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“Come on,” you whispered as you attempted to carefully open the casement windows. It was difficult to open from the outside, but not impossible. All you had to do was tug in the right places. The window snapped open. You felt your heart pounding, luckily for you the window had opened surprisingly quietly, so as not to disturbed the people, or person to be more accurate, inside. You grabbed onto the now free bottom of the window, and placed your left foot on a groove in the wall where brick met mortar. Stealthily, you climbed into the flat through. A couple of wood splinters stung your hand. You’d deal with them later.
Your eyes drifted to a figure sitting in a chair facing away from you, reading the evening paper and smoking a pipe. You cursed silently. The man was here. Should you leave? Going back would probably be the sain option, after all you were only a child. You looked back at the window that you had forced open and into the dead of night, then down at the splinters in your hand. You could see a faint trace of blood where the skin met wood. You had worked too hard to get here to leave empty handed. No, you needed this. Consequences be damned, you were getting that cocaine. Besides, the man was facing away from you in a chair, still reading the newspaper as if nothing even happened. If he had noticed you, then surely he would have done something already, but he just sat there motionless.
Perhaps this was your lucky day, or maybe the world’s greatest detective wasn’t as quiet as sharp as people made him out to be. You reached towards the vial on the table. The glass glinting in the light drawing you in, like a fly to the flames of a candle. It was wrong; you knew it was wrong, and yet it could not be helped. Just as your fingers grasped the vial, the newspaper snapped shut. Your eyes widened in panic as the man got up out of the chair. You tried to run, but fear paralyzed you. It felt like your feet were cemented to the floor. The next thing you knew, you were face to face with one of the most revered detectives in all of not only London, but the whole world, Sherlock Holmes.
“You do realize that breaking and entering in a crime, and theft is no better.” You tense up, clenching your jaw, not daring to make eye contact. It was all you could do to prevent yourself from shaking. “I could have you arrested, I’m sure you know that.”
“Yes sir,” you said with the politeness that was drilled into you, still staring at the polished wooden flooring . “I am sorry sir.” This was true. You never wanted to break into the home of Sherlock Holmes to steal such a powerful drug, but you were desperate, and desperation can lead people to do things that they would have never otherwise considered.
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, gazed over you, examining you from your head to your toes. When he spoke his voice was stern but a bit curious. “You are rather young . Why are you here? Why did you break in?”
You bit the inside of your lip, refusing to speak. You didn’t wish to incriminate yourself further.
“Answer me,” The detective said sternly.
You knew that he knew you exactly why you were there. You didn’t want to say the word steal out loud. It made you feel so terrible about yourself. “I-I came to b-b-borrow s-some-“
“I know that,” Sherlock interjected. “I know what you were planning to steal. I can clearly see the vial in your hand. I am asking you why?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I was able to figure out everything else already: how you got here, what you were planning to steal, etcetera.”
“Really?”
“Quite, you came in through the window, I must admit you were impressively quiet. I could barely hear a thing, although barely is still something, for few thieves are truly silent. Also, you failed to account for the breeze that would flow in through the opening. I felt it and immediately knew something was wrong. Since I knew something was amiss I paid even closer attention to the sounds in my home. I heard a few soft footsteps, and knew there was an intruder.”
“That is quite impressive, I suppose you are as great as they say.”
“Thank you, however, you will find that flattery will get you nowhere with me.”
Your hand is wrapped tight around the vial, squeezing it slightly. Sherlock saw this movement and frowned. Sherlock extended his hand with the palm facing upward, gesturing for you to give back what you had stolen. You saw no way out of it, so you gently placed the vial into his warm hands.
Sherlock held the vial up to your eye level. “Do you realize what this is?”
You nodded, “Yes…Sir.”
Sherlock stared at you. His face was cool, expressing no readable emotions for you to us in your reply. You didn’t like that. It was always easier when you knew how adults felt. Then you could change how you behaved in order to please them. Now you would just have to rely on your intuition.
