'Who on Earth is outside that door?' His parents didn't inform him of - RING - visitors. They always tell him when they do, so he'd know what to do in advance. Sometimes he'd have to make appearances since they are - RING - aware of his existence, sometimes he has to pretend he doesn't exist (which is easier). What if it's the police? Oh god, did he get - RING - caught with the drugs? What if it's Mycroft's men about to take - RINGGG - him to rehab? RINGGGGG...
"GET THE DOOR!" Siger yells. 'I'm gonna get seriously beaten up tonight, am I?'
His parents' staff has the month off. They told the staff that they want to 'bond' with him alone. But he knows that the staff knows about his situation. It's impossible not to hear some screaming and yelling at the same house, no matter how big it is. His parents paid and blackmailed the staff a bit to keep their mouths shut and ignore him under no circumstances. The staff agrees with this arrangement.
So, without the butler, he stands up and limps to the front door in front of him. He wraps one arm around his body, the other hand is on the wall. He prepares himself to pretend that nothing is wrong. He's used with that level of acting. He cannot feel his legs.
He holds the door handle and breathes in the pain, sucks it and absorbs all the pain in his body and prepares himself for the worst feeling of acting like everything is all fine. He opens the door, looking down.
He breathes and looks up at the unknown visitor.
BLANK.
He waits for a while. Nothing. No one's responding. He rings the door bell again. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 'Brilliant.' He mutters to himself. He checks his phone. He's in the right address. He rings it again. 'Maybe no one's home?' But the lights are open, he notices. 'God, I'm becoming like Sherlock.' He rings it again. The house is fucking gigantic. He already took a photograph of it when he was walking towards here, as he admired the place. The place is huge. Maybe no one can hear him. He rings it harder. He grows impatient.
He rings it in the most impatient way possible. He's about to give up and walk away when he hears someone shouting inside. He's uncertain if the person is shouting at him or someone else.
His thought stops when the door clicks open. A pause. Then a tired person who is looking down, is standing in front of him.
Those eyes reach him and looks at him in surprise.
'John's here! He's here! Why are you here, John? Why?' The sudden thought that perhaps John isn't finished beating him up comes. He winces. Beating him up? He isn't some victim...
He looks up. John is smiling. 'Probably the thought of strangling me excites him.' He gives John his most unemotional face. Which is hard to do because his legs are threatening to break underneath him.
"What are you doing here?" he asks with fake-sharpness and fake-annoyance.
"I... umm..." John clears his throat. "I came to see how you are."
His mind goes to his father and mother immediately and he should be peacefully collapsed right now on the floor if it wasn't for John's sudden appearance.
"I'm doing well," he rolls his eyes as he answers.
'I don't believe a word you say.'
Sherlock looks exhausted, he can tell. Sherlock's very uncomfortable right now and he doesn't know what to do. He's never seen Sherlock like this before. He doesn't know how to help an uncomfortable-Sherlock. He can easily see right through Sherlock's unemotional mask better than before.
He sees Sherlock grip the door handle tightly. Too tightly. His knuckles are white.
"Are you okay?" he asks. 'You don't need to answer that, Sherlock. The bags under your eyes already tell the story.'
"Yes," Sherlock answers firmly.
He looks at Sherlock again. He's know gripping the door handle like a lifeline. He looks even more uncomfortable and his legs are trembling.
Before he asks Sherlock what's wrong, a woman cuts him off. "Sweetie, where are your manners? Let him in," her voice is sweet and kind. Sherlock's blocking the door so he cannot see what she looks like.
Sherlock sighs, "Right." He opens the door wider and gestures for John to enter.
"Thank you." He tells Sherlock - who nods at him in reply. He shrugs his coat off and Sherlock gets it from him harshly as if he is a man on a mission. He hangs it on the coat rack. He observes Sherlock. He can see how horribly stiff Sherlock is with his movements.
"Sitting room. First door on the left," Sherlock suddenly says out-loud, Sherlock's back still facing him. He doesn't want to see him still struggling on putting his coat on the coat rack. He wants to help him. But he knows Sherlock's ego and he would want to do this alone.
