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governmentofficial:

Oh. Oh dear. This was even worse. Bad news was one thing, but chit-chat? Dear Lord.

“I will never understand your enjoyment of such things.” Mycroft replied with blunt honesty, assuming that Giovanni would be used to such things by now. Fine, though. He would chat. That was the least he could do for Sherrinford.

“Alright, then. What would you like to talk about first?”

“Well!” He made himself cozy with a cuppa in his favourite chair. “You have a lot on your hands with work what with the new, more long-term economical plan. It seems that we’re headed towards a modernized, Stalin-esque five year plan to re-allocate the deteriorating sectors of the economy.” Bringing the conversation around to work was a tactic he often employed with Sherrinford. It seemed easier for the taciturn family to discuss work, politics and religion. Funny how it was the typical, socially forbidden topics that drew the Holmes from their shells.

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governmentofficial:

“Oh dear. I hope this is not about anything particularly terrible?” Mycroft replied, allowing himself to be directed to the other room. Were chats good? It was hard to tell with normal people - especially overly friendly ones like this. In Mycroft’s usual world, a chat meant that something bad had happened and he was either about to be chastised for it, or somebody was about to ask for help.

Giovanni paused with a puzzled look on his face, “Terrible? Not at all terrible, unless something has happened?” The priest bustled about to pamper his guest with tea and finger sandwiches. the semi-enclosed porch offered plenty of light and a soft breeze; spring was just around the corner, he could feel it. “I merely wish to sit down, enjoy the day, and catch each other up on life events. You know, to talk.”

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@governmentofficial

“Mycroft! Entra, fratello mio, it’s been a while.” Truthfully, it’d only been a week since his brother-in-law came round but family saw family more than that! Dreadful to think the family apart for long. Giovanni smiled, clapping the ol’ Britty man on the shoulder of his Britty suit and directing him further into the immaculate home. “We must chat. To the veranda with you, I have a small tea set out already.”

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governmentofficial:

Dear Lord he was happy. Why hadn’t Sherrinford warned him of this? That bastard. Of course he hadn’t mentioned that his partner was excessively cheerful.

Mycroft began to offer a hand out to shake but ended up being pulled into a hug instead. Brilliant. Just… Brilliant. He was as stiff as a board during the hug - standing stock still and simply waiting for it to be over. The elder Holmes did, at least, put on a friendly smile though. That was good, yes? Sherrinford should be happy that he was putting the effort in.

“Oh, you didn’t have to. Thank you.” Mycroft said as he took the gift. The scones certainly sounded nice but really, Giovanni didn’t have to. Still, it was something to put in his empty kitchen for later, he supposed.

“I’m well. And you? I must say, you are not what I expected.” He’d been picturing someone, well, more like Sherrinford - not some happy-go-lucky, smiling, admittedly rather handsome man. 

Giovanni laughed. It was genuine, loud and sounded very, very amused. “Oh, I daresay I know what you expected, Mycroft.” He crossed his arms, frowned and put on his best imitation of Sherrinford which was, in all actuality, quite good. Even if his eyes still shone with an inner light and the side of his mouth twitched as he tried not to smile. “You expected someone cold, aloof and very Holmesian. Not smiles and scones!”

He broke the image by laughing again. “When he and I first met, he had much the same reaction as you. No hugs? Bah, in Italy hugs are more common than the wine! I’m afraid I will just have to train you to accept them as they are quite good for the health! Now! What is it that you are doing tomorrow? I am planning a dinner and I would like you there.”

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mcdicatedpixie:

Anna hugs him back gently, warm with relief that it was her much gentler father catching her coming home so far past curfew in such a state. “Are you going to tell him?” She questions, anxiety in her soft voice. “I was… in a bunch of different places. My friend doesn’t like to stay in one place all night.”

She sniffles and rubs her bleary eyes, exhaustion from being around so many people all night setting in. She was beginning to come down and sober up, reality slipping back into place. “I’m so tired…”

“I do not think he needs to know, do you? Not right now, at least.” Giovanni leads them to her room where he kindly sits her on the bed and begins to take off her shoes. He gives her probably sore feet a brief rub down and kisses each toe as he did when she was much smaller. “Being tired can be fixed. First we’ll put you in pajamas!” He pulls her dress over her shoulders and head. Not a minute later, a set of pj’s found their way onto her body. “Then we must tuck you into bed. Tuck, tuck, tuck.” A heavy comforter falls around her, “and finally, we must have a bed time story.”