“I must say, you are a puzzle to me. You are mild mannered and polite, and yet are willing to break into my home to obtain this. You don’t have the appearance of an addict. You are far too clean and well kept; I see absolutely no signs of addiction. Have you ever had cocaine before?”
“No sir…”
“Then what on god's green earth possessed you to sneak into my living quarters in order to steal it?”
You were so tense that a small push would likely send you toppling down. You could feed your thoughts racing as you tried to catch your breath. “I-I’m sorry, sir. I was desperate. I tried to get it myself, honest, but I-I just didn’t have the money. I knew through a friend of a cousin of my late uncle's first wife about your uh…. ‘habits’. This was the only place where I knew I could get….get it.”
“Why exactly, do you need it so badly,” said the man, folding his arms crossly.
Tears pricked in your eyes. You tried to stand strong, but it was all too much. “I-I just wanted to be better.”
“What do you mean ‘be better’?” Sherlock’s tone was sharp and cut deeper into what already felt like an open wound.
“I’m doing everything I can. I swear, I’m working as hard as I can. And I am willing to work harder, but my body, god curse it, just will not let me. It is too weak, I am too weak. I thought-I thought Maybe…”
“Maybe you could use the cocaine to increase your performance,” Sherlock finished the thought for you. He gave you a curious look. His shoulder relaxed and the look on his face softened.
“You are very tired, yes?”
You shifted your body weight defensively. “No, I am not. I am perfectly fine, God's honor.”
“It’s a terrible thing to lie in God's honor.”
You were taken aback. “H-how did you know I was lying?”
“Elementary dear child, your eyes betrayed. There are dark circles under them. Your vision is not focused and you are swaying back and forth like a grass leaf in the breeze, possibly from fear, or possibly from exhaustion.“
Sherlock took a few steps forward, you shrunk back again. You felt cornered. The wall was right behind you. There was nowhere to go, except out the window, and even that was too high to get to easily.
“Sh, easy child; It is ok. I am not going to hurt you.” He sounded a bit like he was talking to a stray cat, trying to cox it out of its hiding place. He extended out a hand. You thought about taking it, then hesitated.
“Aren’t you going to call the police?”
“No, no. I do not think that I need to. You don’t strike me as a bad child, just misguided. I believe you have learned your lesson today, and won’t be breaking into other people’s homes any time soon.” You nodded thoroughly. “Very good, now that that matter is settled, I simply wish to talk.
You took Sherlock’s hand, and he led you towards a large cushioned chair. “Please, have a seat.” You did as you were told. The chair, an oaken frame with warm honey-gold cushions, was soft. You didn’t want to let your guard down but you were tired, and the chair was comfortable. Your muscles relaxed ever so slightly.
“Give me your schedule, tell me what you do on the day to day. I am curious about what is causing you such distress.”
“I wake up-“ Sherlock interrupted you.
“What hour exactly do you wake up?”
“I cannot say the exact time, but it is well before sunrise.”
“I see,” Sherlock folded his hands. “Please, continue.”
“Well, I tidy up my room and I read, typically Shakespeare,Dante’s inferno, some science or political paper.”
“Those are all very large texts for such a small child. Surely you’d enjoy reading some fantastical stories more. Alice in wonderland is popular, or perhaps something by Dickens.”
“Oh, I would love to read such whimsical stories, but I’m not allowed to.”
“Really?” Sherlock furrowed his brow.
“Yes sir, my parents only want me to read things they deem useful. Things that can help me to move up in society. Children's novels won’t do that.”
“Fascination, do go on.”
“After I finish reading it is time to get dressed. I help the maid with breakfast before school. After school I meet with a private tutor for one hour, then there is half an hour of fencing practice, or ballroom, depending on the day, music practice, then I spend about an hour learning French and Latin. After that it is my evening chores, and when the sun sets I typically work 3-4 hours at a printing press in order to earn a little money for myself to fund my future education.”