He turns around to go to the sitting room.
'Holy fuck.' The corridor looks like it's been taken from Buckingham Palace. He takes a photo of it. 'Geez.' He feels like he is a tourist going around in a museum.
He enters the sitting room. There's a fireplace on his left with two armchairs on the side and a couch facing the fireplace. There's only one painting in the whole room. It's big and it's on the wall to his right. He walks over to it, suddenly feeling fascinated with it.
'My god!' There is a painting of some beautiful view. It's beautiful and it must have cost a fortune! He looks at the artist's signature.
"Violet Holmes," he whispers to himself.
"Hello, dearie," a woman behind him says. He yelps in surprise. She's the same woman she heard earlier who told Sherlock what to do. He looks at her and she's placing a tray on the table - tea and biscuits. Her dark-brown hair with perfect curls flowing down her shoulders.
She looks at him and smiles. He's more intrigued with her eyes. They're exactly the same as Sherlock's. "Yes, hello. John Watson," he extends his arm for her to shake his hand.
"A pleasure. I apologise for the behaviour of my son. Violet Holmes," Mrs. Holmes shakes his hand.
'This woman is Sherlock's mother?! But she looks like she's in her thirties!' He smiles back at her. He looks at the painting agian. 'Violet Holmes? She painted this son of a bitch called a painting?'
"Your work, Mrs. Holmes?" he asks her.
"Indeed it is," Mrs. Holmes sits beside him. "It's the view outside of my old hours. So many memories."
"Wow," He says, dumbly. 'She may not be a Holmes by blood, but she's definitely a Holmes.'
Mrs. Holmes's head suddenly snaps around, which got him alarmed. He turns around as well, looking at the direction Mrs. Holmes is looking at. Sherlock's in the room, leaning on the door way, hands in his pockets. "I knew I heard your footsteps," Mrs. Holmes tells Sherlock.
'Bloody hell! I didn't even hear anything!'
Mrs. Holmes walks towards Sherlock and whispers in his ear. Sherlock suddenly stands up straight. He sees Sherlock nodding. "Okay... Okay... Yes... Alright, mummy..." Sherlock mutters. He chuckles to himself at the sight of Sherlock and Mrs. Holmes.
Mrs. Holmes smiles at Sherlock, pats his head and kisses his forehead. "I'm going to get Sherlock's father so he'd meet you, John Watson. Is that alright?"
"Yes, thank you for the tea," He gives his best smile at Mrs. Holmes. She leaves.
He looks at Sherlock. Sherlock seems like he's frozen on the spot. And he looks like he just experienced something horrible.
He chuckles, 'Probably embarrassed that I witnessed him being a momma's boy.'
He enters the room. John and his mother are both standing in front of his mother's painting. John looks incredibly impressed. He smiles to himself. John is really fascinated with his mother's painting. I guess he could give his mother some credit. He leans on the door way, his legs still not functioning properly. Violet turns sharply and looks at him, John following her gaze.
"I knew I heard your footsteps," she tells him.
John looks at his mother with a very confused look.
He tries to look as indifferent and bored despite the pain he is feeling in his body. Violet walks up to him and she gives him a look that screams, "Good posture, you no good son of mine. You're embarrassing me with your posture." He stands up straight and he sees Violet nod at him - a nod invisible to non-Holmeses.
She whispers to his ear. "Now, don't embarrass this family or I will slap the living daylights out of you."
"Okay..."
"Don't you even dare ask him for help because otherwise, I might have to kill you myself."
"Okay..."
"I don't want a single drop of tea spilled. Now, I want you to say 'Yes' in a very affectionate manner from a son to a mother."
"Yes..." He says it in the way his mother told him to.
"Don't forget to call Siger your 'Dad' if he ever comes in this room. Now, call me 'Mummy' and smile like you're tired of listening to my concern but you're grateful I still do it."
"Alright, mummy," he sighs annoyingly and then smiles in the most affectionate way - the kind his mother won't see but John will.
