RP: Ring-a-Ring-a-Roses (Sherlock & Mummy)

Sherlock: speak now if you wish to. Would you prefer indoors or shall we take a stroll somewhere as we used to do?

Mummy: Well, dear, it's a little after 4pm, so I am due my cup of tea. Will you join me?

Sherlock: *smirks* You may want to invite me inside if that's the case mum. And thank you, I would appreciate tea.

Mummy: looks up and down the street* Of course darling, where are my manners to leave you on the doorstep!? Come in.

Sherlock: *enters and places coat on the rack* Your decor remain as tasteful as always. *sad smile* It's been awhile.

Mummy: Yes, dear *walks to kitchen* I suppose I don't see it any more, being right under my nose... *puts kettle on*

Sherlock: *sits down at couch* So, how have you been? And this is not small talk mum so I'd prefer important details.

Mummy: turns her back to make tea, hoping there are fewer tells to see* Keeping busy. Worried about my boys *shrugs*

Sherlock: *looks away, reads her tone* Do you? Despite my being a "prodigal son"? That IS how you view me, I'm sure.

Mummy: Prodigal son? Does this mean your return with nothing? Everything is spent? Everything I gave you?

Sherlock: with a sour note and no communication with my only LIVING parent. That kind of prodigal son mum. *smiles*

Mummy: *pours the tea* I see you are happier. I take it that's just the hormones speaking *sighs, brings out the tray*

Sherlock: *eyes narrowing* Mum, if its truly JUST the hormones speaking, I need NOT marry her. But I choose to...

Mummy: sighs as she hands you a cup* Why don't you tell me about her, dear. How did you meet? She must be... special.

Sherlock: special as well. And quite a catch although I do not know why. *shrugs* I am honoured with her attention.

Mummy: sips her tea* I see. Well, it is of course your choice on how you choose to live your life, darling. Do you, er, have enough money to marry, dear? For the dress, reception, ring, and so on...?

Sherlock: *pauses*Irene & I have not discussed those details yet. I don't even know what kind of ceremony she prefers

Mummy: *nods* There is time enough to plan, dear. Was the proposal... special? *smirks* Did you go down on one knee?

Sherlock: *clears throat at the memory of the proposal* It was VERY special. And yes, I did go down... on one knee.

Mummy: *suppresses a smirk. Clearly there is more to this* And did you proffer a diamond engagement ring? *half in jest, having forgotten he has told her*

Sherlock: gave her the ring you gave me to pawn or sell for "emergencies":the heart-shaped one with white gold band.

Mummy: *she freezes, cup half-way to mouth. She /had/ forgotten. She wanted to forget. Always - yet never* That horrible thing, dear? You should have sold it for something more... fashionable *irritated*

Sherlock: *looks at you in surprise, thinking that mum has forgotten what he texted her* I did. I texted you that I gave her the ring you gave me to pawn or sell for "emergencies":the heart-shaped one with white gold band. *notices the change in her mood* It came from the family mum so I wanted to keep it that way. Most of all, and I thought this mattered much, it came from you. I was a bit hurt then thinking you wanted to get rid of a ring that my father, and your deceased husband has given you. And considering the questionable nature of your relationship at the time of his death, I though it only fair to remember him with the ring you gave me. That is why I kept it. And that is why I gave it to Irene. Is THAT a problem mum? *brows knit*

Mummy:

*splutters her tea and starts to choke, coughing*

Oh, Sherlock...

*there are tears in her eyes, maybe from coughing, maybe something more*

I- your father- that ring- it's not-

*She doesn't know where to start. He is looking at her so innocently. So DAMN innocently. Damn them. Damn them all. Her husband her sons, and most of all him... What she had given up to preserve that look was beyond measure. A price no-one should have to pay, should have to bear. She needed to tell him. But what price the truth?*

The ring is cursed. Get rid of it, dear.

Sherlock:

My eyes widen.