Sherlock’s eyes widened. “That is …..quite an impressive list for a youth. You must have a lot of motivation.” You beaming with pride at the compliment. Compliments made the misery feel better, at least for a little bit. “Tell me when do you typically get to bed?”
“11:00 in the morning, sometimes 12:00.”
Sherlock’s eyes opened even wider, for a moment he just stared at you in shock.
“Good heavens child, are you aware that you are only getting 6 hours of sleep a night!?”
“Yes.”
Sherlock laughed a little. “I am no medical expert, but I think even my good friend Watson, who is a doctor mind you, would agree that no human has been able to function properly on only 6 hours of sleep a day. No wonder you needed this.” Sherlock held up the vial.
Your face lit up a little. “You see my point. Does this mean that you will let me have it?”
“NO!” You were taken aback by the harshness of his response. Your shoulders arched up and you let out an involuntary whimper. God damn it, are you an animal or what? Proper children don’t whimper. Just be quiet and good damn it. you scolded yourself for breaking etiquette. Why can’t you be a good child? You’re pathetic.
Sherlock’s face softened once more. “I am sorry for my sternness child, I did not mean to frighten you, so please don’t cry. It is clear to me that you do much, but tell me one thing. Is it all of your own wish, or perhaps, is there some outside force influencing you?”
You breathe in, debating for a second on whether or not to trust this man. You decided to tell him the truth, just a very carefully worded version of the truth. “I suppose…you could say my parents might push me a little .” You paused between each breath, thinking cautiously about the next thing to say.
“Interesting,” Sherlock had now pulled up a chair of his own and was sitting forward in it, crossing his legs.
“And how would you describe the relationship between you and your parents?”
Your eyes flitted across the room nervously. “They love me…..in their own way a-and they have never hit me…hard, they provide me a house and food…..”
“You are not telling me the full truth.”
Tears started to form once more in your eyes. This time you were unable to hold them back. “I feel a-a bit as though I am a trophy to them. They show off my accomplishments to friends and relatives, they call me their “perfect little child”, but when no one is around they are far less kind.”
“Would you please elaborate on that.”
“If it’s a good day they will praise me. Typically though, they will simply ignore me.”
“And if it is a bad day?”
“It really does not matter; I’ve seen other families. I do not have it the worst.”
Sherlock looked at you with a hint of disapproval in his eyes. “It is currently none of my concern what goes on in other families. Now, tell me what your parents do to you if it is a bad day, and explain to me just what you mean by your parent’s have never hit you hard. Have they or have they not hit you?”
“If I make even the slightest mistake in anything, they will scream at me. They tell me to know my place, that I’m worthless, that I’m stupid. They call me a selfish brat. T-they have threatened to kick me out onto the street! And Yes, they have hit me-” You quickly shut your mouth. You should not have said that. Why did you say that? Your parents will be furious.
Sherlock pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to you. You took it gratefully, using it to dry your wet face.
“Do you think that they might ever make good on their threats?”
“I would not know, I have never “tested the water”, so to speak.”
“Hmm, I see.” Sherlock looked like he was lost in thought. “Tell me child, why do they push you so hard?”
“I am their 'everything’ child. At least that was how my parents described it.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
“No sir.”
“Ah,” Sherlock spoke as if this cleared many things up. “So they funneled all their hopes and dreams into you I suppose. Yes, I’m afraid I’ve seen this before, though never to such an extent. Tell me, they are not aware of your being here, are they?”
“No, but they do not care. As long as I am back in time to do all my morning duties, they are satisfied. Speaking of which, I had better go.”
You got up to leave but Sherlock blocked your path. “Not so quick. London can be a very dangerous city, believe me as a detective I should know. It is no place for a child to go wandering alone, especially at night.”
You folded your arms crossly, a breach of etiquette but you were frustrated. You felt a twinge of guilt for behaving so rudely, but you didn’t like being treated like a child, even though it was technically true. In your opinion you stopped being a child at 11, at least that was when every adult in your life started treating you like you were grown. “Well, what do you propose I do?”
