“Can you remind me again why we’re here?” Sherlock asked John, irritated. “Er, to investigate a murder. Initially.” John answered, a bit hesitating. “Right, so now what is Lestrade doing?” Sherlock pointed at Lestrade, who’s walking across the lawns to ‘fetch the fella and let you have a little chat’.
And soon Lestrade had the boy here, a hand on his shoulder. John inhaled, hung a smile on his face, and bent a little to look at the boy in the eyes, though the boy was looking away and at something distant.
“Hello, uh, my name is John. John Watson,” John held his hand to shake the boy’s. The boy didn’t do anything. Not even looking at him. John glanced at Lestrade, mouthed, “His name?” Lestrade coughed a bit, and shook the boy lightly. “Wayne? These, um, men, are about to look after you for some time.” The boy, Wayne, didn’t answer, but glanced at the two. He stared at Sherlock.
Sherlock made a quick deduction. Pale, white hair, born with it. But neither parents have white hair. Affair? Possible. Albinism? Also possible. Pale green eyes. It is albinism. Green of the eyes are inherited from mother. Lean structure, almost bony. But no bruises could be observed, so not a likely domestic abuse. He didn’t seem to be starving, either. Not eating by choice. Bags and circles have formed under his hollow eyes, making him a bit creepy. Baggy clothes, with mud smeared---
“What information have you gathered from me?” a croaked voice said. Sherlock snapped his eyes to Wayne’s face. John stared. Is this supposed to be a child? Suddenly John remembered the question. “Oh right, Wayne, nearly forgot to ask you. How old are you?” Wayne stared at Lestrade. “You know that, from your papers.” He strode off, walking along the kerb, picking at some morning glories sticking out from the flower wall of his home's garden.
John and Sherlock stared at Wayne. “So, how old is he?” John asked Lestrade. “Uh… 12. Twelve and three months now, precisely,” Lestrade answered, flipping through a stack of paper from a paper clipboard. John turned to Sherlock. “So? What d’you think?”
Sherlock stared at Wayne, wandering along the skirts of his house casually, though still keeping his emotionless face. “I don’t know, we’ve got Rosie anyways,” Sherlock said absently, still staring at Wayne.
“Oh, Rosie! I forgot it’s nearly her time to wake up from her nap!” John jolted his head as if he just woke up. “Let’s go, Sherlock!” “We’ve got Mrs Hudson,” Sherlock moaned indifferently. He didn’t mind helping the Watsons taking care of Rosie here, but after Mary died, taking care of her was meaning tons of problems. Feeding her, burping her, changing her diapers… not to mention soothing her wailing in the middle of the night. And now, he thought bitterly, glancing at John out of the corner of his eye, she’s also taking all his attention.
“So, um, how about I go back home first, and you come after your deductions?” John asked, turning to flag a cab. All he’s thinking about now is his daughter.
“You aren’t going to stay with Sherlock? Or go home with him? He’s right: there’s still Mrs Hudson,” a familiar voice said. A voice that John knew too well. A voice only he could hear.
Words: 591
A/N: It's my first time writing anything. Any criticism is welcomed. Also, I know I'm writing too little. I'll try to write more and more within each chapter. Thank you for reading!
YOU ARE READING
Adopted to be a Holmes
Fanfic"A couple have been murdered. now, i need you two to come and investigate." Sherlock and John arrived at the crime scene, and on the swing in the garden, sat a boy wrapped in a shock blanket. He, Wayne Ballard, is the son of the murdered couple. "So...
