Fanfiction Friday: The Holmes Home

These characters don’t belong to me; I credit their creation to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (as reimagined by Steven Moffat and Mark Gattis), as well as people engaged in the Sherlockian game. This piece is not for money, it’s for my own enjoyment. As such, the accuracy can be a little spotty. I apologize for getting anything wrong.

Oh, and this contains slash. You have been warned.

*****

(from the blog of Dr. John H. Watson)

I’m still a little shell-shocked, to be perfectly honest. I absolutely did not expect anything that happened today. Not one thing. I’d blame Sherlock for all this, but we all know that that’s bloody useless. He only tells me what he wants me to know, and he really doesn’t want me to learn anything REALLY personal about him. I only know about Mycroft because he was borderline STALKING his little brother.

So you WOULD forgive me if I found myself absolutely floored when, a few hours ago, I met their MOTHER.

Allow me to backtrack a bit.

Sherlock and I were following a lead in the mysterious death of one Adelpha Montrue, and we found ourselves in Yorkshire. In retrospect, I should have noticed that Sherlock was acting a bit off. His eyes would dart all over the place, as if he were expecting someone to attack us. His sentences were clipped; he sounded like he was in a hurry. In fact, he practically pushed me out of the wine shop where we thought we’d find a man named George Johnson, an American winemaker who had been having an affair with Ms. Montrue. We didn’t find him there, but we’d gotten some really valuable information from the shop owner and Mr. Johnson’s friend regarding a Mr. Alesso Montrue – although we’re not sure if it’s a husband, son, or brother – but, as important as that was, I didn’t think that we needed to be in a hurry.

Of course, I went along with it because it’s Sherlock and he’ll be insufferable if I refuse to do what he says in the middle of a case. Much besides, I assumed that he’s DEDUCED something important from the bit Mr. Johnson gave us.

Apparently, I was wrong – because about a few seconds later, we ran into a distinguished-looking woman who looked oddly familiar.

You know what the first words out of her lips were?

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