Queen of the Mind Palace // Sherlolly ✔️

Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes hated pollen.  He wasn't allergic, no.  But it was pollen that had caused his seemingly easy case, one that should have been a three or a four, to become a painstakingly time consuming seven.  So, as he walked stone streets still wet with the morning's rain shower, all that was on his mind was the cursedly unidentifiable pollen that was found in a freshly dead man's mouth.  He had ran it through all of the scans, searched every crook and nanny of his mind palace, and still, no trace. 

He almost didn't even notice when a young boy, hardly six, ran up to Sherlock and latched onto his leg.

"Daddy!" The child sobbed into his pants, balling the fabric in his hands and tugging on it violently.  Sherlock froze, looking around for a parent. 

"Uh.  Hello there."

"Daddy!  Daddy!  Daddy!"  Screeched the little boy, a few people turned to observe the scene but most hurried on by.  Screaming, whining children were hardly an unusual sight in London's bustling streets. 

"Gael!" Came a relieving yell from the sea of people.  Sherlock looked up in time to see a young girl, fourteen or fifteen by the looks of it, shoving through the crowd.  Relief flashed through her face upon seeing the small boy latched onto Sherlock's leg.

"There you are," she sighed.  Sherlock watched the girl as she knelt down by the boy, slowly beginning to gently strip the boy from Sherlock's pants.  Siblings most likely, though they couldn't look any different.  The boy's hair was russet-brown and was a curly, tangled mess.  They both had soft facial features, but the similarities stopped there.  The boy's face was pale, almost ghostly, and the girl's hair was short, a bit unkempt and barely brushing past her shoulders.  It was a light brown and fine.  Light freckles dusted her face and her eyes...

Sherlock tilted his head as the girl worked.  Something was familiar about her eyes.  They were blue, though not like his.  A dark blue, struck with green that rimmed the pupil and shot up in thin spikes.  When the girl had pried off the boy, whose face was red and whose cheeks were streaked with trails of dried tears, Sherlock noticed her right eye held a distinct brown slash.

She looked up, her eyebrows knit together in worry, "I'm terribly sorry sir.  Gael, uh, is a bit of a runner."  Sherlock didn't answer, his mind whirring.  Those eyes.  Where did he know those eyes.  The girl looked at him.

"Uh.  Sir?"  She asked.  Sherlock blinked.

"Ah, yes.  Apologies.  Uh- excuse me.  Your parents are here I presume?"  Sherlock asked, still staring into her eyes.  The girl shifted uncomfortably under his intense glare.  Her eyes flicked behind her shoulder.

"Yes sir," she responded quietly.  The boy tugged at her sleeve.  Sherlock shifted his gaze to him.  Smudge of dirt under his left eye, cheeks hollow though not as hollow as those of the girls.  His shirt fit him, though the pants went just up to his ankle.  Shoes were muddy and worn, big but had been too used not to fit comfortably.  The girl, on the other hand, wore a baggy, larger shirt.  The corner of the shirt was slightly damp, as if it had been repeatedly licked.  Sherlock's gaze flicked to the boy.  Yes, she used it to rub smudges of dirt off from the boy.

The shirt the girl wore was hardly new, old and comfortable, like the boys shoes.  She wore it often, obviously.  Fraying at the collar yet someone still was taking good care of it.  Sentimental?  No.  Something was off.  Sherlock was missing something.  Those eyes.  Where.  Where had he seen those eyes?

The awkward silence soon became too much for the girl, "uh.  I guess we'll be going then.  Sir.  Sorry for your troubles-"

"Going?"  Sherlock was snapped out of his thoughts, "ah yes.  Of course.  Apologies... again.  Pardon, what is your name?"