Cursed? Suddenly my thoughts are filled of a hobbit with a gold ring... and that hobbit looking oddly similar to John. I shake my head to remove the infernal vision because I don't believe that I can speak to my mother properly if I have that thought in my head.

It took awhile for me to speak. When I do, my face was truly puzzled and my voice echoed it.

"Cursed? I understand that you and Father were not the most loving of couples, you and he being betrothed through an arrangement; but if that is the case why didn't you just give me the whole lot of the jewelry he gave you since they might as well be cursed as well? Just because he died and you and he did not have a clear reconciliation doesn't constitute that everything he gave is..."

I suddenly stop. WAIT! A! TIC!

My realization hit me like a derailed freight train and the look I gave mummy was as shocked as if I was on that train myself.

In a way, I was.

Oh GOD have MERCY! Please dear Lord in heaven I cannot. TAKE. ANOTHER. BETRAYAL. OF. TRUST!

It took me years to forgive her the first time my trust was... Now THIS?!

I open my mouth but nothing came out. My breathing has suddenly gone ragged and I turn away from her, my gaze burning a hole in her wall. I swallow. Hard. My jaw flexing then hardening as I found more of myself in pieces inside at the implication of my deductions.

These are one of those times I wish I am not the world's only consulting detective. These are one of those times I wish I am not a Holmes.

I hissed my words out... slowly.

"Who... gave you... the ring?"

Mummy:

*CURSED. It is a word that she feels belongs to the Holmes family. Living side by side with its partner in crime, FOLLY.

And where others seem to choose between them, she would always attract both.

She was cursed the day she met /him/. It was folly the day she went to him.

It was folly to think Sherlock wouldn't work it out. She was cursed when the eventual revelation came.

Worse still was his choice. Tell Irene about the ring and reveal his folly at not knowing either its provenance or that of his own flesh and blood. Or let it be, say nothing, and curse the union before it ever starts.*

You - don't - want - to - know.

Sherlock:

My breath catches at her answer.

"I am... sure of that... mum. BUT I already KNOW, no thanks to your reply. What I want is to HEAR it from YOU. Now, tell me... who...gave YOU the RING?"

Mummy:

*She closes her eyes and tries to find that calm centre, the core that is her. Not the mother, not the wife, not the harpie, the witch, the cow, the monster... none of the masks.

*She had already seen the shocked look once today, when he deduced the ring wasn't his father's. It wasn't like there was much of a choice as to who else would have given her the ring.

*Whatever her boys thought of her behaviour, they knew she wasn't morally loose... didn't they? Their father had committed far more indiscretions in the marriage, but of course, being a man it was never given the same significance.

*She hadn't seen the ring in ages. She tried to remember it. The shape of a heart - the hardness of diamonds. It was a memento of what she had been and what she became. Did he know when he gave it to her, she wonders.*

Why do you need me to say it? Out aloud? Why, dear, if you already know? To prove you are right? Clever? How much you know? How much you /think/ you know?

*She was losing the calm centre. It was all about to crash down.*

Sherlock:

Furiously, I stand.

"This has nothing to do with how much I know or how clever I am mum!" My voice has raised a notch despite my steely control. "But it has everything to do with ME! And do not DARE deny it. I want to hear it from you just so I know clearly what you've done to SAVE me... from Professor Moriarty."

Was that my voice? Is that raspy sound coming from me? And why the bloody hell is. my. whole. body. shaking? Most of all, why does she look at me that way? Of course, she must know that all this was because of Moriarty's obsession in having me succeed him?

"I don't hate you for this mother. You probably never realized this but I never blamed you. I blame MYSELF, realizing that when I turned him down during my Uni days he went after you and eventually, my father. If only... if only... I just said yes. How simple was that really? But no. I was too selfish and self-important to even consider the repercussions. Even when I was seeing all the clues, all the proof spilling all around me. Even when my intellect SCREAMED at me to just accept M's bloody offers so he would leave you all alone, I didn't listen. THAT is the kind of son you love mummy dearest. THAT is who I was! Can you imagine how ASHAMED I was of myself when I saw my father lying dead in a hospital bed. I would have willingly gone to the Professor then but it was too late. I've destroyed you, my father and our family."