"Did you do it?" Violet threatens him. He hums quietly.
Violet looks at him, pats his head and kisses him on the forehead. His mind is broken. He feels like someone just broke his dignity. She went too far. How dare her kiss him on the forehead? Doing a very motherly act at him which she always does to Mycroft and never him. How dare her do something he always wanted her to do ever since he was little? How dare her do this as an act and just to keep appearances. How dare her? Hitting him and slapping him is different with hollow motherly-kisses. The kiss on the forehead felt so real and so motherly and how everything he thought it would feel. But she's doing this to keep an act! It's disgusting!
"Momma's boy, you are," John snaps him out of his thoughts. They're alone now. He didn't even feel her leave. John is sitting on the couch.
"Oh you have no idea," he answers and John laughs. 'This is a good start. He's laughing.' He missed hearing that laugh. He sits down beside John.
"Nice place you have."
'I wouldn't call it "Nice".'
"It's okay," he shrugs.
"Okay?!" John scoffs. "This is motherfucking paradise."
Sherlock chuckles internally. 'Silly John.'
"Language, John."
"And your mother's a goddamn Da Vinci with her paintings."
"That she is..." He admits.
"What about your father?" John asks.
"Upstairs."
"Actually, I'm right here." Siger waves at them.
'Oh fuck.'
"Actually, I'm right here." A man who looks like Sherlock comes in. He and Sherlock both stand up in his sudden presence.
'This is Sherlock's father? He looks like he's also in his thirties! The fuck is this family breaking the laws of getting old.'
"So how are you boys doing?" Mr. Holmes walks up to him and reaches for his hand. "Siger Holmes."
"Umm, John Watson, yes. Hi," he shakes Mr. Holmes's hand.
Mr. Holmes gives him a smile that looks extremely like Sherlock's. "Pleasure to meet you future-Doctor Watson," Siger grins at him, nodding in approval.
"Dad, stop deducing, John," Sherlock suddenly says. Siger looks at Sherlock and laughs, Sherlock chuckling with him.
'Sherlock's family ARE good people.'
The telephone suddenly rings. Sherlock gets it immediately. "Yes?" Sherlock listens for a while. "Dad, it's for you."
"Thanks m'boy," Sherlock gives him the phone and sits on the couch. He sits beside Sherlock. The two watches Mr. Holmes.
"Let's now watch the magic unfold," Sherlock whispers to him. He looks at Sherlock, confused. 'What the hell is that supposed to mean?' But Sherlock's eyes are fixed on his father and so he watches.
"What is it?" Siger asks on the phone, harshly.
'Whoa. Mr. Holmes's kind eyes are gone.'
"No. Cancel it... It's not as important as it sounds, Carter... No... It's none of your business, Carter. It's mine and I'm telling you to cancel that meeting... I don't care how important he is, I do not want to speak to him with that attitude of his... Do it or you're fired," Mr. Holmes hangs up. Mr. Holmes looks at them with the I-am-in-love-with-my-family-and-no-one-can-tell-me-otherwise eyes unlike the I-am-the-boss-and-I-will-kill-you-if-you-mess-with-me eyes. "Sorry boys," he tells them.
"It's fine, dad. Now, may you please leave. I'd like to talk to John Watson. Please?" The two Holmeses stare at each other. He starts to feel awkward between the two. He's like a little kid who is in between two adults having an argument. "Please, dad?... Please..."
'What the fuck?' He's in shock. Sherlock just begged, thrice. He remembers Sherlock's old words a year ago. "I'd rather kill myself before I beg for mercy." And no here he is. Breaking his own words. 'Maybe it's just an act for his parents. Pretending to be the good kid.' That does make sense. 'The Holmeses are one hell of a family.'
Mr. Holmes nods and leaves.
They're alone.
AN: Okay. I don't know if you guys ever noticed but I right POVs in a way that it's kind of like a character's POV without using the word "I" or "me." You'd know whose character's POV it is anyway. The big clue is that I don't say the character's name in the not-dialogue parts. I always use a pronoun.