Siger is holding a glass of orange juice in between his hands when he hears the words. His eyes are lazy, a balding circle in the midst of a dark bush of chocolate hair, and that hair is ruffled in shock, his lazy eyes made awake, the orange juice spilled on the floor.

There is no warning, there is no prep; Sherlock spits it out as if it were chewing gum, and watches a slow vibration of shock spread throughout his father's body. He was expecting this, honestly: he was expecting the tremors, and the wide eyes beneath a pair of wiry, cold metal eyeglasses. Siger doesn't have compassion. He is an island, and Mycroft takes after him, respectively the sea.

Sherlock always wanted to be like them.

"Father, I'm gay," he says.

He stands before his dad, his hands folded timidly in front of his chest, and bites his tongue to keep the words from flooding out, as he is so wont to do.

I like men, I'm sorry, forgive me, this isn't what you wanted, I know that, I know that, Father. Maybe it'll be different, someday, I'll settle down with a nice girl, one that's pretty, and kind, and that has peppermint green eyes and porcelain skin. Maybe, someday, I'll make you and Mum proud, I swear I didn't want to be like this. I swear to God.

He hears the splash of juice, and the crash of glass, and the gasping whisper. The ache that Sherlock sees in his dad's eyes is all-too-real, and he has to turn away quickly, before it swamps him over and off the island, out into the sea. He's half contemplating saying, "April fools, Dad," but it's too late. Sherlock sees that now.

"What?"

"I like boys."

Siger's mouth doesn't even close. It stays open wide, an incredulousness in his eyes that Sherlock hasn't witnessed since his mother passed away six years ago.

Sherlock fidgets nervously, trying to shelter himself from his father's burning gaze, and then he smiles softly to himself. "I like boys," he says in an airy breath, one that makes Siger snap his mouth shut.

"Your mother would have been ashamed," he hisses, to which Sherlock responds, just as harshly, "I know, Father, and I wouldn't have bloody told you if it weren't for her."

"You're a homosexual?" he barks.

"Yes."

Siger's voice is a coarse, biting snarl. "How could you do this?" he spits, staring accusatorially at Sherlock, who is rolling on the balls of his feet to keep the tension out of his throat.

"How could I do this?" Sherlock mumbles. "How... could I... do this."

"Yes," Siger responds. "How could you? Do you know how much shame you will bring to this household? Your mother will be turning in her g-"

"Don't bring her into this," Sherlock snaps, his voice cracking. "Don't," he says, quieter.

"Do you know... how much time... and energy she spent building our name up, just so you could tear it down with your... your sexual sins?"

"I'm a virgin, for God's sakes, I-" Sherlock takes a long, heaving breath, and closes his eyes as Siger spits rebuke.

"You're probably lying! Just as you always are! You're a liar, Will-"

"That isn't... my name," Sherlock says through clenched teeth. "My name is Sherlock."

"Probably already tarnished the family name. Probably blew some gay in an alleyway when you were too high to rent a hotel room-"

"I didn't, I..." Sherlock's voice quivers violently, and he begins to shake his head to ward off his father's cruel words.

"You don't know how to love like I loved your mother. You don't understand the meaning of true faithfulness!"

"Shut up about Mum," Sherlock whispers.

"You don't understand love. You're just some filthy..." Siger's gaze looks Sherlock up and down, a twisted grimace curled into his lip. " Violet would have hated you. She would have shunned you until the ends of the earth..."

"Shut up about Mum," Sherlock says, louder, an angry breath being forced out. "Shut up, shut up, shut up."

"Your mother was a good woman, a good Christian woman, who wouldn't have tolerated you as long as I have!" Siger yells. "Your mother-"

"My mother," Sherlock shouts, "is none of your fucking concern, so shut up!"

"You think you're tough? You can't even handle a week without shooting up. I should have stopped you. Maybe you wouldn't have been such a disappointment!"

"Shut up," Sherlock yells, tears in his eyes.

"Your mother-"

"Shut up right now!" he cries. "Shut up shut up shut up!"

"She-"

"I fucking HATE you!" Sherlock screams, a roar ripping through his throat. He keeps on yelling, to subdue his physical urge to get back at Siger for what he'd done to Sherlock, what he'd done to Violet's name. "You're not going to guilt me, you... you're not going to! Not again, Siger. Not this time." Sherlock breathes heavily before letting a tsunami of words through, words that he'd never said before. "Mum loved me. For who I was. For who I was going to be. She wasn't like you," Sherlock says in a strangled, hoarse whisper. "She didn't... she wasn't a monster. So don't you fucking say - not for one second - that she would be ashamed."

"I loved your mother too!" Siger protests, but is cut off by Sherlock's now mortified glare. Sherlock has transformed from timid to a raving lunatic, his eyes burning furiously, his lips shaking with unreleased anger.

"If you loved her, you wouldn't have treated me like a liability! Something disposable, not worth the time!" Sherlock's voice breaks completely in half, and before he can stop the torrent of emotion, he's drowning in it, tears bubbling hot and wet in his eyes. "If you loved her, you would have loved me, too. You wouldn't have sent us to boarding school. You wouldn't have cut off my communication with those who cared. You would have... you would have not supplied me with money to enable my... my habit." He's crying now, tears splashing soundlessly on the hardwood floor. "You never loved her," he whispers. "You never loved anyone but yourself."

Siger folds his arms across his chest and smirks. "So this is about the drugs."

"The drugs? The ones you supplied me with?"

"I supplied you with money, William-"

"Take that stupid, bloody smirk off your face!" Sherlock roars, stepping closer to Siger. "This is not about the drugs! This is not about that boy! This is not about you, or... or Mycroft, or Lestrade, or boarding school, or money, or Mum dying, or you drinking, this is about me," Sherlock screams. "You were the only one left! The only one! And do you know what you did? Hmm?"

"What did I fucking do this time, Wi-"

"You treated me like a beggar. Like it was a hardship to have me living under the same roof as you. Do you know how it feels to be hurt like that? Do you know how it feels to be a raging heroin addict at the age of sixteen? Do you?"

Siger falters for half a gasping second, the coolness in his eyes dissipating. He's not sorry, no. He's just shocked beyond any conceivable thought.

"I drugged myself," Sherlock cries. "Every day. Every single day. To avoid you." Sherlock's eyes aren't even red, anymore. They're crimson. Bleeding hurt. "And it worked," he sighs. "So kept on doing it, and I kept at it, and now... I'm here. About to be disowned." Sherlock smiles as the tears well in his eyes, and drip down his shirt. "But you know what, Dad? You know what?"

Siger swallows his words back into his throat, his eyes beginning to water. His hands, usually so firm and strong, are shaking like leaves, and a frown is painted upon his lips that makes Sherlock want to smile again.

"Any hell is better than being your son."

A/N: hehehhehehehhehehehhehehehhehehehehehehhehehhehehehehehhehehehh hehehehegggegegegegegegeggegegeggegegegegeggegegegeeggegegeggeh hehehehehehehheheheheheheheehehehehehehehehehehhehehheheheheheh ha ha ha ha ahhhhhhhhhh

haha

ha

*sobbing*