There. I've finally said it. The guilt that I have kept for years. The same guilt that feeds my feeling of despair pushing me to almost surrender to M and bypass the plan I've created. The reason behind the grief I felt upon the Professor's attack on my friends and on the one he will do against my beloved Irene. The same guilt that made me choose to help people - even strangers - in need of my deductive skills, over being rich and famous due to my intelligence.

I look up at the ceiling, inhaling deeply to keep myself from totally losing control of my emotions. "I only felt betrayed by you because you kept this from me mum. That is the only thing I blamed you for then... the only thing I still blame you for now. BUT even that holds no true bearing in this whole game. And I cannot do anything now but to bear the blame of ALL this."

Finally, I manage to look you in the eyes and smile sadly. "I'm sorry mum. I'm truly, truly sorry for everything."

Mummy:

A flood not only destroys, it purges.

*His flood of words was all it took to break the dam of emotions she had kept quarantined from her heart for so long. She sits back down, not remembering when or what part of his revelation had made her stand.

*She quietly murmurs Sherlock’s name over and over. Her head drops and her shoulders shake uncontrollably with the inevitable release of decades of not caring. The flood had arrived.

*Revelation was the Sherlock revolution.

*It had been too long, and she had forgotten the sensation of her defences being breached. And now that the walls were broken would he be the one to storm in first, a just cause on his lips, ready to save everyone, even her? Why did he always feel so responsible for making the world right?

*Her mind flashes back to that day in the playground. He was, what, maybe seven years old?

*Reluctantly trying to play with the other children, because that’s what Mummy said they were going there to do. Even then, she could tell he barely tolerated others. She didn’t see the incident, none of the parents did. There was a cry, some shouting, and her shock in seeing him what? Hugging a girl? No – getting closer, she now sees he has her head locked in his arms, her face turning blue. There are scratches on his cheek; her dress is ripped. A little boy cradles his arm, crying on the floor hardly noticed in the distance.

*Oh, Sherlock, would he never learn the social conventions, must he take it all on himself every time? She thought the parents’ looks were bad enough as, to their eyes, her unruly little boy nearly choked the life out of a sweet girl. But it was nothing compared to their furious faces as he exasperatedly explained the tenuous, yet solid deductions leading to her identification as ‘the criminal’.

*She smiles feeling the wetness on her cheeks and lips. She was always so proud of him.

*In her mind he was always that brave little boy standing with reason and logic alone against the opinions of others; her sole companion, and reason to try and mend an unhappy marriage. All her boys were bright, but somehow Sherlock mingled it with an unpredictable helplessness as well. She would never cease to be surprised at how he had awakened her dormant mothering instinct, much to the dependable and self-reliant Mycroft’s disgust.

*It was so like Sherlock to NOT know about the ring, but to know about so much else with the Professor, with his father’s death. She wants to challenge him for the blame, make him understand that it was her – hubris – yes, that was the word. So sure of herself, confident that she was in control of the game she played with the Professor. When she was nothing but the cork plugging the hole in an already leaky dam. And now it was happening again.

*The world was again incensed and shouting at her little boy, and once again, all she could do was hold his hand and stand beside him, her faith in him the most solid foundation any fortress could hope to build upon.

*Looking up, she sees he has moved toward her, hovering, unsure of what to do after so many years of doing nothing. She stands and gently draws him into a hug, her heart wrenching at the thought of the years lost, and tightening a little realising that having got him back, she will now have to share him with another woman - but they were thoughts for another day. He was here now, and a glacier can only melt slowly.