“Once upon a time, three little bunnies lost their mommy. The crow and dove, who lived in a big willow tree, came down when they heard their cries. When they saw the bunnies’ sadness, the two made an endless vow to love and cherish them forever, no matter the circumstance. It wasn’t perfect in the beginning but soon they grew into a family and the three bunnies were happy. Except for the middle bunny who still cried when she thought no one could hear, who wanted help but didn’t know how to ask, who started roaming with jackals.” He paused to kiss her forehead. “But the jackal’s fun wasn’t very good and the bunny grew sick but thankful she had her dove and crow to always watch out for her. Who would never let her suffer in silence even if it meant that she would hate them for awhile.”

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mcdicatedpixie:

@grcy liked for a starter

He’d dropped her at the end of the sweeping driveway, headlights off. Her walk to the house was slow, she stumbled occasionally in the darkness. Once past the front door, she rested a hand against the wall and moved slowly down the hallway. The house was silent, she’d managed to sneak in without waking any of her family until her sharp hip caught the corner of an end table, causing anything resting on it to clatter to the floor. Fucking-capitol-A. A light flicked on upstairs, and Anna froze. In one last attempt to look sober, she ran her hands through her disheveled platinum locks, sniffled, tried to rub the faded look out of her emerald eyes, and waited for her inevitable fate.

Giovanni had just finished his chapter in the bible && laid down for some much needed rest when the frightening crash occurred. Whoever had, ah, arrived after curfew was insanely lucky to only have to face him -&& not his husband, who was working late at wherever masterminds worked. Giovanni sighed, slipping on his slippers, && quietly shuffled down stairs.

“Annalise?” He had honestly expected the more extroverted children to be the one’s caught. Not dearest, sweet Anna who looked as if the world had crumbled down upon her thin shoulders. “Darling, come here. Let’s get you into bed before your father gets home, hmm?” He picks up the broken vase && sets it on the table so as not to incite injury && wraps her in a one armed hug. “So, do you want to tell me where you were tonight?”

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consultingdick:

He didn’t hesitate to take the glass, inhaling the scent deeply before taking a generous sip. He didn’t often drink, but he knew enough about wine to appreciate the taste. A satisfied smile spread across his face as the flavour soaked into his tongue. “ As you should be. I’m impressed. ” Sherlock hadn’t questioned their relocation, nor had he minded. The living room was equally comfortable, and the smell of cooking food was floating through the air. The only thing disrupting his serenity was the third glass, staring at him in challenge. How much longer did he have to bask in Giovanni’s cheerful presence?

He took another sip as he listened to the question. People were too often busy being taken aback by his deductions to actually be interested in them. He supposed that any surprise factor was long gone, if this man was living with his little brother. “ You’re right – I care a lot about my work. It’s important. The deductions are merely an art of combining observation with information and logic.” He pauses, thinking of a suitable example that shouldn’t cause offence. 

“ For example, I knew that you were a priest before you told me. It’s a little obvious with all the pictures and –paraphernalia – you have around, but there are also more subtle signs. The rosary beads in your pocket, for example. I could see some of the beads, and could tell by the colour of the wood– ” He froze mid-sentence, recognising the footsteps on the stairs. His head turned to confirm what his ears had already told him, eyebrows raised. The hesitation sent his mind racing, but he had appearances to keep up. He would dissect that moment later.

Part of him wanted to apologise to Giovanni for cutting himself off, but he was to busy watching his brother. He couldn’t help the widening of his eyes as Sherrinford allowed himself to be touched in such a casual and affectionate way. Nevertheless, a broad (too broad) smile spread across his lips, with a challenge in his eyes. This opportunity was rare – he didn’t often have the element of surprise on his side.

“ Sherrinford, how nice to see you – even if I had to track you down. Does Mummy know that you’re married? You’ve been quite good at keeping your life secret, I wouldn’t be surprised.. ”

The priest could spot brotherly bickering from a league away && chuckled quietly to himself, sipping his wine && simply observing the unfolding scene. These Holmes! Always ready to attack && defend at a moments notice. So unhealthy, si. But, perhaps it is their sole way of being able to show affection to each other? Although the interaction between Sherrinford and Quentin (little Quentin! oh, how he missed him. But not his husband, no, heavens no. That man was a poor match for Quenny’s sensibilities!) was gentle, it still held a posh stiltedness. As if there was a family hierarchy beat into their brows. Knowing the British wealthy, there probably was. 

