Michael Holmes: Secret Son of Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 1: The Escape

Little Hope Orphanage Home, Australia

21 hours ago...

Michael stuffed his belongings in the old denim bag. He heard footsteps from a mile away, and he knew who was coming.

"Mike...?" The door creaked open. A young boy, wearing a second-hand t-shirt. He's quite thin for his age, 12 years old- same age as Michael.

By his looks, Michael could tell that his best friend knew the truth. "Liam," he replied, looking back at Liam. He rolled his eyes. "Do you know a thing called 'knocking'? Seriously."

"Mike..." Liam slowly coming towards his friend. "I know what you're doing."

Michael stood there speechless. Oh shit. He thought he covered it well enough, how did Liam-

"YOU ARE LEAVING AND YOU WEREN'T EVEN BOTHERED TO TELL ME?!" Liam snapped. His eyes were full of anger and a hint of betrayal as he stomped towards the boy. Michael took a step back.

"Look, Liam, I'm sor-" He tries to apologize before his best friend cuts him once more before Liam suddenly walks towards him and looked at the newspaper his friend was holding.

"GENIUS RETURNS FROM THE DEAD AFTER TWO YEARS" was written on the headline, with a familiar detective wearing a funny hat printed in black and white on the first page. Yes. Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, has returned from the dead.

"Your father is back again, isn't he?" Liam smiled. "I'll miss you." He went forwards and pulled Michael into a hug. The boy was taken back by surprise. "Promise to write to me when you reach London."

"Thank you." He said as he slowly picked up his bag and walked out the door.

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Michael went to the kitchen and there he found Miss Miller. She was making a few of her best sandwiches. "Hello, Michael." She placed the sandwiches in a basket and handed it to me. 'Here are the sandwiches you requested.'

"Thank you, Miss Miller." He thanked her, holding the basket.

"Are you sure you want to leave?" Miss Miller asked again, washing the dishes.

"I'm sure."

"Then you better be quick, my boss would come down soon for her daily late-night-coffee in a few more minutes." She said, waving goodbye to him. "Goodbye, Michael. Be safe."

He looked at the clock. 8pm. This is when the postman makes his last shift.

Michael got a large cardboard box he found earlier and stuck a 'Fragile' label on it. Then, he went inside the box with his bag, some water and the basket of sandwiches. Yeah, this is like those movie moments where a character tries to escape his/her horrible situation so he/she decides to hide in a cardboard box and get transported elsewhere.

He was wondering if this ridiculous plan would actually work, when he felt the box shake heavily and gets tossed into mid-air.

Not knowing that there is an 12-year-old hidden in the box, the postman shoved it into the van and closed it tight. Michael felt the pain as the box hits a side, and it got even worse on the road. In fact, it felt like a giant earthquake! Gosh, that postman's a terrible driver!

It was frustrating knowing that he can't scream for help even under the circumstances. About a couple of hours later, the shaking stopped. Michael opened the box and peeped outside. It was dark and there were many other boxes around him. He couldn't come out because it was too cramped there. Then, he heard the sound of the airplane taking off.

Time for the 20+ hour trip.

He tried to find a comfortable place to sit since the flight was going to be an extremely long one. He finally managed to catch his breath and he ate the sandwiches Miss Miller made. The sandwiches were filled with cheese, ham and salad with a bit of dressing drizzled on it.

He picked out the onion stuck in between the salad and ham- honestly he hated onions but Miss Miller always ignores his remark and continues to put onions in his sandwiches.

He was starving by this time, and he gobbled up 2 or 3 sandwiches that Miss Miller made in one gulp. Although he still remained cautious, and made sure that not a single bread crumb was left on the airplane.

As he sat in the box all alone in pure darkness, he closed his eyes and slowly drifts to sleep...

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"Mike." A familiar sound called to him. "Mike. Run away. Please."

It was his mom.

"N-No..." He took out his jacket and wrapped it on his mother's wound. "Don't die. I'm calling the ambulance. Help's on the way."

Michael clenched his fists, but that didn't stop it from shaking. He tried to hold back his tears, but that didn't stop it from dropping. Michael's calming face was just a mask for a scared and traumatized child.

"Please. For me... Run." his mother held his hand with all her energy. "Run- and don't look back, understood? Please promise me."

Michael nodded in agreement. "But you have to promise that you won't die." His mom smiled wryly at him. "Wake up..." She said.

Michael looked at her in confusion. "Mom?"

"... wake up." she repeated.

Michael heard the plane landing as he opened his eyes. He rubbed his eyes and sighed in relief. It was all just a dream. He told himself. It was all just a dream.