if I knew myself, I'd run away.
Baby!Sherlock and his mother, violin lessons
My teeth hurt!
“This was my first violin, Sherlock,” she says, in her soothing, melodic voice.
He looks up at her and smiles, fidgeting with his desire to hold the instrument. She returns his smile with one of her own, his favorite of her smiles, the one that means she’s proud of him and happy, and carefully places the violin in his outstretched hands.
“You will have to be very diligent with your lessons.”
“Yes, mummy,” he replies eagerly, clutching the instrument, trying not to hold it too tightly. If he holds it too tight, she’ll take it back and make him wait longer to start.
“And you’ll have to practice every day, my dear.”
“Yes, mummy. I will, mummy.”
She smiles down at him again. “Don’t lie to me, Sherlock.”
He has the good grace to look abashed, and she knows that she is the only person who has ever managed to chastise him. Certainly none of his minders have ever managed him.
“I’ll try to be good, mummy,” he promises, and means it.
“Good. Now, put the violin back in its case, as I showed you.” She watches as he carefully puts the violin away; he is more careful with it than she has ever seen him be with anything else.
“Good job, darling,” she tells him when he’s finished, and he preens under the praise. “Now come along and I’ll show you the proper way to hold your bow.”