*And then comes her very own revelation. He wanted a name. She swore to never say this one again, not since that afternoon in The Professor's rooms. He wanted a name. She would give him a reason. She looks at him, her eyes wide and earnest.*

Blame yourself? No – Sherlock, dear. Don’t you see? There is a storm coming, and we are all too absorbed in our own little whirlpools of grief and blame. I don’t blame YOU. In fact, I am starting to think that I don’t blame ME either, not really. We’ve all been so blinded by this deluge. There is only one person to blame…

Professor James Moriarty.

Sherlock:

#InsideMyMindPalace

I have never seen my mother cry.

All my life, she stayed aloof and kept herself in check. Nothing was too great a burden for her. No joy made her laugh too loud, no sin made her uncontrollably angry. No sorrow made her shed tears. Even my father's death was another speck of dust in the wind... much to mine and my brother's chagrin.


But now? Now, I'm not so sure she was the same person I lived with before. Or the same woman I called mother. Mum...

I was taken aback by the feelings she is showing now. Also, quite confused on how to react. It was only some months that I had gotten used to emotion, and it was only the emotions I 'felt' within me. This was different, coming from her. And I, faced with the vulnerability of my mother regarding...

Professor James Moriarty.

There was no other person in the world capable of bringing down the walls of a Holmes. We had our individual failings. We ruined ourselves with misconceptions and relying simply on genius to get us by. But we were only human, Moriarty knew that. Moriarty knew our hubris and excessive vanity on our self-reliance. He played us all even before I truly knew what he wanted from me. I had my faults. Mother had hers. And Mycroft. And Father. We were all at fault one way or another. But it was Moriarty all along who stuck his damned scalpel deep into those faults, creating a wound that festered with each attempt at hiding our cares.

Revelation was the HOLMES Revolution.

============

I exit my mind palace only to find myself in a different room. I must have walked away from her unmindful of what I was doing, purely on instinct. It is not surprising that physically I would react the same way as my mind did: walk away to a place where I can pretend she did not exist. The child in me pined for her being proud of me, be a bastion of confidence and strength, and yet I see her showing feelings... of CARE. Something she has taught us not to do and yet she does it now. At a time when I was expecting, almost needing, something else... ANYTHING but care. Yes, the man in me needed to think clearly.

I breathe deep. Theater excercises. I saw John doing it and it seemed to work. Breathe deep, let it burn your insides for a bit and flush it out in a single, long, gasping breath.

She cared, did she not? Oh, gods, she cared all those times. All those times she taught us to never care... SHE. CARED. My back finds a wall to settle on and I repeatedly knock my head on the wall, scratching at it with shaking fingers. How on earth did she manage the pain?

She's still weeping. My acute hearing can hear her vainly suppress the human frailty of tears and despair. It broke her to see me broken with feeling of betrayal, guilt, caring... And now I know why. She taught us that caring is not an option for, once upon a time it broke her. It still does. And now she fears that it will break me too.


I would settle this. If not now, then Heaven damn me forever and I will serve Moriarty with an empty heart, consuming all that lay before me.


She hears me walking now, then some clinking of glass... Water pouring into it. Footsteps, mine, coming closer to her. I kneel beside my mother and give her the glass of water to drink. I pull her hands away from her face and dab the salty tears from her aged cheeks. This is the time where I hold her hand to steady her and not the other way around. The time when the little boy becomes a man stronger than those that carried him once upon a time.

"Here, Mum."

It was a gift.

I sigh and face her with the severity of a cornered animal who was standing between a Hunter and its wounded mother.

"Mother, it is time to strike back. I will ask that you shed as many tears as you can for today... tomorrow, we steel ourselves for war. A storm is coming, and we must batten down the hatches if we wish to weather it like all good Holmes. I will ask for the others in time. For now... for now let me hold you in my arms."

Our eyes locks. Hers unsure. Mine resolute.

"Let me hold you. And let me care."

Mummy:

*She is purged, it is done. The well has run dry and the time for tears are now behind her.

