The Angel And The Devil

1

"Bachelor John Watson"?
" What sort of hat is it anyway?" I hear Dad say. Oh yes, The Hat. Only yesterday had he thrown it across the room in a temper. Something about tabloids needing to repress their predictable opinions.
"Bachelor"? What the hell are they implying?" I smirk a little, they ship johnlock, the legendary and first ship on Tumblr.
"Is it a cap? Why has it got two fronts?"
"It's a deerstalker." Uncle John pauses for a second, I hear the sofa creak. "Frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson ..." There is an infuriated rustle of paper.
"You stalk a deer with a hat? " Dad asks. Uncle John completely ignores him however, and instead continues ranting. 
"... confirmed bachelor John Watson'" I hear Uncle John yell.
"Some sort of death frisbee?" There is a moment of silence as the penny finally drops.
"Okay, this is too much. We need to be more careful" I roll my eyes. He probably should have said that before all of this.
"It's got flaps ... ear flaps. It's an ear hat, John." Dad sighs and paces. I can hear his feet on the floor as he treads forwards and back. Back and forth. "What do you mean, "more careful"?" I smile a little.

" I mean this isn't a deerstalker now; it's a Sherlock Holmes hat. I mean that you're not exactly a private detective anymore. You're this far from famous."Dad sighs in an annoyed manner. He must have ruffled his curls. He does that when he's annoyed.

"Oh, it'll pass." Dad says, dismissing Uncle John. It won't though, and he knows this. Everyone knows who Sherlock Holmes is.

"It'd better pass. The press will turn, Sherlock. They always turn, and they'll turn on you." More sighing.

"It really bothers you."
"What?" Uncle John says, annoyed.
"What people say."
"Yes." Obviously."
"About me? I don't understand - why would it upset you?" Because he cares. There is a moment of electric suspense. I'm lie still in bed, wondering what is passing through my dad's mind.He may be a genius but he can oblivious too.

"Just try to keep a low profile." Uncle John responds flippantly, not finding the words to answer the previous question " Find yourself a little case this week. Stay out of the news." and with that Uncle John rustles the paper. Also, it is my cue to enter.

I swing open my bedroom door and yawn in a I've-just-woken-up-not-been-listening-to-anything way.

"Morning all." I say. Uncle John looks up at me and smiles.
"Sleep well, love?" I nod and yawn again. Real this time. I wander over to the couch and put my feet up, listening to Dad spout swears from the kitchen. Uncle John has always been like my dad. I was barely 9 when I met him. So much has changed. Defiantly changed.

"Claudette it's 10:45 what were you doing all night. Texting your boyfriend?" Dad calls in an almost mocking tone.
"No. I don't have one." I say. Dad pops his head round from the kitchen about to say something. "I spend most of my time in here, asleep or on the internet or whatever. I go on cases with you two more than attending school and I don't have any friends other than Amelia down the road; even then that's a push, going on about 'Raggedy Man' or something. And, for the pièce de résistance, I don't think I'm straight so the likely hood of having a boyfriend is very low. I just enjoy sleeping." And with that Dad goes back into the kitchen and Uncle John laughs throatily.

"Do you want some toast?" Uncle John asks after a moment. I nod and Uncle John gets up to go and make it. I take his seat and read the newspaper. The Daily Star. Boffin Sherlock Holmes Solves another. I smile.

"Boffin Sherlock Holmes. Hey Dad. Boffin." I hear Dad sigh. "Uncle John! Have you seen it!"
"I know," he says with a smile "makes him sound like an Einstein."
"I am a graduate chemist, John." Replies Dad "And Einstein was a Theoretical Physicist."
"They're not wrong, though Dad." I pull out my phone. "Boffin; a person engaged in scientific or technical research. Symons are genius, expert."
"I don't know Sherlock. That sounds like you." Uncle John replies with a grin, handing me a plate of blackened toast.

"Thanks." I say, turning to our quiet TV. I lean across and turn up the volume. News reporters babble hysterically as bright words in the standard BBC news font flash.

"In other news this morning, there has been a reported break in several of the most important places in London. This includes, the tower of London, Pentonville Prison." I sit up, now interested. Almost immediatly, Dad's phone begins to vibrate and chime.
"Dad YOUR PHONE." I call, my eyes scanning the screen. I don't dare to turn away from the telle, in case I miss something. "DAD!" I look round for Uncle John, who has disappeared, most likely to the shower. The phone stops vibrating. The din of the TV continues.
"Breaking news: Break in of the century? Where is..." The screen glitches for a moment before blacking out like in cartoons. At that moment the ringing and vibrating of Dad's phone resumes.
" It's your phone." Uncle John says. Dad tuts.
"Mm. Keeps doing that." As if he doesn't care. Which he doesn't.
Uncle John walks into the living room walking past that weird body hanging from the ceiling. He sits down in his chair and picks up a newspaper. He meets my eyes for a moment, Phone? I shrug in response.

"So, did you just talk to him for a really long time?" I look to Uncle John. He's trying to coax him into taking a case. Dad looks up briefly.

"Oh. Henry Fishgard never committed suicide." Dad says, picking up a dusty hardback book. He scans it before slamming it shut. I jump. "Bow Street Runners: missed everything."

"Pressing case, is it?!" Uncle John asks with a hint of sarcasm.

"They're all pressing 'til they're solved." Dad adds.

There is a moment of silence. I turn back to the tv, which has WHERE IS SHERLOCK HOLMES written against a white backing. I am about to point out this rather important head line when dad's phone trills another text alert. Uncle John lowers his newspaper.
" I'll get it, shall I?" Uncle John stands up and picks up the mobile. He knows somethings wrong. He's seen the TV. He knows. Slowly, Uncle John scrolls through Dad's phone, before stopping and setting his mouth in a firm line. Uncle John goes to Dad, hesitating slightly.

" Here." Uncle John puts the phone on the table.
" Not now, I'm busy." Dad replies flippantly, not even looking up.
"Sherlock"
"Not now." Annoyed Uncle John falters, not able to find the right words.
" He's back." Suddenly Dad sits up and snatches the phone off uncle John. Fear flickers on his face for a moment, before he represses it, clearing his throat. He meets Uncle John's now wide eyes.
Moriarty Has Returned.