Sherrinford’s baritone broke the brief tranquility after the man had a few half seconds to recollect himself. “On the contrary, Sherlock, mother knows. Blame only yourself for the needed secrecy.” He paused as if to considered whether his brother deserved more information. The doctor lightly shrugged and easily lied as he spun the truth. “Moriarty was alive when we were married and I am not inclined to invite his sort of celebrity into my life. Not even for your benefit.”

“Which was disappointing! I wanted to meet this Moriarty fellow, he seemed devilishly interesting. But safety first, I do suppose.” Giovanni followed his partner’s train of thought as if they were a single entity. “Now, finish with your deduction, Sherlock! I am quite pleased with what you’ve discovered already by such little detail! These logical leaps are more impressive than wine making. Your brother here, bless his soul, is far too gentle to dissect me in the Holmesian way -aloud, at least!” He kisses Sherrinford’s temple && the doctor, surprisingly, responded in kind.

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The twinkling lights in the garden served to provide the most beautiful atmosphere for the setting evening. The long hanging sun radiated a pleasant warmth && glow as the two sat on her decorated patio. Glasses of wine && tea were presented on the white, cast iron table with tiny biscuits that Giovanni made for an delightful after tea treat.

It was nostalgic; truly, wonderfully nostalgic as this was the place he && Sherrinford married in a private ceremony. It had been just them, their mothers && Giovanni’s siblings. With Quentin ordained to marry them, of course! His husband looked dashing in whites && blues, it brought out his near-clear eyes. 

Giovanni sighs in contentment, leaning back on the semi-reclined chair with Violet Holmes adjacent to his right. “Ah, Violet, my dear. This has been such a wonderful evening. Being in your presence always brings me such joy.” He sips at the chilled tea (packed full of sugar for him!) “I hear you have found a man! Is he good to you?”

@motherholmes

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From Mycroft to Enola, the day was quite a busy one but shaping up to be rather perfect! It was only nearing late afternoon when he stepped up to Enola’s front door with a bouquet of yellow roses with tiny baby’s breath mixed in. He knocked, pleasantly of course! One has to have manners when interacting with the fairer sex. 

A beautiful woman opened the door && Giovanni was awed by her lack of Holmesishness. Why, this young woman looked positively normal. Her face wasn’t a closed book behind steel doors, locked down with maximum security. She was pretty with an intelligent gleam in her fine eyes but lack that dreadful chill that the brothers (&& even Eurus) held. 

“Oh, Enola! You did not mention your beauty in the message you sent me! If I had such fine looks, I would tell the heavens just so they could be jealous.” He kisses each cheek before wrapping her in a brief hug. “These, my dear, are for you to brighten up your day. London is a bit in the, ah, dumps!” He hands over the ring of roses with a charming, genuine smile. “I also brought us little treats to snack upon as we chat.”

@theholmesalone

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Ah, London! The air here was so unfresh, smoggy && it rained as if God was crying upon the unholy city. Giovanni loved it, naturally. The differences were so fun to explore! Cafes were dour, sombre affairs where people brought their laptops && plugged in instead of engaging in conversation. The people watching was better than television.

&& now, here he was, in the back of a town car going to meet another one of his husband’s brothers. If he was half as delightful as Q && a third as pleasant as Sherlock then it was shaping up to be a rather fantastic day. In his satchel, an expensive leather piece that Sherrinford gifted to him for his birthday, rested a container of his most excellent baked goods. A piece offering of scrumptious quality!

Giovanni exited the car && followed the men who served as a guard into some fancy office where his blue-green eyes found, well, he laughed to himself, he found a Holmes! They were terribly easy to spot. “Mycroft Holmes! I am so delighted to finally be seeing you. I’m Giovanni Aldemaro-Holmes, as I am certain you know! Holmes know everything there is to be knowing, of course. Here, here.” Giovanni pulls the dour man into a hug before presenting him with a black && silver box of goodies. “Specially crafted for you, dear brother! Orange and cranberry scones with a light champagne glaze. Very delicate! So, how are you? Keeping up the spirits in such weather, I hope?”

