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"Music acts like a magic key, to which the most tightly closed heart opens." -Maria von Trapp
####
Sherlock is speaking at length on his mobile with someone in French. Darin studied French at school, but he can just muddle by. Sherlock, of course, is fluent and speaks quickly, so he can only just catch a word of the conversation here and there. He stares out the window of the cab and waits for him to finish his call.
After several minutes more Darin recognizes, “Je te vois bientôt, maman,” and Sherlock ends the call with a sigh.
“Mummy?’ Darin asks.
Sherlock nods. “Do you have a free day in the next few weeks?”
Darin pulls out his phone to look at his calendar. “I’m in Rotterdam next week for a conference. I can work something in after that. What do you have in mind?”
“Mummy has invited us to see her in Paris. I usually stay the night, but we can return the same evening if you have something on.”
“Uh...” Darin stutters ineloquently.
“Mycroft has been talking to her,” he explains. “Yes, she wants to specifically meet you.”
“Well, I suppose that is okay.” He doesn't want to think what Mummy must be like, but his imagination helpfully fills in Cruella de Vil. Shit, he thinks, this means they are doing the ‘meet the parents’ thing. Isn’t it too soon for that? His traitorous brain reminds him that this means he should introduce Sherlock to his father.
Darin is well on his way to freaking out.
Sherlock is studying him pensively. “Not good?”
“It’s fine.” The lie is a small one.
####
Darin shifts his overnight bag on his shoulder to check the text message on his phone. It’s Natalie, his sister, and he smiles. She always seems to know when he needs a pep talk.
Is this the big weekend? -N
On my way to the station now. Want to run off in the other direction. -D
I don’t know why you are making such a fuss. -N
Imagine Sherlock and Mycroft’s mother. -D
You’ll make small talk and be nice and go home the next morning. -N
What can happen? -N
You do remember Sherlock, right? -D
You’re working yourself up. Just be charming and don’t drink too much. -N
####
Sherlock has reserved two first class seats facing each other on the Eurostar. Darin soon discovers the seating preference is so Sherlock can steal as much of Darin’s leg room as possible.
“What did you bring?” Sherlock points to large packet of folded brown paper Darin is trying to find a safe place to set down.
Darin folds back a bit of the paper so Sherlock can glance at the sprays of bright green flowers.
“Cymbidium orchids?” It comes out as a question, seeking approval.
Sherlock shrugs. He settles into his seat and focuses on tapping at his mobile. Darin fidgets in his seat, pretending to read a book.
“Stop it,” Sherlock scolds.
####
In his mind’s eye, Darin is expecting Violet Holmes to be a tall, imperious woman who looks like Sherlock. When she welcomes them into her spacious, luxurious Parisian flat, he finds that he is exchanging kisses with a tall, smiling, female version of Mycroft. Violet’s hair is turning white, but he can still see the traces of light auburn. She has quick, intelligent blue eyes; Darin is quite sure she took his full measure the instant he stepped in the door.
“S’il n’est pas magnifique!” She comments to Sherlock as she embraces him.
Darin feels heat rise to his cheeks.
“He does speak French, Mother. Albeit inadequately.”
“We will keep it to English, then.” She sweeps them into a bright sitting room, where a housekeeper is setting out tea. Sherlock artlessly sprawls on a chair and resumes gazing at his phone while Violet serves.
“Why, what a lovely portrait!” Darin exclaims at the oil painting above the fireplace.
“Yes, it was done when the boys were six and eleven. That is Sherlock’s late father, Sigerson. Mycroft has my looks but more of his father’s temperament, and vice-versa. I always thought that was intriguing.”
Darin is grinning over his teacup at the tiny Sherlock in the painting. He is wild-haired and obviously annoyed. Young Mycroft is trying hard to very look important and mimic his serious father.
“If I am not mistaken, is not your father is the economist Andrew Allard?”
Darin nods. “Yes, that’s him. I also have a sister Natalie, eight years my junior. Our mother died several years ago.”
“Your father is at Oxford, yes? Has Sherlock met him?”
Darin tries to keep his expression neutral. “Not yet. Our schedules are difficult. He is in Harvard working on a joint project right now.”
“Mycroft mentioned you received your doctorate there as well.”
“Harvard?” Sherlock makes a sour face.
“Did you really delete that, again?” Darin says, exasperated.
Violet laughs. “Silly boy. He started doing that when he came back from Tibet.”
Sherlock grunts and goes back to his mobile, already bored with the small talk. Violet and Darin prattle on such scintillating topics such as Darin’s research and Violet’s lifetime work, managing arts funding of opera companies in various parts of England and France. He keeps scanning his sources, hoping beyond hope an interesting case comes up to distract him from his filial duty.