*Within his rare embrace, she realises her mistake now. Sees it so clearly - how could she have been so blind all these years? She faced the Professor alone, the Vixen standing firm with her cubs ensconced behind her. But they weren’t cubs, and it was her mistake to think she could protect them by facing the peril alone.

*Caring did not add any advantage to the strategy – was in fact a liability by identifying points of pressure for the enemy to wield against you. But strategy wasn’t the whole battle. There was also spirit and sacrifice – the heart and soul, the unquantifiable part of any battle on which unsurmountable odds could be turned and victory assured. And caring did so much to promote this. And here was her boy, now a man, with cares of his own. She had almost forgotten the reason that had brought him to her…

*Quiet and contemplative in his arms*

Darling, what will you do with the ring? I mean, its symbolism is not as you intended, although it is a pretty piece *grudgingly given as she contemplates awkward memories of its deliverance…*

I have other jewellery, nice rings your father /did/ give me, if you would like something of the family to pass on?

*It is nice to talk with him about ordinary things, even if they are sourced out of the extraordinary and tragic events of their past.

*Yes. Together they could face the coming storm. All of them, taking care of each other. Caring was not an advantage, but then, the Holmes’ family, the /whole/ family, standing together didn’t need any advantage.*

Sherlock:

I sigh deeply... in regret.

With those kinds of memories attached to the ring, can Irene truly let go of it? Also, can I do the same?

And how will she take my admission of my ignorance? And of the truth? I stop myself from grimacing at the thought of Irene throwing it at me in anger and disgust.

I'm hoping it doesn't end that way. I can take mum's offer of another ring. But would Irene take it? Well, I can try. And there is effort involved in looking for a replacement for a so-called "cursed" item.

But who is to say that this is one way of breaking the curse. And the curse it has laid upon my family.

A fresh start? A new tomorrow?

Wait, am I being sentimental over a simple object?

Even being superstitious.

A ring is a ring. If it was given for the wrong reasons, it doesn't mean it is forever tainted doesn't it? It's only logical that it be used in another way if it's no longer wanted by the original owner.

But logic is not the main factor in this situation. It would all have to depend on how Irene feels. I did give it to her and it's hers now. Being the owner, she has the right to decide.

Of course, I still do not want to turn mum down with her magnanimous offer so I nod my assent, though a bit reluctantly.

"Of course mother. Choose the ring you are willing to part with and I will suggest the exchange to her. Although I do warn you, she may not agree. She does have a mind of her own and when she makes up her mind, not even a raging bull can stop her." I pause for effect and I place a kiss on my mum's cheek, remembering how it feels to be her little boy.

My voice was teasing: "She's so much like you that way."

Mummy:

*The ring. Ouroboros. Eternal Return.*

*How can such a little thing hold such significance? A ring, a circle, a return to where you started, fated to repeat the same mistakes for what seems like eternity.

*She was so sure the Professor was part of ancient history. Yet she finds he is indeed an ‘amor fati’;  part of her destiny, and part of her fate. He made her what she is today. The suffering and loss he has wrought is all represented in that ring, returning again to wreak havoc in her life.

*Would she have to swallow her own tail like Ouroboros in order to start afresh? No. Maybe just swallow her pride. Admit to what she did. That it was a mistake, a well-meaning one to protect her children, but a mistake all the same. She should have trusted them with the truth. How different their lives may have been… This time will be different, because this time there will be honesty.

*The irony of them thinking her a dragon all these years seems fitting. Yes, she had played the part so well, even she had come to believe it. But what goes around comes around and here she was again facing the Professor with the fate of her children in the balance. Time to taste some tail…

*She looks down at her hand and one particular ring currently on her finger. She slides it off and holds it between the tips of her fingers, examining it, letting the light glint off it. It is not as fancy as the Professor’s, but it has 16 vintage diamonds arranged in a diamond shape, held firm in a platinum setting. He wanted to give Irene something with meaning; she now wanted to give that same gift to her boy, a meaningful exchange that would speak of forgiveness from deception and guilt.

