Weakness Of The Heart { A BBC Sherlock Fan-Fiction }

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The head lights of the taxi flashed across the window of Marie Turners house. She pulled back the curtain and watched with bated breath, ready for her son to be home. It was two fourteen in the morning and she had been waiting for Jareth since five that evening and it didn't help her already high blood pressure. She watched as a man stepped out of the taxi, but he had a women on his arm and she knew that it wasn't Jareth.

She took a small sip of her tea, she felt the worry in her chest get tighter as she could hear the clock behind her click as uncountable seconds passed. She wonder why he let himself stay out this late, she had put Farica to bed almost four hours ago.

The sound of feet moving up her steps made her jump to her feet, she quickly made her way over too the door and pulled it open before the person on the other side to make a move to do so, she was breathing heavily, forgetting how much being a mother wore on her health. "What kind of time do you call this?"

Jareth stumbled into the house, he could tell by his mothers face that the smell of alcohol on him had just hit her nose. "A time I don't feel like talking about," he let his coat drop to the floor as he made his way to the bathroom.

"At least you look better then you smell," he heard his mother say as he passed her.

He retorted back to her. "I'm your son, I always look better then I smell," he turned on some water and ran his head under it, no doubt blocking out the sound of the lecture he was getting at that moment.

The water felt good on his face, which had felt like it was burning on his walk here from the pub, after he had left New Scotland Yard that afternoon, he and Lestrade went to find Sherlock, when they got to him he was in a fight some men, after they, well, mostly Lestrade, helped him take down the men, Sherlock told them they had worked on some of the TV screens that Moriarty had shown up on. Sherlock told them that the men didn't know much and Sherlock had gotten little information on the person who hired them.

They then went to a pub, Lestrade ordered them some drinks and Jareth had started to talk about himself after a drink too many, the other two had made no move to stop him as he poured out his soul, or he felt like he had anyways. Thankfully neither men made any move to mock him about some of the things he had said, they just sat there, silent and listened.

"Mr. Spoffard?" a gentle hand grabbed his upper arm, some water flew as he backed away from the sink, Jareth looked into the face of one of the women his mother rented a room to.

He grabbed a towel and wiped his face, he heard her reach over and turn off the tap. "What do you want?" he mumbled into the cloth, his hair was dripping and his shirt front was wet as-well.

"Calm down, you mother asked me to stay with you while she went to the store to grab something for you," her voice was smooth and gentle, but he could tell she was forcing it like that.

Jareth tossed the towel on the floor as he strode from the bathroom and into the kitchen. "I didn't need her to do that," he pulled out a new filter for the coffee pot and set it inside before grabbing the tin of grounds. "Who are you anyways?"

The women was now standing in the doorway, she had a light blue bathrobe on and her red-brown hair was pulled up in a bun on top of her head. "Pauline Bryan, therapist," she watched him as he finished putting on some coffee.

"I assume you know who I am?" he mumbled, guessing that his mother would have told all of her renters about him.

To his surprise, she shook her head. "Your mother said that you were her son and that your name was Spoffard, I assumed and not wrongly that your mother loves you to much to make your first name Spoffard so I guessed it was you last name, Mr. Spoffard," she said, a mocking air about her voice.