Young Sherlock

Chapter One

It was December third when the young guest first arrived at my door, it has been snowing for the past 3 days and it has just stopped, but the air outside was still cold. The christmas tree stood majestically in the corner of the sitting room, decorated in colourful decorations and a small angel stood on the top. The mantle place has small christmas lights hanging off it, and 3 stockings pinned on, Sherlocks skull still remained there, Mary had decided to buy a santa hat and put it on the skull. Sherlocks violin is also around here still..somewhere, under his bed I think, in his bedroom, I haven't taken anything out of it, it didn't seem right to. Mary is always asking me why I don't get rid of all his shit, I don't know really, its like I'm just waiting for him to come back, walk through the doors with his long black coat with the collar turned up, waiting for him to lay on the couch with his hands clasped tightly together and his fingetips touching his lips, going to his 'mind palace', waiting for him to sit on the couch with the gun, shooting the moronic smiley face while shouting 'bored' at me. I'm just waiting for him to come home. Me and Mary were just sitting down to a warm meal and a glass of whiskey when the doorbell rang, I padded downstairs and opened the front door to be greeted by a young lanky girl. Black, curly, long hair, large shining green/blue eyes, she was wearing a long black coat, underneath a short red dress and a pair of small black heels, she couldn't have been much older than 15.

'Hello?'

'Hello, Mr Watson.' She replied, without an expression on her face

'Um..Can I help you with something?'

'I was wondering if you could let me in first'

'Oh, sure yeah, come on in' I open the door more and she walks in, before I even tell her which door it is, she walks up the stairs straight to my door and enters.

She has already made herself at home, taken off her coat and sat down in Sherlocks favourite chair. I can see my wife stood in the kitchen deciding whether she should throw the young girl out or keep quiet, keeping quiet would be the better option. She is sat observing the room, her hands pressed together and her fingertips lightly touching her lips. Familiar. 

'Can I get you anything, love?' My wife Mary interjects

'A cup of tea would be great' 

Mary shuffles back into the kitchen and after a minute I hear the sound of the kettle boiling. 

'So, is there a particular reason you are here or are you just cold?'

'I was just cold'  Knew it!  'And I need some help'

OH 

'Yes? What with?'

'My father' She turns her gaze and looks me right in the eyes, her cold, empty eyes, something about them is familiar.

'What is it you need help with?'

'Finding him, mainly' She turns away and looks at the mantleplace 'Is that a human skull?'

'Oh yes, it belonged to a friend of mine'

'It has a christmas hat on it..' She doesn't sound very humoured.

'Oh well yes, Mary put it on'

Just as I say her name she comes bounding in, with a tray holding a tea pot, a sugar pot, 3 teacups and 3 spoons. She puts the tray on the table and begins pouring the tea into the teacups.

'How do you take it, dear?' Mary asks while spooning 3 sugars into her own cup and 2 into mine

'Black, 2 sugars' Her gaze was still fixed on the skull

'Like Sherlock took his' I chuckle, smiling fondling at my wife, who smiles sympathetically back

'Who?' Her attention immediatly changes, she sits upright and her eyes become bigger, more interiged

'Sherlock, my husbands late friend'

'Oh, I thought it would be something more interesting'

'I assure you Mr Holmes was a very interesting man!'

'Holmes?..' She froze, looking into the palms of her hands, her forhead creased

'Yes, Sherlock Holmes, anyway no need to ponder on the past, down to buisness, your looking for your father? Why did you come to me for help when I'm a doctor?'

'I spoke to a couple of people who told me that my father was quite close to you, and then you two lived together, and that you was one of the few people he cared about, judging by your posture change you know who I am on about, where is he?'

'Sherlock..can't..I mean, he's been dead for fifteen years, and no way would he of gotten someone pregnant and not told me about it, I think you may have the wrong person sweetie' I try put it as careful as I can, just incase he really is her dad, but who on earth is her mother then, Sherlock was not exactly a womaniser as such.