Dark Secrets (Sherlock x Reader)

Prologue

**Originally written in early 2017**

**Rewritten June 2019**

~

It was eerily quiet in the waiting room. Occasionally, the silence would be interrupted by nurses and doctors walking by or the nervous tapping of feet as the family awaited the results.

It was almost two years ago when Violet Holmes got ill. It began with what everyone thought was a simple cold, but it was actually the start of endless days in hospital, pain, suffering, and disease.

Today, her family found themselves in the hospital once again, waiting.

The clock ticked as each second passed. Sherlock stared at it, his foot tapping anxiously on the tiles.

His older brother was in the seat next to him, twirling his umbrella in his hands and staring at the floor.

Next to Mycroft was their father. His trembling hands held a handkerchief to his face as he cried softly.

They all had the same feeling. This hospital visit was different from the others.

After another hour of waiting, the two doors on the side opened, and a doctor approached them. He smiled sympathetically as he watched the family snap their heads towards him. ''I regret to inform you...''

The words faded as Sherlock shut his eyes. Despite what other people thought of him, he was not emotionless. He had always cared for his mother. He knew what the doctor was saying. He didn't need to hear the words, he already knew. 

His head spun as he watched around him.

He saw his father with his hands covering his face, sobbing. He saw his brother with his hand on their father's shoulder, trying to calm him.

''It's better this way,'' he heard Mycroft say.

The words stung his heart. He knew his brother was right. Their mother had been in a lot of pain over the years, but she was a fighter. She never gave up. It wasn't her time to go.

Sherlock felt tears well up in his eyes, but quickly blinked them away. He forced his wobbly legs to stand up as he took a few deep breaths to clear his head.

''There's a car waiting outside. We should go, father,'' Mycroft said, trying to get his father to stand up.

''I want to see her!'' Mr Holmes cried out. ''I want to see her. She's my wife.''

Mycroft was getting visibly impatient, and Sherlock stepped it. ''We'll be able to see her at the funeral home, father.''

''Oh, the funeral. We- We have to make arrangements for that. We- We have to inform everyone, and we should- we should –'' their father stuttered.

''Sherlock and I will take care of everything. Her funeral will be at the end of this week. You don't have to burden yourself with the planning of it.''

Mr Holmes nodded. ''I don't know what I'd do without my boys. Your mother was so proud of you.'' A sob escaped his throat. ''So, so proud of you.''

Eventually, the three men arrived back at the house Sherlock grew up in. He hadn't given it any thought, but stepping into the house without his mother gave him a heavy feeling in his stomach.

Sherlock guided his father to his chair and sat him down as Mycroft was already on the phone, arranging everything for the funeral. It seemed to take his mind off his grief.

Sherlock sat in the chair next to his father's, handing him a cuppa.

''Oh, thank you, Sherlock. Thank you.'' Mr Holmes set the cup on the table next to him and flipped through the pages of a photo book. He smiled and pointed at a photo. ''This was taken on your birthday. Your mother slaved away in the kitchen all day to make you the perfect cake. I tried to tell her to relax and enjoy the day, but she insisted she'd make everything perfect for her little boy.'' He wiped a few stray tears. ''She loved you both so much, Sherlock.''

''I know,'' he said quietly. ''Put the photobook away, father. It does no good to dwell on the past.'' He took the book and put it back on the shelf. 

In truth, he couldn't bear to see the image of his mother. He couldn't bear to hear his father speak of her even if he needed to. Sherlock's emotions easily overwhelmed him, and he hated it. So, he did whatever he could to avoid them.

''I'm going upstairs. It's been a long day.''

Sherlock nodded and watched as his father slowly crept up the stairs. He looked away once the door to the bedroom shut.

The house had never felt so empty.