The One Next Door

They Might Like Him Too Much

    "Since we're on the topic of pictures, got any embarrassing photo albums?" John asked.
"Ooh, do I ever." Mrs. Holmes laughed.
"Absolutely do not get that out!" Sherlock yelled, getting to his feet to make sure the albums never see the light, but John just pulled him back down.
"This is the downside to having a relationship; you have to suffer through the embarrassment." John insisted.
"Just being around you embarrasses me, is that not enough?" Sherlock pointed out, and Mycroft made a little snort of laughter from the other side of the room.
"Ever so polite, are you?" he asked.
"Stop talking like the bloody queen, you're not intimidating no matter how many ancient terms and useless words you use." Sherlock snapped. Mycroft stiffened a little bit, blushing underneath his stupid little hair curl on the top of his forehead.
"Here we are, Sherlock, move over, I'll sit in between you two." Mrs. Holmes decided.
"Mom, this is a two person..." Sherlock's sentence was cut off when Mrs. Holmes sat right in the middle of them, squishing Sherlock painfully into the armrest but leaving John lots of wiggle room. There was a big ancient looking photo album on her lap, labeled William in peeling golden letters.
"So, this is Sherlock's photo album, all through his years until college." Mrs. Holmes decided.
"Why does it say William?" John asked, as if they had gotten Sherlock's name mixed up or something.
"Oh, Sherlock isn't actually his name. It's William." Mrs. Holmes said with a disappointed sigh.
"He never told me that." John said with a small laugh.
"I didn't expect he would, goes by Sherlock to sound all mysterious I presume." Mrs. Holmes decided.
"I didn't want to be mysterious, I hated the name William!" Sherlock insisted.
"Yes well, Mycroft was fine with his name." Mrs. Holmes sighed.
"Only if you use it." Mycroft snapped. John just laughed, obviously not feeling at all uncomfortable with little family hissy fits.
"Alright then, let's go through this." Mrs. Holmes decided, opening the album with a crack. Obviously no one has looked at this thing since she added Sherlock's last picture, when he was off to college.
"There's Sherlock when he was born, wrapped up in that little blanket. He was the most annoying baby, all hours of the night he'd cry and cry, and nothing pleased him." Mrs. Holmes sighed.
"I didn't get a proper night of sleep until he was four." Mr. Holmes agreed.
"Yes well, he's still like that. If you put your ear up to his bedroom door, you can hear him sobbing into his pillow." John shrugged.
"What? Oh come on John, he's lying of course." Sherlock insisted.
"Aw, my poor baby." Mrs. Holmes muttered, patting Sherlock on the shoulder as if she literally thought he was suffering or something.
"I don't cry." Sherlock insisted, and Mycroft rolled his eyes unbelievingly.
"And there's Sherlock when we first brought him home. Lumpy little kid he was, everyone thought there was something wrong with his face, but it was just those cheekbones." Mrs. Holmes said with a smile, and John laughed.
"Still looks a bit lumpy." John decided, and Mrs. Holmes laughing in agreement.
"How is it that you get along better with my mother in two hours than I do in all my entire life?" Sherlock asked.
"You should probably work on that." Mr. Holmes suggested.
"I'm not that dedicated." Sherlock shrugged.
"Aw, and there's Sherlock taking his first bath..." Mrs. Holmes said, flipping to a page which showed Sherlock as a baby sobbing in the bubbles.
"Don't show him that!" Sherlock growled, trying to flip the page, but John deflected his arm, laughing.
"You were so cute!" John insisted.
"No I wasn't, shut up. I am darkness." Sherlock defended.
"You certainly were." Mrs. Holmes agreed. "And there's little Sherlock, snuggling his stuffed bumblebee. I still have that thing, in the attic somewhere." The list went on and on, getting more and more mortifying as it went on. Sherlock's first day of preschool, Sherlock's first year of ballet (John seemed to find great amusement in the tights, even though he was disappointed that Sherlock didn't have to wear a tutu). Then it went into Sherlock's kindergarten years, and his elementary school days, an enthusiastic little boy with his little bumblebee backpack and a smile on his face. But as his middle school years came, his smiles became less genuine and more forced, and by high school, the size of his backpack increased and the frown increased as well.
"Why do you look so miserable?" John asked, looking at a picture of Sherlock at his school prom, scowling in a little tuxedo.
"Because I hated everyone." Sherlock simplified.
"Oh come on, you had friends." Mrs. Holmes insisted.
"I most certainly did not." Sherlock snapped.
"What about those nice young boys that insisted on getting your picture with them during the prom?" she asked.
"That was Philip Anderson and his cronies, and they were the ones that shoved my head in the toilet every other day." Sherlock pointed out.
"Oh dear..." Mrs. Holmes muttered.