####
Violet has hired a chef to cook and serve their meal this evening. When the chef arrives, Violet excuses herself to see to the details in the kitchen.
Sherlock stands and paces a bit to stretch his legs, and wanders behind Darin’s chair. For a lack of anything better to do, he lies a hand on the back of Darin’s neck. He can feel the anxiety he had carried there throughout the day. He starts massaging the tight muscles, working a button free on Darin’s collar so he can reach both hands down to squeeze the tops of his shoulders.
“You didn’t tell me your mum is rather delightful,” Darin says quietly.
“Why did you assume otherwise?”
“I guess from the way I see you and Mycroft interact.”
Sherlock hmms to himself. “That was more of Father’s doing, whom you obviously shall never meet. Now perhaps you will stop vibrating with tension? It’s distracting.”
####
Violet watches them covertly from the kitchen. She observes Darin and how he always seems to be looking towards Sherlock, even when he leaves the room. She notices the way her son’s face softens towards him, especially when he thinks no one can see it. She smiles to herself and gives them privacy when Sherlock leans down to give Darin a kiss.
####
“I am stealing away your young man for a walk before dinner,” Violet announces. “Behave while we are out.”
Sherlock rolls his eyes like a long-suffering teenager. Darin just smiles and offers Violet his arm.
####
“I was very happy when Mycroft told me Sherlock had a beau,” she starts. “I did not think it was something that would happen for him.”
“Does that mean I meet your approval?”
“Practice your French and we will see.”
Darin laughs. They stroll compatibly through the Seventh Arrondissement, Violet occasionally pointing out her favorite shops and landmarks to Darin as they dodge tourists.
“You must forgive me, but I am a prying old woman. Before I had asked you if Sherlock had met your father, I could see it on your face that this was not a happy subject. Would you tell me why?”
“I can see where Sherlock gets his powers of observation,” Darin muses.
“While that is the case, you do not disguise your feelings very well, dear.”
Darin considers his reply before answering. “It’s true that I don’t see my father very often. We get along more or less, but we don’t see eye-to-eye on certain things.”
“It is because you like men,” Violet fills in.
“I don’t want to make him out to be an awful person. He’s not. He’s just a bit old fashioned. He didn’t disown me when I told him. It’s hard for him because I think he imagined something else for me. A family. Passing on the name. All those things the eldest son should do,” Darin explains in a rush. “We usually just avoid the subject. If I bring Sherlock to meet him, it puts it front and center.”
Violet pats his arm. “While I am sorry for your difficulties, I admit I am a little relieved. Sherlock is not a social creature. I was concerned that you were too embarrassed to show him to your family.”
Darin stops to turn to look at her. “Violet I assure you, I would never be ashamed to be associated with your son. He has met Natalie, who is the most important person in my life. He will eventually meet my father. Just not yet.”
“Give your father some latitude and he may come around. It’s hard to be a parent. You want the very best for your children, but it does not mean we make the right choices. One of my biggest regrets is that Siger and I mis-stepped when raising Sherlock,” Violet confesses. “Let us sit for a moment.” She steers them to a park bench and they settle before she continues.
“You must understand Sherlock has always been the way he is. Practically from birth! He did not sleep or eat well and would cry for hours. Babies can be fickle, so it did not worry us, at first, until he grew into a very sensitive toddler. He disliked all but the finest of clothes and at times, would refuse to be held or touched. When he was three we took him to a specialist. He was not speaking more than a couple words at a time, and we feared for his development.”
“That was only the beginning of the therapists and doctors,” Darin fills in.
“We just wanted to help him, you see. He was so different from Mycroft. His classmates teased him horribly. He was a very lonely boy. We took him to only the very best professionals, but I do not think they had a name for his condition. He was so bright, but unable to grasp social niceties.”
Darin swallows around a lump in his throat. “His friend, Dr Watson, thinks he has a diagnosis. Something they may have not known much about when he was a child. John has tried to talk to him about it, look into new treatments. I can see why Sherlock doesn’t want to listen to him.”
Violet’s face lights up. “Oh the good John Watson! I was full of joy when I learned that my son finally found his soulmate. I had despaired that he would be alone forever.”
“Um...” Darin utters, perplexed.
“No, no! His one true friend. John is his soul, but I think you may be something entirely different. Be thankful for John, because in many ways, I think he has remade Sherlock. Made him more receptive for what you two are building together, perhaps.”
Darin nods. He hadn’t thought of that before. “You could be right.”
“John accepted Sherlock as he is, told him how truly singular he is- all the things he needed to hear when he was growing up. John stayed with him, even after that horrible business when he disappeared.
