Warning: there may be some unintentional OOC. Please forgive me if that occurs.

My friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes, as explicit as he can be in regards to his cases when explaining them, rarely speaks of his past and of his family. The only thing he has ever told me of his relatives was that he has an older brother named Mycroft. As both his friend and his biographer, I can assure the reader that Holmes's silence on the matter was increasingly frustrating for me. How can one be friends with a person and write about them and know so little about them? I had come to the point where I was certain Holmes would remain forever reserved on the topic, so I was a bit more than surprised with the event I will now describe to the reader.

We were sitting together smoking our pipes at our lodgings on Baker Street on a fine May afternoon when our landlady Mrs Hudson appeared to us carrying an envelope. She wordlessly gave it to Holmes and retreated. I lazily watched my friend tear the envelope open and pull out a sheet of paper, no expression on his features so far. That soon changed when his eyes widened and his already pallid skin turned a shade whiter as he read. I leaned forward in my chair, my instincts as a friend taking over.

"Holmes?" I asked tentatively. "Is everything all right?"

He gave a start, as if he had forgotten my presence, and seemed reluctant to answer. I gave him a gentle smile, hoping to encourage him to reveal what was evidently bothering him.

"It's, ah, nothing," Holmes replied hastily. "Nothing at all, Watson."

I sighed inwardly, so my friend would not see. It did not take the Science of Deduction to see that something has agitated him. I may not, as Holmes likes to put it, observe but I am not blind. Besides, I have been always far more adept at the matters of the heart than he has ever been.

Holmes, thinking that I have dropped the subject, returned to his letter. A wicked idea crossed my mind and it was one that I knew might have been the equivalent of a suicide mission. I stood up and feigned approaching the window by Holmes's chair before plucking the letter out of his hand in one swift movement. Holmes let out a cry that was a mixture of shock and indignation, and he chased me around the sitting room. I managed to slip past him and rushed upstairs, my friend close at my heels. I stumbled inside my room and successfully closed the door in Holmes's face, locking it. Breathing heavily, I listened to him trying his hardest to turn the doorknob.

"Watson!" Holmes exclaimed angrily, now pounding fiercely on the door. "Come out with that letter this instant!"

I said nothing. Holmes attempted once more to force his way in before storming off. Knowing that I only had a few minutes until he returned with those infamous lock picks of his, I hastily read the short letter.

Dear Sherlock,

It has been years since we have seen you. God only knows what you have been truly up to. Therefore, we expect to have you home for the next week, no ifs, ands, or buts. We have enclosed two train tickets inside the envelope for you and a friend if you wish to bring someone. The train will leave King's Cross at 9 a.m. on Saturday. We will send someone to meet you at you at your destination when you'll arrive.

See you Saturday,

Mother and Father

As I processed this information, I heard the faint clicking sounds of a lock being fiddled with. Shaking my head, I dropped the letter on my bed before unlocking the door and opening it. Holmes, caught unaware, stumbled inside and collided into me. My injured leg gave way at the sudden impact, sending us both tumbling to the ground with my friend falling on top of me.

We both lay there for quite some time as the surprise slowly ebbed away. Holmes was naturally the first to recover, for he scrambled to his knees, bracketing my hips with them, and pinned my arms down with his hands.

"The letter," Holmes hissed. "Where is it?"

"Does it matter? I know of its contents," said I.

His grey eyes widened once more. "You – You've read it?"

"I have. My dear Holmes, what is so horrifying about parents wanting to see their child?"

Holmes, looking resigned, released my arms and merely sat on my hips. I propped myself onto my elbows and watched him expectantly.

"They… do not approve of my trade. They believe it to be something fanciful, like a child desiring to become a pirate or a hero. My parents have always wished for me to become a lawyer. They had set that expectation soon after Mycroft has earned his position in the British government. They had been so proud of him, and wanted me to go far as well. You can imagine their disapproval when I had refused to study law in college. They were furious," Holmes told me, slightly crestfallen.

"But you have gone far. There is not a single person in all of Britain who does not know your name," I reminded him.

Holmes shook his head.

"That has not appeased Mother and Father. They could not understand how such a line of work could attract so much attention," said he. "After I had told them I would not pursue the career of their dreams, their disappointment in me was so great that I could not stand it. I packed my things one night while they slept and escaped to London."

"Good heavens, Holmes! You left your home behind simply because your parents were disappointed that you were following your dreams instead of theirs?"

"It wasn't as simple as that, Watson! They had continuously guilt-tripped me for weeks before I had decided to move out. I could not take it anymore to the point where I had no desire to let them know where I was going."

"I take it you left no note?"

"Precisely. I only revealed my location to them when the police's search reached the City. But I had warned my parents against visiting me. For the first time in my life, they had complied with my wishes."

"How old were you when this occurred?"

"I was twenty years of age."

"Goodness! Are you telling me that you haven't seen you mother and father in twenty years?"

"You are scintillating this morning, Watson."

I ignored the sarcasm. "Holmes, you must go to them this weekend. Patch things up with them; they've apparently let go of what has happened," I advised him.

My friend laughed humourlessly. "I can honestly say that I deeply doubt it. Those two are notorious grudge holders," he replied. "I have no interest in going, my dear Watson."

"I have worked that out for myself, thanks. But why not, Holmes? This is your chance to make peace with them."

"This is also an opportunity to receive the full force of the rage they have been storing up for the last two decades. Visit them? I think not."

At that moment I suddenly remembered something that had been written in the letter.

"If you like, I could accompany you. Your parents have declared that you can bring someone with you on your visit," I suggested, treading carefully.

Holmes blinked then gave a small smile. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" he asked amusedly. "That you actually want to come with me to Southampton and meet my parents?"

I wanted to answer but I was becoming more and more distracted by the numbing sensation in my legs.

"Er, Holmes, you are cutting off the blood circulation in my legs," I calmly informed him. "Could you –?"

"Oh! My apologies, Watson," Holmes replied, giving a small start.

"No worries, old boy," I said as my friend scrambled off of me and onto his feet. "No worries at all."

He smiled and offered his hand. I took it and stood up with his help. The blood rushed back into my legs, making me stagger, and I fell flat on my back onto the bed. Holmes laughed and joined me. We stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, listening to each other's breathing.

"I will go," Holmes said softly, "only if you accompany me, Watson. I cannot face my parents alone."

"My dear fellow, I would be delighted," I assured him happily, surprised to see that he has agreed.

"Capital. I think they will appreciate that I am at least friends with a respectable doctor."

I felt my heart warm up at the rare compliment. "I'm sure they'll appreciate everything about you."

"You can only hope, Watson. You can only hope."

Ok, I've got a question for you guys: would you like to see a bromance or a romance between Holmes and Watson? I'm having trouble choosing between the two because I like both. Let me know which you would like in the review section and I'll decide from there :)