Before Holmes Met Watson (FEATURED)

Day Twenty-eight: Wedding

In the end, Sherlock went down to Sussex for his parents' vow renewal ceremony on Sunday. Going down on Friday had been a complete non-starter. Spending the better part of three days sequestered with his extended family might end in a murder-suicide. He'd let news of the occasion slip to Mrs Kiptanui, who'd told him off and began to withhold protein shakes and news of Gregory. When she realised her ransom was of no value to Sherlock, she told Shinwell, who came over and put Sherlock in a headlock and refused to release him until he agreed to go down to Sussex.

"You ingrate," Shinwell had shouted. "They taught you how to use the toilet!"

Regret was the theme of Mrs Kiptanui and Shinwell's remonstrations. "They're getting on in years," Mrs Kiptanui had warned.

"You might not have as much time as you think," Shinwell added gravely.

There hadn't been a rift. Not exactly. There wasn't a single incident or moment Sherlock could point to that had driven him apart from his parents. That distance had always been there it seemed. Looking back, he realised he'd always felt as if he wasn't what they'd wanted. He'd spent his entire childhood feeling misunderstood, wondering why what seemed natural to him put everyone else's noses out of joint. They'd never stood up for him. Not once. They'd never said, he's not hurting anyone, who cares if he's strange? Every time some problem with his behaviour was raised, they'd put the worst possible light on it and went along with whatever correction was suggested, no matter how severe. In hindsight, he could understand. He wasn't wholly lacking in emotional intelligence. He'd been paying for Algernon's missteps. His physical resemblance to his eldest brother must have been unsettling for his mother and father – like they'd been presented with a later-born twin. And the least desirable parts of Algernon's personality – the stubbornness, the predisposition towards ennui, the stormy moods, the contrariness – were all exacerbated in Sherlock. Algernon had had a troubled pubescence, and they'd feared Sherlock would come to a worse pass. I suppose they were trying to save me from myself, Sherlock thought.

Sherlock's arrival at the cottage was met with undisguised shock. He gave his apologies. "I wasn't sure I would be able to make it," he said, thrusting his gift into his mother's hands and adding somewhat maliciously, "I was given short notice."

"Sherlock," his mother said, her eyes filling with tears.

"We're glad you could make it," his father told him, not quite able to meet his eye.

They hadn't embraced, and Sherlock knew his face was cold and unwelcoming. He was an accomplished actor and could have put on a believable show, but he wouldn't. He was here. That was all they would get.

Sherlock had seen the guests milling about the property as he'd walked towards it. They'd all been talking and laughing. His appearance had lowered the mood noticeably. I shouldn't have come, he thought.

"The caterer was asking after you," his mother said too brightly, looking for some way to lift the black cloud Sherlock had dragged into the proceedings.

"The caterer?" Sherlock asked in confusion.

"Mark!" his mother called out, and Sherlock's stomach filled with ice. He shut his eyes, thinking, this is how they feel – those antelope standing frozen in the Savannah, hoping the lions would chase after something that was moving.

"Sherlock." Mark's voice was warm and friendly, but Sherlock knew him well enough to pick up the undercurrent of uncertainty. At least I wasn't the only one to have been caught off-guard, Sherlock thought.

"Hello, Mark," Sherlock said, opening his eyes. The attraction between them was sparking, crackling, threatening to set something alight. His father's eyebrows were up into his hairline, and the gathered crowd had fallen silent.