CHAPTER 43. Things Friends say

"Sherlock!"

"John? Up here!" The tall six year old had climbed up the garden wall and now stood enjoying the new vantage point " The view is-"

"Are you crazy! Get down! You'll break your neck!" His friend shouted up running towards the high stone wall.

"John I'm perfectly fine, I have wonderful sense of balance." Sherlock frowned seeing his friends startled face, it was humorous John looked like he was going to be sick.

"You'll fall! Come down! Or I'm going home!" He stated firmly. Sherlock resented the fact that John used this threat to get what he wanted, one day Sherlock would call his bluff. But not today.

"Fine, John, have it your way. Where's your sense of adventure-wait a minute, what's he doing back?" Sherlock pointed to the road seeing his father's car starting down the drive.

"Who?"

"Father." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I thought after this morning's important business calls he was going to finally leave so he could get back to his secretary."

"I'm not even going to ask. Just get down." John nervously scrunched up his face, putting a hand up to shade out the bright sun.

Sherlock started to climb down the slick brick of the garden wall, just as his father's car pulled up the man jumped from his vehicle before it even came to a full stop.

"Sherlock Holmes!" the voice thundered making John flinch and Sherlock lost his footing and grip he started to fall back but his friend was right behind him to steady him and pull him the rest of the way down, any higher up and John wouldn't have been able to reach up to grab him in time.

The two boys stood up straight as the tall, bulkier, ginger haired Mr. Holmes approached his long legs made a short distance between them.

" What the hell do you think you're doing!" Sherlock shrugged not meeting his father's eyes. The same that would be Mycroft's later, cynical, hard and cold.

"Don't you shrug at me! That isnt any kind of answer!"

"Well father one would think it obvious. I was climbing-"

"You could have broken your neck! Don't you use your brain! Where's Amelia?"
"That was my nanny three years ago. You let her go when-"

"Shut up. I don't want to see you on that wall or anywhere near it!"

Sherlock could see the tension in his friend the way John stood watching ready to pull his friend back if Mr. Holmes advanced any closer. He wanted to reassure him things never progressed past the shouting. Sherlock couldn't help himself from antagonizing his father, father's anger only fueled his own.

"Don't you have a secretary to get back to? Don't pretend to care father, sentiment doesn't suit you, we both know it! You don't care! Why are you even here?" Sherlock hating how his voice squeaked, as he tried to gain the same tone of his father failing miserably, his voice cracked instead of thundered. He hated this reaction, and his father was taking another step closer was he going to add more, what more could he say? Mummy wasn't eating? She hated him? He always said these things, always blamed him. Suddenly John was between them, the shorter boy didn't flinch, his body stayed stiff, and Sherlock watched in some kind of awe. He'd seen John take his side, with bullies, no matter the odds, but this was father.

The younger boy caught a look of absolute determination and something else. Was John frightened? For who? Father would never acknowledge John let alone strike him, the older Holmes didn't like to get his hands dirty. Lazy git! Then his only friend was speaking, actually addressing the older Holmes, and Sherlock recalled that story of a giant and boy with a slingshot, except John didn't have a sling shot.

"Uh, Mr. Holmes Sir-" John's voice sounded different, and Sherlock couldn't understand why he hated the tone it took. As if this man were something to fear, he was a bloody idiot, an idiot and an adulterer. Not to mention the biggest hypocrite and Sherlock hated him. "Excuse me for interrupting." John's shoulders were stiff and back straight, it reminded the younger Holmes of a soldier at attention. Father was focusing his attention, the full force of his glare; John's next words caught Sherlock off guard and from the expression father took it did the same to him. "He's sorry. He wont do it again. Right Sherlock?" A hard elbow to his ribs was brought him to his senses and he realized too late just how close father was. Father had unsettling views on friends, on people of lesser social standings. But John wasn't dirt on his shoes, John was brave, funny, honest (disgustingly so), and his friend. Father had power, he could send Sherlock away, make him leave and not allow him on the property. Could use his friend against him in some twisted way to gain the upper hand, to make him compliant.

Even at his young age he understood it and feared the possibilities. He should have been more careful he needed to end this quickly before father took more notice of John. So he swallowed the nasty taste of acquiescence, he needed to calm himself father was an idiot but he was a man of business a shark, and he always struck when he caught even the faintest scent of blood in the water.

"Sorry." He pushed out, clamping his teeth shut so hard his jaw began to ache. There it was, and he braced himself for what would come, telling himself that it wasn't defeat, he would turn and run after his father had his predictable tantrum of cruel words, and that would put distance between father and John. Because Sherlock knew whenever he ran John was close behind.

This time had been exceptionally cruel and after father had his say Sherlock hadn't even realized he was running away until someone was calling out to him. He was almost at the servant's entrance and John was there, a panic started to seize him as he scrubbed at his eyes. He didn't want to be seen in this weakened state, he was not a baby, those words did not hurt him, he wasn't the cause for his mother's illness. Was he? She said she loved him, he spoke to her on the phone a few days ago. She had said it, but was this his fault? Her being away. Why did father always blame him? There had to be truth behind it.

"Sherlock! Dammit! How you can run that fast in this deep snow-" John panted but Sherlock had turned his back. "Hey!" John tried to get step in front of him, but the younger Holmes started to pace, until a strong hand grabbed his forearm. "Hey. Listen. He didn't mean that. He's just angry at his lot in life."

"He's an idiot John." Sherlock hated how his voice cracked now and his vision blurred.

"Yeah, I'd have to say so. And I thought he'd be taller. And have more hair, poor Mycroft I know now he's got a future residing hairline to look forward to." Sherlock took a deep breath; his father was loosing his hair rather rapidly.

"I hate him. I hate him John! He wants me to be like him. I wont be like him! Mycroft will, but I wont-"

"You wont be your father Sherlock. You wont. I don't even think Mycroft will be either. He's too smart to be dumb and so are you for that. You're better than him, besides you have too high a metabolism. You should really feel sorry for Mycroft."

"John if you are attempting to make me feel better it's not working."

"Isnt it?" John put his friend in a headlock easily and started to mess the boys unruly curls. "This always cheers me up."

Sherlock couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, that and fathers car pulling away in the distance alerted him to the fact John was safe from father's pointed nose and scrutiny.

"You arent going to be your father Sherlock. And what he said was rubbish. I've seen your mum she loves you."

"Then why does she stay away?" Sherlock hated the whine in his voice but he couldn't help it.

"She's sick Sherlock. Sometimes people are broken and it takes time to glue the pieces together. We all are a little cracked, some of us just hide it better with wealth, or pointing fingers, or just cruelty, and others just accept what cant be changed."

"John have you been reading Harry's AA pamphlets again?"

John ignored the remark refusing to be swayed. " We cant fix people quick like dishes and dolls with glue and tape. Takes time, besides let the adults sort it out. Stop focusing on this grown up shite it'll make you mad, or like them. Balding. You know what stress does to the metabolism." He motioned to Mycroft and the older Holmes. John finally released his friend. Sherlock couldn't help himself and he started to laugh. It felt better, and he could see his brother's future in his father's bulky figure. This fueled his laughter even more.

"Remember that. Now come on it's bloody freezing out here, lets go inside and see about some hot chocolate. You can make your mum a nice Christmas card. That'll cheer her up."

"Would you write something inside. I'm rubbish with words." Sherlock climbed the steps to the servant's entrance.

"Uh, sure if you want. But not if my fingers have frozen off due to being out here any longer."

"Come along John! I smell biscuits!"