“What we forgot to do as parents, Darin was tell Sherlock how brilliant he was. We spent his entire childhood showing him his flaws. It was especially hard for Siger, who was more authoritarian with the children. Siger and Sherlock grew further apart as time went on. Mycroft flourished with rules and expectations, Sherlock did not. He became more isolated, colder. He distrusted everyone, and I am sure he thought we sent him to Harrow to get rid of him,” Violet says with regret.
“It couldn’t have all been bad,” Darin says, attempting to comfort her. “He is obviously still fond of you.”
“Only after many years passed. I will say I did introduce him to music. I was sure he was bound for the orchestra when he was a young man. Does he play for you? Sometimes it is the only way to determine his moods, you know. One day I will tell you how he got his Stradivarius, but that is for another time.”
“Please feel free to continue, Sherlock is rather reticent,” Darin says. She stands up and Darin gives her his arm again as they continue on their walk. The sky is just starting to darken into evening.
“I admit this not a mother’s worthless chatter. I am telling you this for a reason. Today I have seen something new in my son. He seems happier than I have ever seen him before. I know he is not an easy person at times. You will have much to show him in regards to romance, and you will have to be the brave one. Just make sure to continue to tell him how much you love him. He will be blind to this and will not be able to deduce it. As much as he scoffs at emotions, I think he desperately needs to hear it.”
Love? Darin stumbles to a standstill. He stops breathing and his mind races. Nothing about their courtship has been traditional, by far. It has only been a few months. Of course, he feels affection for Sherlock, but is it love? The feeling that has been steadily growing coalesces, deep and warm. Darin gasps and drops Violet’s arm as his hands fly to cover his mouth.
“Are you quite alright?” Violet asks, concerned.
Darin is not alright. A supernova has burst brilliantly in his heart and he has no way to contain it. He lets it wash over him, fill him. His entire world has, in just a matter of seconds, become brand new. He takes a breath.
“Oh god. I am such a fool,” he finally manages to gasp out.
Violet smiles slyly and takes his arm again, but this time Darin thinks it may be to steady him. “You needed a little push. I saw love for him in your eyes the moment you walked in my door. I am not sorry for meddling. We Holmes’ can be a manipulative lot.”
Darin concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other for the rest of their stroll.
####
Darin has reassembled by the time they return to Violet's flat. Candles have been lit, and the smell of beeswax and dinner cooking mingle to fill the rooms. He hears the muted sounds of Sherlock’s violin- a frequent piece he plays- Bach, Partita number 1 in B Minor. The homeliness and warmth of his surroundings makes Darin smile. In fact, he finds he can’t quite stop smiling.
“He is on the balcony, dear. There is a vintage he likes on the sideboard. Why don’t you take it out to him?”
“Yes, Madame,” Darin finds himself saying obediently. He fetches the bottle, a corkscrew and two glasses and heads outside. The view stuns him for a moment; the lights on the Eiffel Tower are just starting to come on. He doesn’t want to think too much about the cost of Violet’s flat. He uncorks the wine, pours two glasses and allows them to sit and breathe.
Sherlock keeps playing, all his focus inward. He is moving his body freely with his music, even shifting his feet slightly as if he is dancing in place. He is more far more spellbinding than the City of Lights, so Darin leans on the railing to watch him and listen.
When the last note rings out, Sherlock finally acknowledges Darin. He smirks. “Did she eat you alive?”
“Quite. I was outclassed,” Darin laughs.
Sherlock tucks his Strad under his chin again, considering his next piece.
“Just a moment, before you begin?” A part of Darin wonders why he’s not terrified by what he is about to reveal. Instead, he just feels the pressure of his all-consuming joy, waiting to be released into the world. Sherlock quirks an eyebrow at him, bow still poised to play.
“I love you.”
Sherlock’s eyes fly wide. He lowers his arm and his bow clatters to the ground, lost from limp fingers. His jaw drops, and his Strad starts to slowly slide out of its place. “Sherlock!” Darin exclaims in horror. At the last second, right before inevitable disaster, his lax left hand tightens around the instrument’s neck. Darin exhales in relief, imagining a million pounds worth of beloved violin exploding into wood shards on the tiles.
Darin stoops to pick up the bow and sets in on the table. Sherlock is still mute and frozen, so Darin presses a glass of the wine into his hand. Sherlock empties it in two long swallows, not taking his eyes off him as he drinks. Darin gives him his own time to recover, not expecting or demanding a response to what he has freely given. He lets the silence stand between them as Sherlock’s countenance turns from shock into astonishment, and finally, settles on befuddlement.
Without uttering a word, Sherlock places the empty glass on the table and picks up his bow. He turns away and without preamble, starts to play.
Vivaldi. The Four Seasons. Spring.
Darin listens to his serenade, content.