CHAPTER 56. Two Houses
The following day, Sherlock was attempting to catalog tobacco ash, when the good Doctor returned home and seemingly out of no where became a distraction.
"John?" Sherlock tried to think of a way to ask his friend what was wrong, these types of things were not his area of expertise. Normally he could rely on the Doctor to explain these situations, but seeing how it was the Doctor causing him this distracting confusion that option was out of the equation.
"Hmm?" John didn't look up from his chair near the fireplace. Sherlock had tried to deduce what the cause of John's sudden melancholy mood was. He worked today a short shift, he went upstairs to change cheerfully calling out. "I'll put the kettle on. I hope there's milk." Sherlock didn't look up from his microscope to answer. Then John clad in his comfortable brown jumper, predictable, started the process of making tea. He placed the warm mug down next to Sherlock who glared at it.
"When is the last time you ate?"
"Eating is dull John. I'm busy."
"Well as dull as eating is your body, or transport as you say needs it. Can't drive a car without petrol." Sherlock continued to ignore his friend intent on what he was doing. John placed toast next to the tea. "Eat. Or I'll hide the microscope."
Sherlock sighed heavily taking a piece of the crust and making a show of putting it in his mouth. As if to say; Satisfied?
John opened his laptop and that was when the mood in the room seemed to shift as if a cloud was passing over the sun, the flat felt colder. Sherlock tried to ignore this change, and continued to exchange slides of tobacco ash only to break a slide, due to the distraction that was sitting near the fireplace causing him to look up from his work. John was unusually quiet.
What was the protocol for these types of things, was John ill? No he sounded fine coming in. Had Sherlock said something to upset him? Sherlock reran their greetings, no John was perfectly fine. Conclusion something on the laptop now firmly closed and sitting on the table.
"John?"
"Hmm?"
"Did you know there are over-"
"I think I'm going to go out for a walk." John said so suddenly the dark haired detective almost flinched. He waited at the window to see John disappear down the street before he moved to open the laptop, easy to break that password getoffmylaptop wasn't really to hard to figure out.
Johnny, I have a buyer for the house. I do need ur signature on 1 last thing. I ll b working this week. But Saturday I ll b at the house showing the potential buyers around. It wont take longer than a few minutes of ur time. If u could meet me at the house I'll be there all day until five. Then I will officially b out of ur life.-Harry
Sherlock glared at her abysmal writing why must people use letters instead of spelling the whole word out. She was a coward for not calling. He could be grateful that at the very least she hadn't stopped in.
Sherlock shut the small laptop and carefully placed it exactly where he'd taken it from. Not even a moment later he received a text message alert,
Well since John is going to visit his old home, perhaps the two of you will stop into the estate and stay the night. I'll be there myself. Organizing some of father's affairs.-MH
"Piss off Mycroft." Sherlock snarled.
I'm hoping you wont have that type of attitude when you visit father.-MH
Sherlock went back to his microscope, he had told John and everyone else who inquired, that his father was dead, from cancer. Well in a way it was true. He was dead to him, and he did have cancer. He had no urge to revisit his old home. He hadn't gone back since departing ways with John.
~0~
"What's the matter father embarrassed your youngest son is a drug addict university drop out?" it was amazing how Sherlock managed to get this out without slurring. He swayed a bit, his glassy bloodshot eyes tried to focus on the red faced balding old man. Still standing six foot, and still an imposing bully, pompous git.
"Get him out of my face!" His father growled pointing angrily at his youngest son. He moved to straighten his gray suit jacket and adjust his blue silk tie. Mycroft handed the man his scotch in hopes of calming the situation.
"Sherlock, let's go." Mycroft firmly took hold of the younger Holmes's arm, in hopes of escorting him out of Father's study into a car and directly to another expensive rehab. His younger brother's equilibrium impaired, he nearly stumbled backwards.
"Leave me alone Mycroft! I'm not going!" The dark haired young man pulled his arm away violently straightening his black suit jacket in a similar way father had, without even noticing.
"Oh yes you are! You insolent-if you don't go Sherlock then I will cut you off, you wont be wasting the money of our good name on poison that you'll just shoot up your arm." Father had slammed his half empty tumbler of scotch onto his desk, moving to stand directly in front of his sons. The veins on his neck and temple pulsing.
"I don't need you! I never have!" Mycroft pulled the his younger brother away, distance was an advantage.
"I see your usual little shadow has gone. You finally managed to annoy him enough that not even our money could keep you friends?"
"Father, please you're not helping." Mycroft held the thinner Holmes by his waist, fearful if he squeezed anymore he'd break something, feeling the fine bones of his little brothers frame.
"It was me that told him to go." Sherlock calmed now pulling away from Mycroft's hold, putting distance between the two.
"I tolerated that penniless kid only to keep you happy, and from making a nuisance of things. He was an idiot for staying around this long. And you managed to finally drive him away, at least you saved me that embarrassment, people talk. Still what a shame that a drunk like Nathan Watson was blessed with a respectable child, decent, somewhat average but I would trade average in for one that is a spoiled insolent failure! You feel entitled to my money and you've done nothing to earn your inheritance other than waste your intelligence on drugs and-"
Sherlock sneered at his father "keep it. I can make my own way. I don't want anything from you, or you!" Sherlock pushed his brother away. "You're dead to me father."
"You've been dead to me for a long time." The older man spat. "Get out of my house you're not welcome here. You would break your mothers heart if she saw how you turned out!"
And Sherlock had left, and never turned back, he didn't need his fathers money true he had his mother's trust. Then Mycroft told him when he woke up in rehab that he'd seized the trust and he would be monitoring Sherlock's spending and habits. He had ultimatums and no matter how Sherlock pushed Mycroft refused to give. He checked out the next day and lived on the streets making his way for months until an overdose landed him once more at his brother's mercy. More ultimatums, more threats.
That was how he would remember his father angry and cold. Sherlock had no urge to reminisce on what was past, perhaps that's what John felt. Although seeing the look on father's face when he waltzed in for a visit with John Watson in tow. Doctor John Watson, Captain and still loyal friend. A commoner's son, oh it could be like Christmas. Still the coincidence that John was being called away to his old home wasn't lost on Sherlock.