Heavenly Holmes • Sherlock x Reader

1 • anything

"Have you ever been to the Himalayas, Mr Holmes?"

-"No."

"You know, there's a tale up there. It's a romance."

-"Oh."

"Would you like to hear it?"

-"Why not?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

•William's POV•

"She begins in the bright haven, high above the million clouds, far below the trillion stars before she reaches the sky we see.

Her earth cuddles in the clouds until she rains her soft ice upon them. Upon us.

The gentle flecks of her tough snow pile up, creating coats at their peak.

They are stunned, unable to move as quick as they could before.

She confusion and logic.

Delicacy and strength.

Love and irony. "

"Who is she?" A fellow female classmate of mine asks.

"Yea, what are you even saying? Why would you write about a girl who is a mountain?" Another student- Marcel scoffs at me.

"Settle down now, class," My first grade teacher smiles at us all. "Willy, why don't you answer the questions?"

"It's...just William. Please, call me William. And this poem is about my mum," I smile at the girl. "And...I wrote about her, not...mountains, silly Marcel." I smirk, but he doesn't seem amused.

"Why?" He shoots another one of his infamous questions.

This one takes me slightly aback.

Why did I write about mummy?

"Because..."

The eyes of the entire classroom are planted on me, as I nervously blurt out my too honest reply:

"I love her."

The entire class bursts into laughter, for a reason I am unsure of, as my teacher tries to quiet them down, sending me back to my seat left with utter confusion.

. . .

"I'm home!" I drop my bag on the ground as I run inside to greet him.

He is usually cold, distant towards everyone. He doesn't speak, or "show off" as much as he used to, says Mr Watson.

But...we talk a lot. Father reads books to me. Big books. Encyclopedias. It's very fun.

But I love hearing stories about mum the most.

Y/N is my mother. Father loves her. I love her too. Maybe even more than him, but he tickles me everytime I say that.

"Back from the academy, William?" My father sets his newspaper down on the kitchen table and eyes me.

I nod and sit down on the chair in front of him, resting my unfortunately small arms on the table as he analyzes me.