@governmentofficial

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Farm House

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Brief History

Born on July 16th, 1972 in Umbria, Perugia, Assisi at his family’s farmhouse, Giovanni is the oldest of fifteen children. As the eldest, he followed in his father’s foot steps in becoming a Roman Catholic priest. Receiving his sacrament of Holy Orders at sixteen, he shadowed his father at the Basilica di San Francesco d'Assisi before giving his first sermon at eighteen. When his father died, Giovanni gave up his High Priesthood to take care of his family full time. He settled into a church much nearer to home and much more humble in size. Giovanni’s life remained simple, fulfilling and full of light-no matter how dark the world around him became. 

The Aldemaro family continued to grow with none of his brother or sisters willing to leave their aging mother, they married and began to raise their families on the large farm. The ten bedroom farm house became fuller still, yet never crowded. He baptized and Christened his nieces and nephews although never married himself. The numerous attempts his mother made (dearest Maria and her good intentions) to set him up with the beautiful girls of Assisi repeatedly failed. Giovanni smiled and laughed through the dates, leaving his partners dazzled and heavily in love but never moved beyond light kisses. Eventually, he would encourage them to move on or even to marry on of his many brothers or nephews, when they came of age. The secret of his homosexuality lasted until he gave an impassioned sermon and looked out onto the enraptured congregation whereupon he saw eyes the colour of holy water.

The endless conversations and tireless walks eventually drew his mother’s attention. At first, she despaired mainly for the lack of grandchildren from her eldest. But her blessing was given and, with a heavy heart, she saw her beautiful Giovanni ascend into heaven- or just the house across the way where she arrived unannounced to pester her son’s husband. The man was so shocked by love and touch! Maria could not help herself. Plus he was just so handsome. Ay, Mama Maria was happy, therefore the rest of the Aldemaro’s were happy. (Although, Giovanni often hid his blushing face in his hands whenever she embarrassed him.)

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consultingdick:

Sherlock nodded in agreement, secretly pleased that Sherrinford not only felt comfortable to talk about their family with this man, but spoke well of him. While he didn’t worry as much as Mycroft, there was a part of him that wanted his little brother to have happiness, no matter what state their relationship was in. “ Thank you, ” he murmured. 

He nearly flinched at the sudden movement – with each new word and action he could see more differences between Giovanni and his brother. The touch on his shoulder was unexpected but not unwelcome. He wondered absently how Sherrinford coped with such an apparently tactile person. 

“ I don’t blame you for not visiting my city more when you live in such a wonderful place like this. Anyway, we’ve met now – something I’m glad for.”He mused, not hesitating to take one of the pastries. “ Ah – that depends on my brother, I’m sure. I shan’t stay longer than a few days, either way. ”

Giovanni opened a fruity pre-dinner wine as the food finished cooking and poured his ospite molto speciale an ample glass. “Here you are! It is a wine made from our own fields, aged five years. I am very proud of this batch.” The two had rearranged themselves in the living room simply because Giovanni knew his husband would enter through the back, nearest the kitchen, and he wanted the guest to be a surprise! He heard the floorboards creak upstairs and poured a third glass. 

He took a sip and sighed happily, “Si. So proud! But speaking of pride, I can very much tell that you take pride in your work but how is it done, this deduction? You simply observe the clues, the scene, the people and narrow down the lies to the truth?”

It was nearing dusk by the time Sherrinford arrived home from his ride in the country hills. After allowing the stable boy to cool down && brush off his horse, Sherrinford showered off and redressed for dinner. The smells of food caused him to frown slightly- Giovanni only made mangia italiano when they had special guests. He sighed through his nose && dressed a bit nicer. Although, he did forgo a tie. Descending the stairs, his aloof gaze fell upon the least expected sight && well, he would forever deny any hesitation (any fear). The pause on the third step was merely an act of shock, he causally lied to himself, && moved to sit on the couch near his husband, eyes still on his brother. The doctor took up the glass meant for him && allowed himself to lean into Giovanni’s side as an arm fell across his shoulders. He said nothing.

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consultingdick:

The sweet smell of baking only added to the comfortable, cosy atmosphere. It pleased Sherlock, but also confused him. It was such a jarring difference to the idea of Sherrinford he had in his mind. He turned this over in his mind as he watched the other man with interest. 