*The words tumble out and she can’t look at him – not yet. She focuses on the ring.*

This- this ring was the last thing your father ever gave me.

As you have deduced, I was a fool, I did have an affair with Professor Moriarty – I had discovered that your father had a string of indiscretions, so I suppose I was angry. I felt a deception of my own was the very least owing to me. But now, I realise your father wasn’t serious about those women, while I--. Oh dear. *swallows*

Anyway, our marriage while mostly happy was not harmonious. We were just too different as people. You boys did give us joy, and a common purpose, though, and we kept it as civil as most families, I suppose. He was very angry when he discovered me out. Not because of the sex, you understand, but because of the letters. *sighs wistfully* They were beautiful letters, full of beautiful sentiments… I know now of course I was just part of his game, but at the time, they captured my heart and soul completely. *quietly* That was quite a day, the day that culminated in your father burning those letters.

But the ring, dear. *she turns it again so it glistens* It was his mother’s, your grandmother's. She was an artist, I liked her greatly, *smiles* she was a little eccentric, as seems to be the wont with women in the Holmes family. *chuckles* He always intended it for his daughter, but sadly… well, that is a story for another day. *he is surprised to see tears wetting her lashes*

When I received word from the Government that they had captured one of Moriarty’s operatives and discovered something about his plans and that my family was in danger, I had no choice but to come clean to your father. He wouldn’t listen to me at first, but he did listen to Oliver, and agreed to finally come home from that insufferable club. *smiles wryly* It was a crisis, but it brought us together, and we planned a way out of it. It seemed a reconciliation was indeed possible.

He spoke of his feelings for me, that he hadn’t realised the neglect and hurt he had caused, his surprise at the depths of jealousy he felt, and the pangs of torture to think the boys were not his, that he had been cuckolded for years. And for my part, I truly couldn’t be sorrier for being such a fool in love, for deceiving him about my work, about who I really was and what I really needed.

Mind you, he never really acknowledged me for what I was, but he knew – and in reflection, I don’t think even I knew what it was that I needed. A reason? An excuse? An explanation as to why it was us embroiled in all of this?

It was during one of these heart-to-heart discussions that he gave me the ring. He left and came back with an old wooden box. Took this out of it, *chuckles* even went down on one knee to place it on my finger. Said it was a symbol of a new beginning, a new form of possessiveness, a much healthier one; one where I belonged to him, and him alone, and he to me.

I really think of this ring as my engagement ring, dear. Not the actual one given many years before. *she looks at the audacious diamond engagement ring she wears next to her wedding band* It is my Ouroboros; a phoenix rising from the ashes, starting anew. A fresh start – albeit ours was so brief. *smiles sadly*

I give it now to you, my dear, in the hope you – we – can start again? *she finally looks up at you, hopeful, as she holds the ring out*

Sherlock:

The words do not slip by... they stay in my head to be digested and reviewed.

Sentiment and necessity were always at war with each other. However, I could not shake off the feeling that, with this new aspect of my mother, sentiment /was/ becoming a necessity.

It built character in exchange for structure. It was the foundation of relationships. Sentiment was the bond that we were too proud to use.

And now, we were sentimental; mother and I. Over a ring that was passed down from generation to generation.

Like a curse?

No.

It was father's: from his mother to him, and from him to this woman before me. I knew what it was now. It was not just some empty symbol of sentiment. Nor was it just closure or finality. It was a fresh start.

It took me a few seconds to realize I had taken the ring and rolled it between my thumb and forefinger. The little diamonds glitter as it catches the light from time to time, reminding me of Irene's laughter.

Yes... there it was... glorious sentiment running down my spine. I do not scoff at it, and instead felt grateful that it was not terror or shock. Oh, heavens, what is becoming of me? Am I losing who I have brought myself to be just so I can become the man I /must/ be?

Perhaps.

