Glass - A Sherlock Fan Fiction

Chapter Seventeen

*Author's note: There was a lot of conflicting research about the first names of Sherlock Holmes' parents. In the end, I chose the ones that were most often cited in essays/analysis of the Arthur Conan Doyle stories. They were also the ones I liked the best so I went with them!

III

The room was quiet except for the occasional clacking of cups against saucers. Sherlock sat in his chair with one leg crossed over the other staring ahead stonily. His parents sat on the couch sipping their tea. His father cleared his throat. Sherlock snapped his head around to look at him with burning intensity.

"Oh for goodness sake, Sherlock. How long are you going to keep this going?" said his mother.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied.

"If anything, we should be angry with you. Fancy that, keeping a love child a secret from your parents," his mother continued. Sherlock grimaced at the phrase 'love child'. "And at your age-"

"Fancy turning up at the flat of a woman you've never met trying to spy on her and her child... At your age."

"We weren't spying."

A faint knock echoed up the staircase. Sherlock watched as his parents shifted in their seats; his father's posture straightened. His mother grasped her necklace and twiddled it between her fingers. They waited quietly for a few moments before another knock.

"Well aren't you going to get that?" asked his father.

"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock bellowed. "Door!"

Downstairs, Mrs Hudson could be heard shuffling around panicked, cursing Sherlock and his laziness. The door creaked open followed by a muffled conversation and footsteps up the wooden stairs.

When Margaux walked into the room, he felt a sense of calm that only came with familiarity. Like climbing into your own bed after a night away, or the perfume your mother wore when you were a child. Her hair was dark and glossy - her natural waves bouncing just below her collarbones framing her lightly freckled face, providing stark contrast to her amber-hued eyes. She clutched Vaughan's hand who stood at her side. He was wrapped in a coat and scarf; his plump cheeks red from the cold.

Sherlock stood up from his chair and walked over to greet them. He took their coats and gestured for them to go and sit down.

"Margaux, these are my parents; Siger and Violet Holmes."

"Very nice to meet you." She shook their hands and sat down, lifting Vaughan onto her lap.

"What a lovely name, Margaux. French origin meaning pearl," said Mrs Holmes.

"Thank you, I always thought it sounded like I was named after a bottle of wine."

"The Chateau Margaux is an excellent red," said Mr Holmes absentmindedly.

Sherlock cringed.

"So you must be Vaughan?" Mrs Holmes smiled.

Vaughan nodded, curling into his mother shyly.

"He'll come out of his shell in a few minutes," Margaux reassured.

"Of course, we're just happy to finally meet you."

"'Finally' she says, like she didn't only find out you existed six days ago," said Sherlock.

"So, Margaux, our son never mentioned what you do for a living..." his mother continued, purposely ignoring him.

"Well I'm a doctor of forensic psychology," Margaux began.

"Small talk. Great. Wonderful," Sherlock muttered. "Vaughan, shall we go and look at some cells under the microscope?"