Severed Limbs With Morning Tea

XI

She was staring out of the window again.

"Mummy," he asked as he approached her, winding his fingers into the thick heavy fabric of her skirt, "What are you looking for?"

She smiled a little sadly as she ran her hand along his hair. "Nothing, love. Just checking if they're still there."

Sherlock looked up, but didn't see anything. "What? There's nothing there."

"No, love. There's always something there, you just have to know how to look right."

"How do I do that if I can't see what's there?"

"You gotta think beyond what you're used to. You gotta think – outside the box, yeah?"

"I don't get it."

"Well. Look outside again, love."

"Yeah?"

"And you say there's nothing there?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Describe the view for me, love."

"Ehrm. I can see old Oak trees from here."

"What else?"

"I can't see out the rest of the window, Mummy, I need a chair."

"You're forgetting something very big, silly."

"What?"

"It's really, really big."

"I don't see it!"

"The sky, aye? Ain't that out there?"

"That's not fair, mummy! It's not a thing, the sky's just there."

"Oh? And what about all those stars?"

"What about them?"

"Aren't those things?"

"So? They're really really far away, are stars! And, and they're so far away that the really small light we see is years and years old, that's what Mycroft said."

"Ah, so they look small? Is that it?"

"Well, Mycroft said they were these great big balls of gas in space."

"Think about it, love. Stars might look small to us but they're really, really big. You never even noticed these huge big things before because they looked small."

"Stars don't really matter though, do they? They're too far away."

"I wouldn't say that, hun. Trust me on this; a world without stars in the sky is a different world altogether. Even the smallest looking things can mean the biggest difference in everything."

"Oh," said Sherlock, looking up at the stars again. "Is it important that I learn, then? About the stars, I mean."

His Mummy's smile turned grim. "No, love. I'll do my best to make sure you never have to."

Despite his mothers words, Sherlock snuck into his brother's room that night and slid the astronomy textbook out from the wooden desk. He hid it in his shelf and dreamt of brilliant balls of light.

She was staring out at the stars again.

"Mummy," he asked as he approached her, winding his fingers into the thick heavy fabric of her skirt, "Why are you crying?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, love," she whispered out into the night, "The stars just make me sad sometimes."

In his shelf, the textbook gathered dust.