But for now, I hold the ring of fresh starts in my hand and I look at my mother with searching eyes. No guile, no wisecrack, no coquettish batting of eyelashes to pat the tears that were forming. I speak...

"Mum...Mother... I will not refuse this gift. It is perhaps a way out for all of us. It... it... comes as a surprise to know all of this in just a few hours. I need to think them over later. But for now..."

My mother's hands have never felt so warm.

"Thank you for the lovely gift. It is more beautiful than anything I could ever hope to give to my wife-to-be."

Mummy:

*Ring. Ring the Changes.*

*Smiling I contemplate this new stranger before me. Strange but not unfamiliar. Changing, as we all must now change. Changing for the better. Ringing in the changes. Ringing. Ring. The little bit of glitter in his hand may amount to nothing, but as the sentimental so like to claim, it was the thought that counted.

*But I am tired. We have come so far so quickly today. And while I remember vaguely the roller coaster ride that results from purchasing that ticket to sentiment, I have not the stomach for it that I once did. I know I have changed too, that it will now be different for me. I will be different - but I walk on three legs now, so change needs must be slow. So, I pack away my revelations and seek my trusty metaphorical walking stick of cold diamond.

*Especially as I now have a prospective daughter-in-law to meet.

*As the safe, smooth, surfaces of ice and diamond wash over this new liquid core, I step outside myself again. There. No more I. It is She.

*She contemplates the strange thought of the family changing. The thing she has fought so hard to keep unchanged for so long. And now its biggest threat was again love - in the shape of one woman. The woman for Sherlock, apparently.  Yes, her heart had started to beat again, would no doubt now bleed again, but its frosty surrounds did not melt in a day. As she contemplates her next challenge, she squares herself and asks.*

So dear, when is Mummy going to meet your fiancée?

Sherlock:

I smile at her tone.

It's obviously not the most enthusiastic tone one would expect from her, but the fact that she asked is already a big thing for me. I smile before I answer.

"You will meet her soon mum, I promise. I just need to speak to her first about THE ring and this ring that you've given to me." I sigh, "I'm hoping Irene will be pliable to the change somehow."

And somehow, using Irene's name in the same sentence as pliable does not sound right. Specially since, we are talking about THE RING.

This is one time I am hiding all the riding crops within Myrrh's apartment before I even open my mouth to explain the situation to my beloved wife-to-be. Not that I'm afraid of being "beaten" once again but I truly do not believe that I would deserve the punishment.

After all, I had no idea that the ring was Moriarty's. All I knew was it came from my mother. And I am not about to suggest that Irene use the whip on Mum no matter how sexually deviant my mother can be - She did make love with an elderly cannibal- or how tempting it would be for Irene to "punish" mum for the oversight of the ring.

Am I truly thinking these thoughts? Damn, must be more anxious than I thought. Calm down Sherlock. You can handle this situation. You can handle Irene.

I need to say that about three dozen more times for me to be convinced. And my mum's grim expression does not help lighten my mood either. Must do this now while I still have enough guts - and insanity - to admit the truth to Irene.

After kissing my mother on her forehead and holding her close one more time, I murmur my promised assurances and hastened goodbyes. I feel her hold my hand a little longer, the pressure she applied on my palm reassuring me that she still believes in me.

Her eyes reflected the touch of assurance. Yes, she believes in me and that is all that matters for now. The act and look gives me a sudden boost, a nostalgic feeling of strength brought about by my mother's confidence in me.

It has been so long since I've received that from her. This is probably an even more precious gift for me than the ring she has offered for my beloved. I intend that I never lose it again.

"Thank you mum," I whisper at the door. "For everything."

Mummy:

*She reaches up and kisses his cheek*

*Why does she feel like a war mother sending her son off to the front lines?*

Good luck, my dear. I hope she will listen not to reason, but to heartfelt emotion. I know you can convince her, darling.

*she smiles and watches him retreat down the street. His coat swaying slightly from the long stride that propels him away from the first woman in his life to the woman in his life.*