Iris Blue, Am I In Love With You? (Childhood/Teens)

Part 3- Chapter 25

-----------------{Part Three: 1873}------------------

Chapter 25 (January 1873)

Thunder rolled overhead as Stella eyes fluttered open once more, carefully watching her fingers drift from one string to the other, roaming up and down the long, wooden neck with precision and grace. She blinked back a few tears that blurred her vision as she played, hearing another melancholy tune harmonize beside her, barely catching the movement of another bow out of the corner of her eye.

This shouldn't be happening. Not at all.

Her bow lifted as she drew the last note to a close, listening to her accompaniment twiddle out the last few notes, alone. There were no cheers, no rapturous applause or squeals of delight for their talents- only the sky seemed to praise them on it's own, a few flashes of lightning flickering above them.

"Thank you, Ms. Beudelair, Mr. Holmes. Now, I shall keep this brief, as to avoid the rain-"

Stella clutched the neck of her violin as she clasped her hands in front her, giving a curt nod to the minister in regard to his thanks. The tall, wiry Holmes brother stood beside her, his eyes focused on the ground as he held his instrument to his side. His expression was blank. For once in his life, he seemed to not be pondering on something or trying to pick a fight with his brother who stood nearby. There was an unspoken truce.

"Today we lay to rest the mortal body of our dear friend, Ivan Shylock Holmes."

Blinking another tear away, the young woman stole a glance to her family to ease the ache in her chest. Anne's blue-gray eyes held her feet in a stare, her rose-golden hair still neatly braided into one braid that she felt was more mature for her age. Her bright complexion was nearly at odds with her black attire that swathed her from head to toe. Jeremy stood near her, hovering a good five inches above his sister -as he had gloated about just the other day- his hair pulled awkwardly back into a small ponytail at the neck. Stella smiled ever so slightly as she remembered his trials over the past seven years at wrangling the reddish-auburn hair into a decent looking style for himself. The young American-at-heart was fond of her brother's newest style, reminding her of the old colonial ponytails of the Revolutionary era. She sometimes imagined him running through the American lands with a rifle, hiding from red-coats.

She caught a glimpse from Pierre as the minister continued, her father meeting her gaze with a slight reassuring smile before he turned to check on his bride. Elsie gravely watched the minister as she looped her arm in with the black-veiled being beside her, hardly recognizable as the Amelia of their joyous childhood years. Mycroft stood on the other side of his mother, as grim-faced as ever, his eyes set on the casket in the earth below him. He was so very unlike Sherlock in this moment. The older brother seemed set on taking in the scene and not shying away from any detail of his father's funeral, while Stella couldn't forget seeing the teardrops dripping from Sherlock's violin just moments before.

"Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust..."

Another clap of thunder resounded in the dreary sky as the group of black clad figures began to walk by the grave, each throwing dirt or flowers on the casket. Stella now moved to her father as she tried to fight off the cold, wrapping her free arm into his. She was surprised to hear his breathing become shaky. Her eyes darted up to catch a tear running down her father's cheek, his eyes not daring to meet hers, his lip quivering under his mustache as he studied the coffin. Tears ran down her cheeks as she hugged his arm closer, leaning on his shoulder to comfort them both.

It wasn't long before the proceedings where finished, the crowd dispersing hurriedly as the rain began to fall in large droplets, splattering against grass and concrete alike. Pierre held Stella's arm against him as he rushed her inside, the young violinist dutifully hiding her instrument in her coat as she ran.