The Angel And The Devil

15

"Get down those stairs you little brat. You horrible little pig. Stupid freak 2.0. If you weren't a kid I'd. " And I got pushed into Greg.
"What's happening."
"She hit me!" Cries Donovan like a five year old.
"Just get down there. Sherlock and John are playing truentsI'll take Claudette from here." Lestrade puts his hand on my shoulder.  Donovan storms off.
"What did you do?" He asks. Legally he's my godfather so he loves me more than Uncle John or Sherlock.
"I didn't do anything! She.'" I say gesturing to the horrid woman. "Said things." I spit.
"God...I forget your Sherlock's daughter.  You need to ignore her ok. "
"It's just because Anderson broke up with her." I say.
"Oi stop. Go up to Mrs Hudson. I don't want to deal with The Holmes' again." He says closing his eyes.
"Thanks." I say and give him an awkward hug.

I gallop upstairs, taking them 3 at a time and then walk up the last 2.
"Mrs H." I say rapping on the door. "It's me." I push it open.
"Claudette do you want some cake. Are you ok?"
"yeth." I say, spraying crumbs all over the table and Mrs Hudson.
"I'm sure Sherlock will be back soon- although mind you he's probably doing something with thumbs. Thumbs! All over the table. I've told your father again and again..." Mrs Hudson continues. I smile and nod in response.
"You know what Claudette- you mean the world to your father. Before you came he was talking to that horrid skull and smoking God knows what then something happened. He just decided that he wanted a child. He doesn't really feel love. Not towards women anyway, you know what I mean. He just created you. He'd spend an age at that hospital saying it was important. The flat, as I was cleaning it, I found odd things. Baby things. That first night he brought you home. I could see your dad in you, or I wouldn't have believed you was his. Your hair black and curly and startling blue eyes. All cheekbones- no fat. He didn't know what to do with you. You kept crying and crying so he put you in the corner of the flat and went to bed. But know, he has John, poor man, and your a family." She concludes.
I slept in the corner. On my first night I slept in the corner. I have vague memories deep in my dysfunctional mind palace. Days of babyhood.
I can remember going to the park and Dad pushing my pram.
"Look at the birds, baby." I named myself, when I was 6. Up until then I was thing or her or it. "They sing their songs. It's normal. Like me solving crime." Then he bent in front of my buggy, his eyes glaring into mine. As if he believed I could understand every word, which I could. "You are going to grow up in an odd world. One of death and danger. But I will protect you. I promise." And that was and still is the most sentimental thing he has ever said to me.
At first I called him Sherlock. He wasn't really my Dad, I knew that. By the time I was called Claudette I knew the chemicals produced and how babies are made. And I knew dad didn't do that. Then as I grew older, knowing only the 4 walls of 221b and a little more I realised that he was my Dad. Chemically and through DNA. When I first called him Dad the look on his face was of horror but soon it was excepted.

I was and still am smarter in a lot of ways than thoses whom are my age- even though I don't go to school. At 8 I could explain quantum Physics. (You can't quite rule out an impossible. It's to do with electrons and subatomic particles on wavelength and emitting EM Radiation.)
"Claudette. Claudette?"
"Yes?" I ask.
"Goodness.  That mind palace."
"Actually I call it a Mind Hole." I stand up and chuck the China in the sink. It crashes.
"Be careful! "
"I need to go to see my Uncle."
"Which one?"
"Both. Thanks for the tea." I say and slam the door behind me.