"High school was a difficult time for Sherlock, it is for all of us, it's nothing to be ashamed of." Mr. Holmes assured. Mycroft had lost interest long ago, scrolling through his cell phone as if looking through very important emails.
"Shame I wasn't there, I would've shown that Anderson guy what the bottom of a toilet really tastes like." John decided, cracking his knuckles threateningly.
"Violence solves nothing." Mrs. Holmes defended.
"It solves bullies just fine." John assured.
"You had bullies as well?" Mr. Holmes asked, obviously anxious to be part of this conversation.
"Well, no, but if I had..." John muttered.
"Mycroft, you took someone to prom, right?" Mrs. Holmes asked.
"No." Mycroft said quickly, looking genuinely offended.
"One of you did, I thought you did." Mrs. Holmes insisted.
"Definitely wasn't me." Sherlock decided.
"Oh, maybe that was Mrs. Phillips's son." She muttered.
"I took the most popular girl in school to my prom, it was great." John decided.
"And yet here you are, stuck with my brother." Mycroft sighed. "Karma I suppose."
"I would gladly have dumped her to take Sherlock, no girl even matches him." John defended, sitting up taller as if trying to be a defensive boyfriend. Sherlock just muttered threats, blushing all the same.
"Yes well, we had our doubts about Sherlock's sexuality through the years, through the ballet classes, and the art classes, and the violin lessons, and he never even once had an eye for a girl." Mrs. Holmes sighed.
"You never told me that." Sherlock insisted.
"Well, you never asked did you? And we weren't going to approach you about it, we wanted you to have your privacy, let your life play out as it was supposed to." Mrs. Holmes shrugged.
"And look at you now. We couldn't be happier." Mr. Holmes agreed.
"That's why we were so shocked that you said you had a girlfriend, if not a little bit doubtful." Mrs. Holmes sighed.
"Why were you doubtful?" John asked.
"Well, every time he said the word 'girlfriend' it sounded as if he were trying to cough up a golf ball." Mrs. Holmes sighed. Sherlock growled, but John just laughed in approval.
"Not the world's greatest liar." He shrugged.
"I don't know why it was such a secret." Mr. Holmes shrugged.
"How was I supposed to know how you'd react?" Sherlock defended.
"We're accepting of all your life choices, no matter what you do, we'll support you. As long as it's legal." Mrs. Holmes assured.
"Yes well, it ended out fine didn't it?" Sherlock sighed.
"It has so far." Mrs. Holmes agreed.
"What's going to happen huh? John's going to blow up the world?" Sherlock asked.
"Tempting." John shrugged. Mycroft smiled in approval, as if not able to deny his approval in this destructive man.
"Who knows what's going to happen? But, I hope it's for the best." Mrs. Holmes decided. At that moment, Dudley got up and started to whine, pawing at John's shoes to tell him that he had to go out.
"Dudley's got to go out, excuse me." John decided.
"I'll...help." Sherlock agreed, getting to his feet as well. John ran up to the room to get the leash, and Sherlock was left standing rather awkwardly in front of his parents, the first time he's confronted them without John at his side.
"We're really glad you found someone Sherlock, we really are." Mr. Holmes decided.
"But I would've loved to have some notice; here I was expecting a woman to show up at my door..." Mrs. Holmes sighed.
"I'm not asking for your approval." Sherlock insisted.
"Well you have it anyway." Mrs. Holmes decided.
"A rather intriguing fellow." Mycroft agreed.
"English brother." Sherlock snapped. "Just because your name is fancy, doesn't mean you are."
"Sorry, what was that, William? Rather bland isn't it, fits the profile though." Mycroft sighed.
"I'm not bland." Sherlock snapped. At that moment, John came back down, Dudley's red leash in his hand and a plastic bag he had gotten from who knows where.
"Good?" he asked, sort of out of breath, as if he had dashed down the staircase.
"Good." Sherlock agreed, hooking the leash on Dudley's collar and leading the two of them out the front door, where they couldn't be over heard. Sherlock pulled his jacket around himself, fighting the harsh wind that was blowing the lone snowflakes through the air. Dudley sniffed around, looking for ideal spot to mark his territory.
"So, um, enjoying yourself?" Sherlock asked nervously.
"Definitely. Good bunch your family; I don't know why you were so nervous." John insisted, taking a couple of steps to the left to follow Dudley's sniffing path.
"They can be judgmental sometimes. I'm sure they're talking about us right now." Sherlock decided.
"Yes, but we're talking about them as well." John pointed out.
"Well, we're the protagonists." Sherlock decided.
"That depends on your point of view. Do you think they're saying bad things?" John asked, staying still as if hoping to hear the Holmes's family conversation through the multiple walls.
"No, of course not, just, probably assessing whether or not you'll stay." Sherlock shrugged.
"What do you mean by that?" John asked.
"I mean they probably think you're, I don't know, not as passionate as I am. They think I'm a fool in love, they've always doubted me with relationships." Sherlock sighed.