A smile naturally returned to his face to mirror the warmth of Giovanni’s. A laugh followed at his words, and Sherlock decided he liked this man. That still left the question of why Sherrinford liked him, but he felt that he would find out in due time.

“ I’m intrigued; I didn’t realise my little brother spoke of me at all, let alone with words of praise. My family doesn’t necessarily approve of my choice in career – ” he pauses, catching himself. “ Not that it matters. London is a very busy city, indeed, but I love it. I work freelance and with a friend from Scotland Yard solving interesting and difficult cases – well, difficult for him.” Another laugh escaped from him easily. “ Have you ever been to London? ”

          “Ah, well let me think about that.” He settled into his chair; leaning back with the warm mug safely enclosed in his farm calloused hands. Bright hazel eyes with far too much green to be real stared up at the ceiling in contemplation. “I admit that he speaks of you infrequently though, when he does, it is always praise. He says that you are the only, hmm, consulting? Si, consulting detective and the only man London can consistently rely on to solve crimes. Sherrinford is never...direct, shall we say, in his praise but I can tell that he loves you -loves his whole family dearly.” Giovanni offers a warm, kind smile. A smile that say he understands everything and yet continues to love, “But he knows he is abrasive and thus keeps his distance. He loves you. No matter what he says, know that, and you will begin to understand your brother.”

          With that said, he jumped up from the chair -thankfully the mug was near empty and didn’t spill- and lovingly squeezed Sherlock’s shoulder. “Now! Pastries. Ah, yes-” He donned a pair of pastel ovenmits and opened the oven. “Twice, I have seen London. Once to meet a friend and the second to be married. I am not surprised you have not heard of me in the three years we’ve been together. Here you are, mio caro amico.” He presented four beautiful decorated pastries with cool, homemade jam in the center and a light dusting of powdered sugar. “Are you to stay here for long? We have plenty of room!”

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consultingdick:

After poking around his younger brother’s private life (not without difficulty) for weeks with little results, Sherlock had decided to investigate in person. Italy was not a bad place to be, especially not the village Sherrinford had decided to take up residence in. He had expected something like this, but none of his research could prepare him for his sister-in-law to be his brother-in-law.

“ Ah– buongiorno! Piacere di conoscerti, signore…? ” He replied smoothly after only a moment of hesitation. The language switch helped to distract himself and the man from his obvious confusion. It was not often that Sherlock was the one left wondering how someone knew his name. He let himself be taken into the kitchen, reveling in the opportunity to learn about his brother through the state of his home. 

“ Raspberry pastries sound delicious, ” he smiled, genuinely for once. If anyone less charming than this man had done the same, he would have snapped at them and refused, but instead he found himself nibbling at the biscuits and sipping his tea. There were so many questions, he wasn’t sure where to begin. “ Yes, I am a detective, of sorts. What do you do? ”

         The heat of the wood fire oven coupled with the light breeze drifting in through the large, open windows provided a lovely atmosphere. With a final dusting of brown sugar on top of freshly risen dough, the tray went into the oven and Giovanni sighed in contentment. Food, good company, an opportunity to extract information from a direct source about his partner- what a fantastic day! There was no denying that the morning and, hopefully, well into the afternoon would be filled with much laughter. He turned with a smile naturally upon his tanned face. “Giovanni Aldemaro. I insist you call me Giovanni! No British pleasantries, here we are all famiglia! To answer you; I am a priest. A simple occupation but a happy one.”

        Giovanni made quick work of tidying the kitchen and sat across from Sherlock with his own mug of sugary tea. “Sono così contento che sei venuto! So long have I wanted to talk to you. Please, tell me about yourself! I know you are a detective, an excellent one judging by your brother’s praise, and that you live in London. You’re life must be very interesting in such a city.”

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@consultingdick

          So often this week the man had visitors. Not that he dared complain as he craved interaction. Giovanni set down the mixing bowl and spoon, removed his apron after wiping off his hands, and moved to the front door.

          “Ah, Sherlock! Benvenuto! Come in, come in. I am just making raspberry pastries.” He led the startled detective to the kitchen where he proceeded to make tea and seat his guest. “So much I have heard of you! ‘Tis good to see the real image an’ not just a photograph. So good! Here, eat these while I finish the pastries. They are-” Here he made a gesture as if word simple could not articulate the pleasantness of the simple biscuits placed before Sherlock. Giovanni retied his plain apron, near grinning all the while. “You are a detective, no?”