Untold Story
... I think I will have to prepare for the launch of the stones. Sorry ... It's not slash (and all go away) I hope not too disgustatarvi! I always wondered how it had been the life of Holmes and Watson first meet .... so did that trinkets ...
will have several chapters ... always understand how to create a connection between them! IOE technology to wound us short!
Character: Sherlock Holmes
Genre: Comedy, slice of life
Rating: PG Summary
G:''... I have always gave everything I needed, never give me what I really needed and so I grew up in our society, more attention to appearances than to substance, more inclined to evil than to understand, without having the 'ideal for someone to follow, making it a totally different person from all members of my family.''
The character of Sherlock Holmes is not mine, but was created by the wonderful pen Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (and for that we thank them infinitely)
That my fancy family ...
still are an adult, I happen to think that I was born in the wrong family.
early in childhood, watching the strange and bizarre group of people snob, I was thinking they have nothing in common in my genes, with those people. People who, moreover, riteva to be my relative!
But the wrong note in all this, the real problem was not them but me!
was I to be different, I had absolutely nothing in common with my relatives while they basically it looked like everyone was (and still are) strange, odd, with a particular character to be snobbish aristocrats. I'm the one
different.
I loved my family in my fragmented memories of childhood remember exactly the strong sentiment that bound me to them, feeling that with time he went to deteriorate to disappear, turning into a meek and dutiful affection.
now is a cynical and detached adult, and have them make me so, but in my memories of a child still meeting the familiar figures of my childhood: my father, authoritarian and quick, my mother crazy and bizarre and my brother Mycroft selfishly devoted to the worship of his habits.
My mother Janette Holmes, the woman was the most bizarre I've ever known (and believe me when I tell you, that of strange people I have known very much) was always very strange, unfriendly and frankly has never been a mother figure to me. He always had his head in the clouds and had nothing to do but think of me.
I've always wondered, and often still today I wonder, as my father faccesse to be near her, and he was so strict and severe, the exact opposite of my mother.
In all honesty, I could not see any of my parents because they represent the stereotype of person that I would not look like my mother and my father not too bizarre fantasy. Just
my father, Williams Holmes eminent ophthalmologic London, was a incredibly strict and gruff man, he had about the things you can and can not be done, a code imperious, uncompromising and often refused me permission that I had already been granted by her mother, left with me a sense of disappointment and cancellation.
was so stern and gruff, even when performing some act of uncommon kindness, we could not even thank him because he risked being accused of''svenevolezze.''
And then there was my brother Mycroft, its so incredibly ingrained habits and beliefs, apathetic and lazy to the limits of human endurance. He was always bending over his beloved history books and I looked down on bass, too busy to be a bright teenager to take care of his brother, and in any case if I had paid attention, I would comply with a look of sufficiency, as if having a younger brother was for him a source of unnecessary hassle.
This was the core of my family: father, mother and brother, but my family was actually composed by other members, equally strange and bizarre, that crowded the house in Sussex at the weekend and the villa of London the remaining days.
I had no doubt the most wacky relatives of my mother: the Vernet, French by birth, and that in itself led me to reflect on the degree of vein aristocratic snob that the blood flowed. My mother had an older brother and a younger sister.
My maternal uncles were by far the most extravagant of my mother's memory with special precision Adrien my uncle, a man of many faces that looked like, now to a melancholy romantic, now an unfriendly dissembling, now a snob aristocrat.
was a man of handsome presence, who spoke polished with a slight French accent and wore those ties to its traditional Lavalle (detail that would remain engraved in my memory and would have marked his person). He loved to run behind the skirts to work and actually liked women and Bellavita.
My aunt Francine other hand, was a typical French woman, in her performance snob and how to dress flashy, you could see his aristocratic character. The gossip in fashionable salons was his main occupation and he had the irritating tendency to plump cheeks at inopportune moments.
Even today, despite almost thirty years have passed, I still remember those of his plumed hats, the soft colors and those of her clothes and accessories in pastel crepe de chine. The
Vernet and Holmes were two aristocratic families: the first French snob and artists, patrons and lovers of living the good life. My aunt in his world of frivolous gossip, my uncle exuberant cocotte-loving bachelor, and my mother still with her down to the expensive furnishings.
other hand we had the British Holmes, rich country squires, who owned several villas in Sussex, then moved to the more bustling London and conservatives were more rooted in their customs and their ways, but come to think, even in the British branch of my family was rooted in a light vein of extravagance.
My paternal grandparents were two very strange people, and several times I wondered how they could be parents of the man posed a serious and he was my father.
Harold and Margaret Holmes were two elderly white-haired old men and white and manner friendly and courteous. I still remember, my special relationship with the matriarch of Holmes, who was perhaps the only family that really cares for me.
was a woman, whose face was still lying by a jovial smile, wrapped in an aura of legend that gets lost in the mists of history. He loved art and the walls of his own room, they were charged with copyright lithographs and paintings, exquisite, and the shelves of his library was filled with books of poetry, prose and short stories in literature.
From my grandmother I could always find a courteous and polite gesture, but maintained that Holmes decent rigor typical of us, but never lapsing nell'irritante, such as pinching my Aunt Francine. Not
'' Sherlock worry, do not look after them. When you have a problem come to me''as he always said, referring to a group of rabble strange, that was my bad luck for my family, and I adjust the silk tie, with her gentle manner that only she reserved.
My grandfather Harold was a good man: typically English-looking, with his waxed mustache and favors, gave an idea of stability and security typical British man. He loved alcohol, tobacco and playing cards, and strong, despite the length and the various prohibitions, they had not abandoned its deep-rooted habits and also continued to drink and smoke in the company of his friends in the Club
My grandmother had developed considerable suspicions about him and he often sudden burst in her room, hoping to catch him red-handed.
''Harold! You're not drinking it? You know it hurts!''''
I? Drinking? Margareth, but if I quit drinking two years ago''in fact the grandfather he never stopped drinking, had only good reflexes and limited itself to hide the brandy glass behind his back when my grandmother came, while her friends Club covers it, now linked by a bond of complicity.
This was more or less the family where I grew up: eccentric, aristocratic and a little 'snob.
I have always given everything I needed, without ever really giving me what I needed and so I grew up in our society, more attention to appearances than to substance, more inclined to evil than to understand, without having someone to the ideal of follow, making it a totally different person from all members of my family.
Fortunately for me.
In fact, had long wanted to write something that spoke of their lives before they met, something to fill those questions and those questions about their youth, of which no mention in the Canon. I enjoyed
long time to write the family of Holmes: I wanted a family for him strange, so I marked the snobbery of her relatives in France and the extravagance of the English (because let's face it: he says he has not taken anything from them but actually Holmes A type a bit 'strange, is not it?)
In the Canon says that his parents were country squires, and so I came up with this idea of family is weird but indifferent.
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