Polaroids

1: NOW

this is my first elementary story!! i just love what doherty did with sherlock so much that i'm forever looking for stories and never finding any. so i thought i'd write my own. this isn't set in new york, but a lot of our main characters make appearances throughout. hopefully you enjoy it as much as i have writing it :)

xxxxx

"Mum, drop the poster. You're going to ruin it carrying it like that."

"Did you just call me Mum?" My mother drops the poster, casting a wide, amused look at me from across the newly installed island.

I roll my eyes and snatch the poster away from my mother's grabby hands. She is so careless about artifacts even if said artifacts are in the form of movie posters. I don't want her manhandling any photograph of any sort. My father wanders into the room at that moment, arms laden with moving boxes. The top one careens a bit too precariously to the left. I dart forward and snag the box just before it crashes to the ground.

Setting it on the island, I sigh and lean against it. "What was the point in inviting you two here if you're just going to break all my things?"

Mom takes a box from my father, shooting a look at her husband. "We thought it was time for us to finally see where you've lived for the past four years."

"I invited you plenty of times," I say, walking toward the refrigerator. I grab three beers and three chilled mugs. Turning on the refrigerator was the first thing I did when I returned to this house. Alcohol is always necessary when moving and unpacking. "You kept ignoring my requests."

"It's not exactly easy getting here," Mom says, taking a mug gratefully. "Can't just hop in a car and be there in a few hours, Zo Bo. But since this is sort of final for you, we thought we'd help with the move."

"How kind of you two," I deadpan.

"Hopefully this is the last time," piques Dad, wiping sweat from his brow. "I do not want a repeat of this in two years."

"Shut up. This is the last time. This is home now."

"Who knows? Maybe you'll want a second home by next year. It better be on the same continent, if so," Dad complains.

Mom nudges Dad, erasing the pout from his lips. A conspirator glint appears in her golden eyes. Eyes that I gladly inherited and coveted. "She called me Mum earlier. Did you hear it? She's turning into one of them, Anthony. She's becoming British. She's never coming home now."

I tug my fingers through my ratty hair, and groan. "You two are impossible."

They start joking around with one another, trying on the worst accents for size. Mom ends up sounding more Jamaican than what seems acceptable, and Dad just makes grunting sounds through his mouth as if that's how all English people speak. As they grow older, they seem to become more childish. A Benjamin Button conundrum for you. I won't be able to take them out in public if this is how they'll act.

"And Zo? We'll need to do something about that horrifying garden out front. I can't have my daughter disgracing my name in a foreign country."

Groaning, I drop my head into my hands. They arrived twenty-four hours ago with most of my stuff from the States. When I lived out here before I hadn't brought much with me. It was a temporary home while I worked on a job. I never planned for it to become permanent. But four years later and several more jobs and moves in between, and here I am. Right back where everything initially started for me. Where I finally grew into myself.

I move through the back of the narrow two-story building, trailing my fingers along walls and swiping them across covered furniture. I pause at the back where a wide bay window rests, looking out over the rolling green hills that fade into sandy dunes and farther off the English Channel. As much as I love London, the few months I lived there was enough to last me forever. Too much noise for a small city girl like me. Moving just outside Brighton was the best decision I ever made. I like having this quiet space to myself. It is inherently necessary after spending many years in the hum of insanity. Mom loves the place since she can see the beach from my backyard, even if it is cold as hell, she claims.