“Stay for a little, rest.”
You fidgeted. You were not used to staying still for long periods of time. There was always work to be done. “Huh?”
“A restless soul eh, I am too,” Sherlock laughed. “It’s the reason I even have this poison. Help’s the time fly on a dull day. Hold on, I think I have something that might help you.”
Sherlock got up leaving you. He came back in a few minutes with a cup of tea. “This might help calm your nerves.” As he handed you it, you felt his gaze linger on your hand.
“Thank you,” you said as you gingerly took the cup. You took a sip of the steaming yellow liquid. You felt yourself grow a little calmer but after years of pushing yourself to the very limit, the effects were menial.
“How are you feeling?”
“I am doing as well ……or as poor as ever before. Perhaps a bit of morphine would calm my spirit…” You were joking, but only partially.
“NO. Absolutely not. I wouldn’t trust you with a drop of the weakest wine I have. You are not of the age, nor the mind to handle anything of the sort.”
You shrunk back into the chair once again from the sudden outburst, and Sherlock’s face softened once more. “My apologies again child. You are young. I will not give you something that can harm you.” You nodded. Even if you didn’t like it, it was reasonable. Sherlock looked at his watch and frowned. The face of it read 1:45 am, “It is very late, child.”
“But-“
“There is a spare bed in a room not far from here where you may sleep until morning.”
“But my parents-“
“I will explain to them the situation, do not worry I’ll leave out the…unpleasant details. I promise you that you will be safe.”
It felt strange to lie in a stranger’s bed in your street clothes. The bed was far too big for you, but you didn’t care, you loved the space. It was soft and warm, and you were very tired, yet sleep still eluded you. Your eyes looked up towards the ceiling and the dancing shadows on it.
The door creaked open, and Sherlock came into the room. “Still having difficulty sleeping I see.” There was something in his hand, something you couldn’t quite make out in the dark.
You sighed, nodding.
Sherlock smiled sympathetically, sitting down on the bed next where you were laying. He reached out and stroked your hair. The touch felt …good, but for some reason it still made you flinch.
“Forgive me child, I should have asked prior to touching you.”
“It’s-it’s quite alright, Sir. I-I don’t mind.”
“There is no need to be so formal, child. You may call me Sherlock, and what may I call you?”
“[reader], Sherlock….sir.” You were beginning to let your guard down, but the manners that were drilled into you since birth weren’t going to go away completely for a long time. This seemingly amused Sherlock, as he chuckled a bit while stroking your hair more.
“Can you show me your hand please?” Sherlock asked softly.
“O-ok.” You were a bit confused about this request.
Sherlock opened a small kit and pulled out some tweezers. Gently, he removed the splinters from your hand.
“This will sting just a bit child,” said Sherlock, pouring some strong smelling liquid onto a cloth. True to his words, when the cloth touched your hand it produced a sharp pain, but that pain thankfully subsided quickly. “It doesn’t look too serious,” Sherlock looked over your hand, “I don’t think we need to bandage it.”
Sherlock caressed the inside of your palm with his thumb, leaving behind faint streaks of red as his thumb picked up the drops of blood still on your hand.”
“Take better care of yourself, dear.” You felt something when Sherlock called you dear. Something warm in your stomach. Your parents had never been especially affectionate towards you. They used your name, or child, and nothing else.
“Ok Mr. Sherlock.” You had mixed up the formalities, but right now you were too tired to care. Besides, Sherlock didn’t seem to really mind.
“Are you tired?”
You nodded, yawning. “But I can’t sleep.”
Sherlock sighed. “Your mind and body are too high-strung, sleep may evade you for a while longer I’m afraid, until the adrenaline from our encounter dies down. In the meantime tell me [reader], do you like stories?”
You nodded your head reluctantly, you enjoyed stories, when you had the time for them.
“Then perhaps you will allow me to entertain you with my latest case, I’m sure you’ll find it quite amusing.”
You fell asleep just as Sherlock finished telling you the last of his tale.