Posh and the Tramp

Twelve

before they left london, sherlock was taken back to his flat to finish packing up his bag then told angelo that he'd be back next friday evening hopefully. he got back into the car with his brother, the tension spilling over the top as the car took them back home.

the sight of his childhood home brought back his forgotten past. he remembered running around the yard with his dog, dressed up in his pirate hat and wooden sword. the days his mother and father took them to the beach for a picnic. when he first got called an idiot by mycroft, when his dog died, the day his only friend moved away, and the day he left. it brought back awful memories looking at the manor, but also some good ones. he tightened his grip on his bag then followed mycroft down the stone walk way, stepping through the door and getting hit with the filmier scent of his mother's cinnamon honey bars. he was home.

"they're in the kitchen." mycroft said to his brother, taking his bag. "i'll take this to your room. go and see them."

sherlock nodded. he removed his coat, hanging it up on the hooks next to the door, hanging his scarf with it. he walked through the short hall from the sitting room to the kitchen, looking at the photos his mother had put up of the family. he stepped into the kitchen, seeing his father sitting at the table with the newspaper, his glasses resting on the edge of his nose. then there was his mother, staring at him with tearful eyes as her hand covered her mouth. she looked perfectly healthy.

"hi, mum." sherlock said with a smile.

mrs. holmes let out a sob as she walked around the table, latching onto her youngest tightly.

sherlock hugged back, forgetting what the comfort of his mother felt like. she still smelled like her usual perfume, the one his father got her on her twentieth birthday. every year she got a new bottle and never went a day with out wearing it.

"sherlock, my boy!" mr. holmes cheered, wrapping his arms around his wife and son.

sherlock laughed softly. "hi dad." he was still holding onto his mother, not being able to let her go. "i've missed you both. i'm so sorry for leaving like that."

mrs. holmes let go of her son, patting his cheek. she smiled up at him. "i'm just glad you're healthy and alive." she wiped her sons tears with her thumbs. "i'm glad your home."

sherlock smiled. he didn't realize he started crying. "i'm glad i'm home too." he looked at his father who was not able to control his happiness.

"look at you! twenty three and not eighteen! all grown up!" he cheered.

sherlock laughed softly, giving his father a hug, getting a clap on the back from him.

"i made tea. and the honey bars." mrs. holmes said. "sit, sit." she said to her son as she walked back around the table, grabbing the oven mitts.

sherlock let go of his father then sat at the table, his father taking a seat where he was before. he watched his mother pour a cup of tea of sherlock, setting out the sugar and a plate of her honey bars. he thanked his mother then put two spoonfuls of sugar in his tea, mixing it as he snatched a few honey bars, setting them on a napkin. mycroft sat at the other end of the table, smiling up at his mother as she set a cup of tea in front of him as well.

"mum, sit. i want to talk with you and dad." sherlock said. he quickly stuffed a bar in his mouth after soaking it in his tea, forgetting how good they were.

mrs. holmes made herself a cup of tea before sitting across from sherlock. "what is it?" she asked.

"you know of the watsons, correct?" he asked his parents.

his father nodded. "hamish is nice fellow."

sherlock glanced at mycroft, getting a nod from him. he sighed then looked at his mother then at his father. "their son and i are in a relationship." his mother gasped, smiling.