A Chance To Stay Alive - Johnlock

23) Mrs Holmes

Andrea Holmes arrived on the first train to London the very next morning. The weather was rather unpleasant at her arrival, the rain drummed down against the windows and the wind bustled through the trees; the spring downpour was in full flow. It was Mycroft who came to greet his mother, umbrella held high in one hand as he strode briskly down the puddle-ridden platform, scanning the miserable crowd for a familiar face. Mrs Holmes wasn't difficult to find: she had a gaunt pale face just like her youngest son and short brunette hair held back in a tight bun; her coat was that of fox fur and her manner was still evidently unchanged.
"Hello mother," the oldest boy spoke, a small, snide smile creeping onto his face as he approached her, passing over the umbrella.
She took it immediately and waved it over her head, nodding, satisfied.
"He better not be late," Mrs Holmes tutted loudly as she and Mycroft made their way down the station, slipping into the comfort of one of Mycroft's swish black cars.
"I've warned him to be on time," the boy replied dully, starting the engine as they began to pull over, the rain still hammering onto the rooftop above.

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Sherlock was in-fact early to the restaurant, dressed in his finest shirt, blazer, and tie, John stood close by his side for reassurance. The building was slowly beginning to fill up with snobby-looking diners, many of them shooting the occasional glare at the young couple.
"Table for Holmes?" Sherlock asked stiffly, watching as the waiter, a French-looking man with dark black hair and a neatly combed beard, gathered up some menus and held out a slender hand.
"This way please," he uttered, his accent thick as he made his way swiftly down the walkway, directing the two to a table of four besides the window.
"I'll get some drinks whilst you wait."
He eyed Sherlock's wheelchair momentarily before scurrying off out of sight, leaving Sherlock and John to talk in peace.
"Nice place," the blonde boy commented, removing his coat and gazing around the restaurant, his eyes flickering nervously.
"Your parents really do have a lot of money."
Sherlock scoffed slightly and nodded, sliding from his wheelchair and onto a dining seat next to John.
"You could say," he began to mumble, until his words were cut off by the sound of the restaurant door swinging open. Both boys' heads immediately turned as they watched as two figures entered the building, Sherlock's face faltering suddenly.

Mycroft walked in-front, dressed in a suitable waistcoat and tie, whilst Mrs Holmes strode behind, umbrella swinging by her side as she frowned with slight distaste. John slipped his hand silently under the table for a moment before giving the curly-haired boy's hand a squeeze of reassurance, realising how hard this could be for him.
"Sherlock," Andrea Holmes breathed, her eyes widening in surprise as she scanned the skinny boy up and down, sliding into her seat opposite. Both her and her youngest child looked quite alike actually, they both shared the same pale skin-tone and hair colour, and their eyes were both a beautiful blue colour.
The curly-haired boy nodded quietly as he leant back in his seat, watching his mother with dull eyes. Mrs Holmes mouth opened slightly in surprise as she went to say something however Mycroft evidently beat her to it.
"Say hello brother mine," he muttered through gritted teeth, folding his arms and glaring at the boy opposite.
"Hello mother," Sherlock replied cooly at last; he watched as the woman's eyes became suddenly pained.
"You've changed so much," she uttered, fiddling awkwardly with the silver bracelet on her wrist to ease the tension.
"You never used to call me mother, you called me-"
"-Mama."
Sherlock finished the sentence for her and bit his lip, turning to face his feet instead, a nauseous feeling rising in his stomach.
"Yes many things have changed. I've met someone now, mother this is John, and he's made me feel happier than I ever felt back at home."
The blonde boy's cheeks immediately glowed deep red at this and he quickly hid his face in embarrassment.
"It's been four years mother and if you haven't noticed I'm likely to die soon so it was a good thing of you to turn up now, instead of at my grave. Yes, much appreciated," Sherlock hissed at the woman, his eyes darkening and his face becoming grey.

The whole atmosphere had changed now, the table was silent; nobody sure what to say next. Thankfully, the waiter from earlier arrived, placing a jug of water down onto the table and suddenly noticing the dark mood before quickly scuttling off.
"Look I think Sherlock's just angry about the way you've treated him," John squeaked, watching Mrs Holmes anxiously.
Mycroft gave an irritated click of his tongue before folding his arms and watching the blonde boy.
"Maybe so," he muttered, turning to face the older woman.
The two's mother simply sat there in silence, her lips pursed and her face pale and distraught.
"Sherlock dear just listen," she whispered croakily.
"We can sort it out."
John rolled his eyes at this, quickly realising that it would only add fuel to the curly-haired boy's anger.
"No I won't!" Sherlock cried, ignoring the many diners who had now turned to watch the scene.
"You were never a good mother to me and I'm a lot happier without you so just leave it!"
Silence. Without another word, he hastily fled from the restaurant, leaving a rather baffled John and Mycroft and a miserable Mrs Holmes.

"Jesus Christ," the blonde boy mumbled awkwardly, quickly getting to his feet and hurrying after the boy.
"Sherlock wait!"
He burst through the double doors of the restaurant and out onto the empty street to realise that the curly-haired boy had vanished; before slumping back against the wall and giving an exhausted sigh.

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