Wonder boy (A Sherlock love story)

The task

~~~In California~~~

Life seemed to be going smoothly. For Jacqueline and Brenda, the schedule Jacqueline had thought out was perfect. Every single day, there was ritual. Routine. It was like clockwork. Jacqueline had been living with her sister for six and a half months and everything was perfect. At work, there were less than a handful of general staff members that she couldn't stand, and everyone else- even her new students- were welcoming enough. Brenda still had her job, and their lunches, as she had projected, were almost simultaneous everyday.

One day, a Tuesday, in particular, she was teaching her first class of the day when she was summoned out of her lecture room. This was something new. She excused herself, after telling her students to presume onto page 394 in their books, and made her way down the corridor which led to the dean's office, since her room stood in the same wing. She wondered if she had done something wrong. Had she missed something in the guide book? Was she parked in the wrong spot again? How many of her students were already failing? She was anxious, to say the least, as she entered the office and approached the dean's desk. He was standing at the window, hands behind his back, fingers limp. He had something important to say.

"Do you know why you're in here today, Ms. Flourence?" He inquired, unflinching.

"No. I don't, sir... Am I in trouble? Have I disobeyed a campus rule, or-"

"Okay, Ms. Flourence. I know you have many questions. I, probably as many. You have been called here," He turned to her slowly, unhooking his arms to grab something out of his coat pocket. An envelope. "To see to an operation." He handed it to her. She stared at him expectantly, as if to ask permission to open it. He nodded and continued, his expression blank. "Overseas." She gasped and read the letter inside with haste. "It seems there is a murder case over in the U.K... And they need your help."

"My help? Why do they need my help? That's not even in my division!" Jacqueline protested, trying to make sense of it in her head.

"Well, I gave you the letter, didn't I? I'd like you to use your reading skills." The dean answered matter-of-factly. Jacqueline took his advice and read the letter carefully. In the letter, was described a murder case which had been supposedly solved and put to rest about six months ago. The detective put in charge of solving the case was an expert, leaving no clue untouched, however, with another seemingly connected case on its rise, new evidence about the first was uncovered, throwing the retired case back into full-blown investigation. Scotland Yard was now in need of a fresh perspective. The eyes of someone on the same level as the original detective, himself, as they would be working together to wrap up both cases, and send the right killer away. They were in need of someone who could understand the criminal's mind and help put their experts on the right track. A psychologist. Apparently, they'd searched far and wide, but there was no other detective in their entire country fit for the job, so they turned their scopes to the U.S. and quickly found a candidate. Jacqueline Flourence.

She hardly felt herself worthy of such a responsibility. She couldn't figure out whether to be flustered, or outraged, or flattered. Perhaps all. She opened her mouth to ask as many questions as her mind could ask, and every single one tumbled out at the same time, leaving her a stuttering mess. The dean put his right hand up to her, swaying her to stop trying.

"Gather your things, Ms. Flourence. They'll be here to oversee your leave." With that, he sat and turned his chair so that the back of it was to you. "And hurry back. It will be hard to keep your students on track with a substitute that's only half as good as yourself."

"Uh, yes s-sir." She stood, grasping the envelope as if it would disappear if she didn't. As she left the room and headed back to the room, she read the letter over again. They wanted her. And it was all some detective's fault, who couldn't see a piece of evidence that was probably right in front of him. She couldn't wait to see this guy, so she could let him know exactly how stupid he was. At the end of the letter, she read her name over and over again, as if it would change into someone else's.

"We, at Scotland Yard, would like to enlist in the help of your brilliant Ms. Jacqueline Florence in the attempt to solve the murder case of 'The women of no relation' with our best detective, SH."

Signed a certain M.H.

Mycroft Holmes

~~~In London~~~

"Hello, dear brother." Said Mycroft as he pushed past Sherlock, making his way into his flat. "Love what you've not done with the place." He said in a dull tone. He picked up pieces of old papers and pages of half-read books.

"Mycroft." Came a menacing growl from Sherlock. Just as Mycroft was about to glide his fingers over the bridge of Sherlock's beloved violin, Sherlock dashed to his desk and picked it up. He turned to Mycroft and glared. John sat in his chair with his newspaper and watched the pair in suspense. "Do not touch my things."

"You should tidy up, you know. With the case about to re-open." Sherlock and John looked at Mycroft as if he was speaking in tongues.

"Why would he do that?" John inquired.

"Yes, why?" Sherlock asked after him, boredly. Mycroft sighed and cleared his throat.

"Am I speaking in tongues? You need to clean this place. It's in absolute dismay. Besides," He began, sitting in Sherlock's desk chair."You'll have a bit of company soon. May as well prepare for that."

"What company?" Sherlock inquired impatiently.

"The case, I said." Mycroft looked at Sherlock with fire in his eyes. "You didn't think you'd be doing it for the second time alone, did you?" He smirked.