Promises Series

Promise of Home - Weak

The title of this chapter is "Weak" by Seether.

"How many notebooks can you possibly need?"

"Four, and three folders, one graphing calculator, and lots of pens and pencils. Mycroft told you this."

"I ignore most of what comes out of his mouth."

"You're lucky to have an older brother. I think I would've liked one."

Sherlock didn't reply, but took the notebooks from Julia and shooed her down the aisle.

"Unless he was dating my boss."

"Lestrade is not my boss."

"It really seems like he is."

"How?"

"He gives you cases to solve, and you get paid after you've solved them."

"That doesn't make him my boss," Sherlock huffed.

"All right," Julia replied. "Have we got everything?"

"Yes, everything my pompous brother has specified. Plus the desk in your room for your schoolwork."

"So... can I look at the books?"

"What?"

"There are books over there," Julia replied. "Fantasy books. Historic fiction. Mystery novels. Can I look at them?"

Sherlock sighed. "I suppose. Make it quick."

Julia grinned and bounded to the other side of the store. Sherlock followed her, walking slowly through the aisles. She ran back to him with a stack of books in her arms.

"Which ones should I put back? I can't decide."

"That's quite a lot of books."

"I know. That's why I asked you which ones I should get."

Sherlock took the top three books and read their titles. "Fiction, fiction, fiction."

"I- I can put those back. There are biographies I can pick up instead."

Sherlock's phone buzzed, and he grinned manically. Julia raised an eyebrow but didn't question him.

(3:27pm) Boy, 17, ruled a suicide. Something doesn't feel right. I think you should take a look.

(3:28pm) How was the body found? SH

(3:29pm) Hung himself with a scarf in his closet.

(3:30pm) I'll be there within the hour. SH

"No, get them all. We're celebrating. I've got a case!" he exclaimed, taking all the books from the girl. "Will you be all right alone at the flat? Mrs. Hudson will be home if you need anything."

"I'll be fine. You promise to tell me about it when you get home?"

"Of course. My genius needs an audience."

Julia just smiled.

After making sure Julia was settled in the flat, Sherlock bounded out of the house and called for a taxi. He spouted out the address Lestrade had given him, and the taxi was on its way.

It was an average house: two floors, small lawn, and brown shuttered windows. Light hardwood flooring, worn couches, a small television, and eggshell paint in all the rooms except the kitchen, which was painted a dull beige. It smelled of cigarette smoke and vanilla perfume.

The mother of the deceased was weeping, her mascara smearing around her eyes. Her graying brown hair was put up in a loose bun, and her lipstick was applied perfectly. Early forties, late thirties, Sherlock guessed, judging by the crow's feet around her eyes.