This Is Real

Chapter Twenty Four

Evelyn pulled open the front door, freezing in place at the sight that greeted her. Of all the people she expected to see, this woman was probably very last on that list.

"Aveline!"

Evelyn cringed at the name. "Ahhh... Hi, Auntie Jacqueline. Are you..." she glanced down frantically, desperately searching for any baggage. Please don't ask to stay here. "What are you doing in London?"

The older woman tsked. "Can I not pay a surprise visit to my great niece?"

No, preferably not.

"Well, I mean..." Eve's grip on the doorknob was becoming uncomfortable. "I haven't seen you in years."

She waved a dismissive hand. "Honestly, child, are you going to invite me in? You cannot expect me to stand in your porch all day!"

"Oh. Yes, come in," she stepped back, opening the door wider. "No bags?"

"I had them dropped at the hotel, I have a suite at Claridge's."

"Of course you do."

Evelyn led the way through the house, heading straight for the kitchen. If the day got any worse, she may need to open a bottle of wine. "Sherlock?" She called out, hoping that he was willing to keep her sane through this ordeal.

Jacqueline frowned. "Your husband is home?"

"Yes. Yes, he is, he's just putting Eloise down in... there," she gestured toward the sofa where Sherlock was still rocking the moses basket, leaning herself back against the kitchen island. Sherlock locked his eyes on hers, a silent question passing through them. She simply nodded subtly. "So, Aunt Jacqueline, this is Sherlock. Sherlock, this is my great aunt Jacqueline."

Sherlock gave one final check over the sleeping baby before walking towards his wife and their unexpected guest. "Hello." He offered his hand.

She shook it slowly, looking him over. "Hello, Mr Holmes. I've heard a lot about you, not always good, I must say," Sherlock darted his gaze fleetingly towards Eve. "Oh, not from my niece, it's always good from my niece, when I get any type of correspondence from her that is. I speak of the past media."

"Ah," he pressed his lips together tightly for a moment. "It's quite the love hate relationship, the media and I."

"Indeed," as she turned away, appraising the room they were in, Sherlock widened his eyes towards Evelyn, raising an eyebrow. Eve waved her arms about, teeth grit, very much giving off I don't know what to do! Help me! "Are your children not around?"

"They're at nursery."

"At least they're being educated."

Evelyn felt her frustration continuing to build. "At their ages it's more focused on the emotional and social development, with everything else peppered in along the way."

Jacqueline examined the canvas on the wall, a picture of their three children gifted from John and Mary, then she turned to Evelyn with a scowl. "Have you been teaching them french at least?"

"Um. No? They're three and under, and very advanced for their age as it is, I don't find it necessary–"

"Yet not advanced enough to learn french."

Evelyn's fist clenched, taking a step forward to have her say on the disregard of her children's abilities. Sherlock grabbed her wrist, tugging her back while stepping in front of his wife. "Would you like a cup of tea, Mrs Bessette?"

Jacqueline scrunched her nose. "What kind?"

"We have green, herbal, and black," Sherlock smiled tightly. "Currently PG Tips." He added.