"Are you saying they think I'm using you?" John asked.
"I don't know what they think, maybe they don't think at all, but Mycroft will doubt us. I mean, how could I have possibly attracted the most perfect guy? And how on earth is said perfect guy gay as well?" Sherlock pointed out.
"No offense Sherlock, but what would I be using you for? You're not overly wealthy, it's not like you have some great family inheritance I'm after. There's only one reason I could love you, and it is the reason I do love you. I love you for you, and if they want to think differently then I'd be ever so happy to correct them. I fell in love with your soul; I got the looks as a bonus. Money's not a factor." John assured.
"That's definitely what they'd want to hear." Sherlock agreed.
"Or is it what you want to hear?" John asked.
"Maybe a little bit of both." Sherlock decided. John smiled, starting to lean in for a kiss, but Sherlock forced himself to lean back.
"John, we're in the middle of my childhood development." He pointed out.
"Ask me if I care?" John asked. Sherlock just giggled a little bit, taking a step back.
"And little old Mrs. Philips is watering her flowers." Sherlock added, nodding to a lady in a huge obnoxious fur coat spraying what was left of her dying flowers with a frozen hose.
"I don't care what Mrs. Philips thinks of us." John pointed out.
"Well, her daughter is nun, and she used to babysit me." Sherlock added. John hissed a little bit, but waved innocently over to the lady.
"Religious neighborhood." John sighed. "You still owe me a kiss." He added, and with that he walked into the door, towing Dudley in behind him.
"I'm going to get started on dinner, and then we can watch Rudolph or something, maybe look at the Santa tracker." Mrs. Holmes decided.
"Mother, that's no fun when you realize it's a crusty old man with a computer game." Sherlock snapped.
"Just because Santa's not real doesn't mean it's not fun to look at the tracker." Mrs. Holmes pouted.
"Shush, there are little ears around." John pointed out, covering up Dudley's floppy little puppy ears as if he actually understood a word they were saying.
"I'm sorry." Mrs. Holmes muttered, covering her mouth as if actually concerned. "So, dinner, right then, you all mingle I suppose." She decided, nodding and scampering off to the kitchen. This just left the men to talk rather awkwardly, sitting on the couches and staring at each other.
"I'll turn on the TV." Mr. Holmes decided, turning on the TV to some football game that was on. Mr. Holmes seemed vaguely interested, Mycroft's eyes were glossed over, and John was too busy drawing little circles on Sherlock's palm with his finger to pay any attention. As Mrs. Holmes' work in the kitchen progressed, delicious smells started to waft out of the kitchen, sauce, cheese, meat, who knows what she was concocting over there. She hummed while she worked, which was mildly annoying, and Sherlock caught Mycroft look judgmentally over in their direction, as if trying to catch John picking their pockets or something. But Sherlock just smiled tauntingly, leaning more heavily on John's shoulder or twiddling their fingers together just to annoy him. Mycroft seemed disgusted by this, but the moment Sherlock made eye contact he would look away, obviously doubting his motivation to show up for Christmas at all.
"Dinner's ready, sorry to interrupt." Mrs. Holmes announced, taking off an oven mitt and smiling.
"No, not interrupting anything, smells wonderful." John decided, getting up off the couch. Sherlock followed, rubbing his eyes a little bit before blundering over to the kitchen table. The rest of the family followed, and when all of the men were seated, Mrs. Holmes brought out a large hot pan of her famous lasagna. It had won the town's best lasagna contest (because what else does a community of old ladies do for fun except battle it out in the kitchen) three years in a row. So Mrs. Holmes makes sure all of the curtains are drawn when she makes it, and only has one print out of the recipe hidden in the depths of her cookbook, just in case someone wanted to steal it. Sherlock didn't think there was much of a crying need for the recipe, but he didn't want to burst his mother's bubble. Considering both her sons didn't seem to want relationships or grandchildren, she hardly had anything to brag about in the neighborhood knitting circles.
"Tonight I have my award winning lasagna, with some salad and bread for the side." She announced, setting the bowls in the middle of the table and taking her chair.
"Award winning? What has it won?" John asked.
"Best lasagna in the town, three years in a row." Mrs. Holmes said proudly.
"That's quite an accomplishment. And just by the smell alone I can tell it'll live up to its name." John guessed.
"I certainly hope so. I always say, no lasagna is the same, you can only hope it turns out better than expected." Mrs. Holmes decided. Sherlock groaned, very much tempted to use his knife for something very different than cutting up his future meal.
"Yes, very good, all very good." Mycroft sighed.
"Sorry dear, I don't want to deprive you of your nutrition." Mrs. Holmes snapped. Mycroft straightened up once more, obviously not knowing what to do when receiving sass from his mother. John just snickered in approval, thanking Mrs. Holmes as she ladled on a generous piece of lasagna onto his plate.