widened eyes the black silhouette of a of a horse driven carriage storming towards me before something a solid form collided with me with a such a tremendous force that I was lifted off my feet. Distantly, screams pierced my ears as the ground rose imperiously to meet me for the second time that day, and a searing pain shot up my limbs like fire as my vision was filled with the white of snow, before all dimmed into darkness.
0 0 0
Icy coldness seeped through the empty void, pulling me back earnestly before concentrating into a tiny wet patch on my cheek. A low humming noise could be heard all around me just within hearing range. My eyelids still felt heavy as I tried to lift them to see, and it seemed like an eternity before I found myself staring at a blanket of white once more.
"Are you all right, boy?" A question shot at me with a wizened, husky voice from above, and I could see a pair of polished black boots entering my line of sight.
"I'm fine," I managed to mumble, before turning my stiff neck to the other side.
She was lying there in the snow just beyond my reach, eyes closed in peaceful slumber and mouth parted as though she were about to say something in her sleep. But Leona did not stir at all as one would in normal rest, and her ashen skin, which almost blended in perfectly with the snow beneath her, stood in sharp contrast against a scarlet halo wreathed about her wavy locks of sun-kissed brown.
"Leona?" I called out, with desperation slightly tingeing my voice as I struggled to sit up. She would not respond to me, lying perfectly still with pale lips still open in her silent call. 'Why won't she wake?' I mused to myself as I shuffled towards where she lay, shaking her shoulders slightly to rouse her.
"I'm sorry, child," the scratchy voice from before uttered quietly, seemingly in response to my thought. "She rushed out into the street to push you away from that brougham, but did not manage to evade the carriage herself."
"No," I managed to choke out hoarsely as I closed my eyes in despair. 'She can't be dead…she was just here a moment ago.'
The raven from the square swooped down and alighted lightly beside her head with a flap of its ebony wings. It calmly took in her silent form with its beady eyes, before turning to scrutinize me. Dark eyes bore sharply into my own, dispelling any vestiges of denial from my mind. A caw issued from its black, angular beak, before it bowed head in mourning.
It does not do to reveal weakness through a show of tears,my father's voice instructed from within, but heedless to his words, moisture clouded my vision as thin streaks of water leaked from my eyes and poured down my pale cheeks in thin rivulets before dripping from my chin into the crimson snow. The heavens opened with a tumultuous crescendo, before the soft patter of rain could be heard, joining me in my sorrow as we cried.
0 0 0
Leona's grave was more lavish than anything she ever had in life. An angel carved from marble marked her final resting place, nestled in a small, secluded corner just under the expansive branches of an ancient yew, which sheltered it from the harsh rains of winter and the blazing sun in summer. I stood before its elegant form—standing upon a square pedestal engraved with my sister's name with hands outstretched on either side in welcome, lips parted slightly as hers were on that fateful day, and eyes cast skyward—with a single rose, red as her halo had been, in my hand to pay my final respects.
The funeral itself had been a quiet one. Mycroft and I had really been the only ones there, apart from some of the servants that were closest to her. Father had taken the news harder than expected, due to the realization that he had lost the starkest link to his beloved first wife—his mask of cold neutrality had been firmly in place as the news had been broken a week ago, responding with a detached, "I see," before retreating to his rooms, from which he hadn't appeared since. Mother had insisted on staying in the house with him, offering what little comfort she could through the door as she knelt outside day and night.
A large void had appeared within me since the event, and my heart had not stopped hurting since then. I knew that no one blamed me for what happened, yet guilt gnawed ruthlessly away at my insides each day as I found myself bitterly regretting how I had filled her last moments with fear and melancholy.
I found myself alone at this moment of greatest despair. I could not turn to Mycroft, who was still dealing with his own grief, seeing accusation in his eyes each time those grey orbs stared into mine. In the short span of a week, a rift had formed between my brother and me—once inseparable, he had been closer to me than almost any other—which would probably never completely heal.
As I took in my surroundings, I realized with a tinge of sadness that I was not alone in my loneliness. Leona's grave was the only one beneath the shade of the great yew—her mother had been buried in a different location entirely. She was as alone in death as she had been in life.
Sighing, I let the scarlet budded flower slip from my pallid fingers, watching it idly as it spiralled downwards and landed silently upon the unblemished snow. I made a silent vow to visit this spot often so that she would not be completely alone, and ensure that her sacrifice was not for naught, so that at least within me, her memory would live on.
'I'll never forget you, sister mine.'
0 0 0
Disclaimer: See previous chapters
A/N: Sorry about the long delay in posting, but I really wanted to put extra effort in making this chapter work. It doesn't really add a lot plot-wise to Ultimate Challenge, as everything takes place during Holmes's childhood (he's around 10 yrs old at this time), but it does seek to explain reasons behind the actions of several characters, and it does play a role in University Life.
Hope you enjoyed this chapter—the next one will return to the actual plot of the story (I can't leave you with that cliff-hanger forever), and will be posted much sooner, especially since I'm on holiday. Thanks again to all those wonderful reviewers who have been very patient in waiting for this story to develop; I really appreciate you following the story so closely.