Evangeline Jadelyn Holmes

27th of January: Deductions in Science

So me and Madeline (@WhovianViola) wrote this together, OUR MAGNIFICENT WRITING SKILLS ARE BEYOND IMAGINABLE! But she also posted it on tumblr, so here's the first chapter

Chapter 1:

When I was two years old I was on a seven year old speaking level. I knew more vocabulary then most children my age and I was interested in almost everything. By the time I was four, I could just manage to write a one paragraph assignment on 'My family' while others were still learning how to hold a pencil. By the time I was seven I had read the whole Harry Potter series. And now at the age of fourteen, I can deduce almost anything about anyone almost as good as my father.

You might say I was a prodigy. Or maybe a freak.

But I don't care. Which is funny. If most children were that smart they would probably be pompous brats who cared nothing about anything unless it was their education, which I don't.

If most children were as smart as me, they'd be able to keep themselves occupied with something. But not me.

I seem to have inherited that from my father, Sherlock Holmes. He's always getting bored and he's only got two choices to stop the boredom.

My father is a consulting detective. He invented the job, it means whenever the police are out of their depth (which is always) they consult him. Whenever he's on a case, the boredom is conquered, I guess you could say. Until the case ends, but most of the time there's another one waiting and the other choice is no longer an option.

I've always hated the other choice. If there isn't a case my father will resort to using drugs, which mostly means nicotine patches. When he rarely uses them, it should be safe, it should be okay and I shouldn't be worried. Lots of people use nicotine patches all the time, and nothing goes wrong with them.

But I do worry. I guess I only worry because I've seen what happens when my dad uses more patches then he should.

I've lived with my dad all my life, ever since my mother died in labour. My father didn't even know she was pregnant, which was partly her fault since she didn't tell him after her fling. So my father raised me all by himself ever since I was a week old. So when I was five years old and I found him in his bed, unconscious and wearing seven nicotine patches I was horrified what could happen to the little family I had. That day seared it's self in my mind and I never forget what could happen if he used more then he should.

He tells me not to worry, and to forget it.

So I try. And for the most part, I do.

The Holmes family is on of the richest and most important in the country. At least that's what my uncle Mycroft insists it is. Mycroft is my dad's only sibling is very well to do with the government. He has a wife Victoria and two children, Arthur (who is seventeen) and Mary (who is eight). Mycroft spoils them with the best schooling and all the proper educate they could possibly need. They seem snobbish to say the least but Mary is much nicer than her stand off brother and adores me.

I guess you could say I have a certain fondness for her as well.

I've inherited almost everything of my father, the dark curly hair, the grey eyes, the cheekbones, the tall figure. You can tell right away that I'm his daughter.

I don't mind. I like the way I look. Although I may only have two cousins, I have tens and tens of second and third cousins who vary from two years old to their early twenties, and the all care about how they look. They all are very well to do, and all the girls wear the latest designer clothes and the boys all wear the coolest hip clothing (or so they think, they all look like clots)

Me? I have a very distinctive look. I wear bright red converse shoes, black skinny jeans, t-shirts of all sorts (mostly purple, my favourite colour, but sometimes one to do with doctor who) and the coolest blue coat with dozens of pockets.

My dad is smarter than me (and I don't mean intellectually, though he is). He wears a suit all the time, but sometimes when he's feeling really adventurous he wears a purple button up shirt. His coat is cool (but not as cool as mine) and is really long and swishy.

I never wanted to start a blog or anything like that. I don't mind writing. It's alright. My teachers all say that I'm wonderful at it and that I should become an author, which is okay, but I really want to be a photographer/artist. When I was three I would scribble pictures all the time and say they were dead people (my dad had to take me to his cases occasionally) or aeroplanes or whatever I fancied.

But when I was four there was a case that I went to which involved an art museum. I had never been to one before and was entranced by all the paintings and beautiful photographs. I especially l like Vincent Van Gough's works of art. After that I worked harder on my drawings and got very skilled. So the next Christmas, my father gave me a camera. Not a little one that most people use for videos and picture on their holidays. This was a proper camera for taking pictures. Ever since than my passions include painting, drawing, or taking pictures.

And of course running around London with my father.

But now that's been rudely interrupted because Sherlock wants me to write a blog about my experiences, especially now that there's been all this talk about the three suicides.

But mostly because I poured milk over another girl at school.

She started it.

So this is the first entry of Evangeline Jadelyn Holmes's blog.

Hello