Runaway Home
Chp 17
"But mate, it's going to be one of the best parties of the year! All the seniors are going; it's our last hoorah before we're all shipped out across England for university."
"I know, and I'd love to go and all, but my flat mate-"
"You and your bloody flat mate! What's he gonna care if you go to one party? He's always keeping you hauled up inside or out on those cases or whatever; it's just one night out!"
"I didn't say he wouldn't let me."
"Then what's the problem?"
"He'd want to come with me."
"What? Tell him it's only for vocational kids. He's like thirty or something isn't he?"
"Twenty seven, but yeah, that doesn't matter. He'll come in disguise. Remember that party at Jake's a few months back?"
"Yeah…"
"Yeah, my flat mate was the French exchange student."
"The one who shoved Marcy in the pool?"
"The very same."
"Why would he-"
"Because he's insane."
"Whoa...why don't you like, move out?"
"Because I'm insane."
"Ha, alright then mate, I'll see you on Monday!"
"Bye, have fun at the party."
John sighed as he watched Gale and the rest of his school mate's rush to their respective rides and making a beeline for their homes, no doubt to get ready for what was probably going to be the greatest party of the century. Despite all the complaining he was sure to do when his classmates came back on Monday with a myriad of war stories he would envy for the rest of his life, he was glad not to be going. He liked nights in with Sherlock, better yet, he liked nights out with Sherlock. Tonight would most likely be one of those nights. The detective was growing bored since his last case ended nearly a week ago and would be on the prowl for something new. Which was good, it meant things were finally back to normal.
When he'd finally told Sherlock about his dreams all those months back, the detective had become even more adamant about him going to therapy. That meant that there were longer breaks between cases in which the man spent the majority of his time trying to convince John to go. He gradually began to take on more cases and bother the boy less about it. Probably a combination of him realizing John's resolve not to go and the growing infrequency of his nightmares. Whatever the reason, John was just glad for things to be back to normal, or well, their version of normal.
He made his way through the city, walking most of the way despite the convenient tube stations. The boy was fond of his new home in the city and often took great pleasure walking through it when the weather allowed. His walks to school and back provided him time to get some air. The air wasn't as fresh as it was in his home town but somehow that just added to the appeal. He could breathe in the city and all it had to offer him, all that it had already given him. As he drew closer to Baker Street his heart did a back flip. Two years ago he would have told you it was impossible to be in love with a street, he would have told you it was impossible to have an emotional attachment to a building, or to be infatuated with a man who kept human limbs in the ice box. That was two years ago though, that was before he knew what it was like to have a home, now he could see it quiet clearly.
He stepped up to the door and was greeted by the smell of something cooking in Mrs. Hudson's flat and the pleas of a voice that sounded vaguely familiar coming from upstairs. Just as he was about to head up to investigate further the landlady popped out of her flat to smile at the boy.
"You're home dearie, so good to see you! I baked you boys some cheese biscuits, thought it might lighten his mood."
She said handing John a basket of some delicious looking biscuits.
"He's been in a mood has he? Must still be in search of a case then."
The boy said eyeing up a particularly nice biscuit.
"Yes, that's the fifteenth today, just stepped in and he already sounds agitated. So far no one seems to catch his fancy. Oh well, bound to be a murder eventually knowing this city. It's such a dangerous place, really it is."
John nodded in agreement then turned his head to look up at the door that was now doing a poor job at covering up the detective's exclamations of 'boring'.
"I'll go check up on him then, shall I? Thanks for the biscuits Mrs. H they look lovely."
He said with a smile and a quick peck on the older woman's cheek before bounding up the stairs. John opened the door hesitantly as he'd learned that minor distractions could distress clients even further when dealing with the mad detective. He crept into the flat quietly and made his way to the kitchen where he deposited the biscuits. After placing his back pack on the table he slowly made his way towards to living room where he froze. Panic over took him instantaneously and if his limbs hadn't been rendered immobile he would have bolted from the room right then. He was almost certain his heart had stopped working as well and he stumbled backwards until he was leaning against the wall to keep himself from falling over.
"John?"
Sherlock and the client practically shouted in unison. Sherlock looked to the woman with an expression that rivaled John's level of panic.
"John, what…why…?"
The boy looked on in horror as the woman got up from the sofa and took several shaky steps towards him.
"What's the meaning of this? John, who is this woman?"
Sherlock questioned anxiously. John's eyes shifted from the woman back to the detective and felt his fear mounting.
"She's my mother."
The boy said in a voice barely above a whisper, but the detective heard, oh how he'd heard. Sherlock grew sickeningly pale and his eyes went wide as he then moved his gaze back upon the woman.
"John, have you been here? All this time?"
His mom asked in a trembling voice that matched the uncertainty in her foot steps. John did his best to answer but all he could manage through his shock was a nod. His mother shot a hand up to cover her mouth as a soft sob escaped from her lips.
"Two years, I-I wondered for two years…I wasn't sure if you were even…I didn't know…"
She was crying now and it pulled at the boy's heart. In all his time at Baker Street he hadn't once considered how his mother would feel. Part of it was his resentment, she hadn't done much to protect him, and part of it was that he'd been purely focused on the negative aspects of his old house. She hadn't been the best mother, but she was still his mom, and it bothered him to see how much pain he'd caused her.
"Mom, I…I'm sorry."
It was all he could manage; there was really nothing else he could think to say. There wasn't much else to say. The boy had good reason to leave, he had good reason not to tell anybody (including his mother), but he was sorry. He was sorry for the pain he must have caused his mother, his friends, possibly even his sister. That didn't mean he regretted his decision though, it just made him sorry.
"The missing person's case you came here about…it was about John."
Sherlock whispered mostly to himself but his mom nodded in response anyway.
"I heard about the amazing detective in London and came as soon as I could."
She explained taking another step closer to the shell shocked boy.
"It's been two years."
Sherlock stated bluntly taking his mother off guard. She stopped moving forward and looked to the floor shamefully.
"Yes, well, like I said before, as soon as I could."
She replied quietly as John finally was able to push himself off of the wall. With a new found sense of courage he brought himself closer to the frightened woman.
"What happened to Mr. Watson?"
Sherlock asked coldly taking a step closer to John. The boy's eyes widened even more if that was possible as he watched another sob rack his mother's body.
"Mom, what happened?"
John inquired carefully. His mother launched forward to embrace the boy tightly and clinging to him as she continued to cry. Sherlock flinched at the sudden contact and looked as though he were prepared to pry the woman off of John at a moments notice.
" Y-your father, he-oh god-he's dead John. He was so angry after you left; he-he was out all the time…he got into a fight with some man from out of town…it was real bad."
His mom sobbed into his shoulder as she delivered the news. He looked to Sherlock who's face was stoic as usual but the man's eyes were locked on his own. John wondered what he looked like; scared, confused, sad, angry? He wasn't sure, but he though it might help him pin-point what he was actually feeling if he could see what he looked like. It was difficult to tell, there was so much to process. His mom was here for one, he hadn't seen her in years. Then there was his dad being dead, that was…news. Should he be sad? Happy? The man had tormented him for 16 years, but…he was his father. It was too much, certainly more than he could begin to understand in a matter of minutes.
"John?"
His mother whispered after about five minutes of her clinging to his rigid body.
"Yes?"
He croaked out as she pulled herself back to look up into his eyes. Up? Yes, he'd grown since he'd left; he was now taller than his mother. It was an odd thing to fixate on, but it was the only thing he could really comprehend at the moment. He focused his attention back onto his mother's face as she seemed very intent to tell him something.
"John, I want you to come home with me."