The Science of Deduction

The woman had blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes, They sparkled like reflecting pools. She picked up the music box and winded it up, the soft music began to play as the curly, black haired and blue eyed boy looked up at his mother. "Mommy, will you tell me a story?" He asked, the tune that played was so familiar. It would lull him to sleep before he even knew what hit him. "Not tonight, love." She whispered, kissing his head.

"Why not?" He pouted, his eyes closing as her lips met his forehead. "It's late.. You're going to need your sleep.." She said quietly, The boy nodded before nuzzling into his pillow.

Tears began falling down his mother's face, "You're going to grow up to be something great, Sherlock.." She whispered, "I don't know what yet, but something and someone extraordinary." She stroked his hair. "I love you." She said, her voice was choked up. "I love you so much.." The music box continued to play the tune as the boy's breathing slowed, he was asleep. The woman whimpered lightly and kissed his head again, this time with shaky hands she cupped his face. She lingered there for what felt, to her, like an eternity. "I love you, Sherlock... You're going to be amazing... I love you.." She choked. She got up, the blonde hair was falling onto her face. She winded up the music box once more, she listened to the clock strike midnight.. She knew it was time. She walked toward her older son's room. Sherlock's eyes opened, he saw his mommy go into Mycroft's room. He never liked that Mycroft, he hated him actually.

He listened to his mother scream, she sounded afraid. It paralyzed him, he couldn't move. There was a fire, a raging fire. Mycroft raced out of his room, and for a minute... His eyes looked black. Completely black..

"Sherlock we have to go!" He yelled, grabbing the small boy's chubby hand. As Sherlock was dragged out of the room, he made a grab for his music box. He clutched it tightly to his chest, the last thing he'd have to remind him of his mother. They made it outside the house, there was an explosion.. And that was the end of the memory.

He was six at the time, now it was almost twenty years later. He stared at the music box, his eyes were the same blue his mother's were. He was thinking. Lost in his thoughts, the same ones continued to reappear, the questions he'd asked himself for the past nineteen years were asked again. Why didn't he move? Why was she killed? How was she killed? What did Mycroft know? Were his eyes black or was it just Sherlock's six-year-old imagination? He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Sherlock? What've you done with..." John stopped in his tracks, He knew he'd interrupted his thoughts. "You're thinking of her murder again, aren't you?" He asked, sitting next to him. "It doesn't make any sense, John.. Was it suicide? What happened that night, I need to know!" He was obviously angered by it.

"What else do you need to know?" The voice asked, "She's told you, she loved you... Told you that you'd be extraordinary... There's not much else to know." Sherlock turned to face the strange voice. There stood a man, he didn't seem to be from around here. He was tall, his hair was gelled up, he wore a long trench coat, His eyes seemed old, his face looked young. "Who the hell are you, and who the hell did you know that?" He asked, pointing a gun at the man. "Oh, no need for guns, Sherlock. I'm here to help you." He said, putting his hands up to surrender. "I'm the Doctor." He said, looking at him. "And I want to help you solve your mother's murder."