Sherlock and Son

Mary is dead and there is nothing John can do about it. He's got to move on, he's got Charlotte, his daughter, to think about. Life was alright, calm, maybe even peaceful. Until one day something turns up that will change life as him and Sherlock know it.


5. Chapter 5

Sherlock’s stomach was rumbling loudly, he hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast this morning. When they had left the crime scene this morning, which wasn’t overly pleasing, Mycroft had agreed to take him out for breakfast.
“What would you like for breakfast?” Mycroft asked as they climbed into the taxi.
“I’ll have something back at Baker Street,” Sherlock replied.
“Oh no, Sherlock, you need to have something to eat.”
“I’m not a child Mycroft, stop mothering me.” He snapped.
“If I don’t, who will?” Mycroft frowned.
“We already have a Mother, who insists on mothering me despite being a fully grown man,”
“But Mother isn’t here right now, is she? Please just breakfast and then you can run back home to John,”
“I won’t be running anywhere and certainly not to John. I might trip and fall and injure myself. Then where would I be? In a hospital bed, and then Mother would insist on coming down and mothering me.”
“I always buy you breakfast, call it tradition.”
“Tradition is routine and routine kills,” he warned.
“I don’t care Sherlock; I’m taking you to breakfast,”
And that was that, Sherlock knew he wasn’t going to win, Mycroft always was so persuasive. He had taken him to a fancy restaurant that had just introduced a new breakfast menu. The staff welcomed Mycroft generously. They took them into the VIP area and the owner came and checked up on them every ten minutes to check they were alright.
Once they had finished Mycroft was collected by his driver, he offered Sherlock money for a taxi to get home but he politely refused. He didn’t need to take money from someone like Mycroft. Now Sherlock was back at home and he was bored as anything. There was nothing to do, since John had to look after Charlotte it meant he hardly had anytime to help him solve cases, not that he was much help in solving anything but he certainly was helpful when it came to organising the evidence and their clients. Sherlock couldn’t deal with people by himself. He needed John’s help; he was good at that kind of thing. Sherlock was not.
“This is my favourite necklace; my Mother gave it to me before she died.” The woman said. She had come and seen the famous Sherlock Holmes with a problem. She had been worried about the necklace for a while, she had told her friends about it and they had recommended Mr Holmes, they said how great he was and she wanted to see for herself.
“I don’t really understand what you’re saying,” Sherlock sighed. He was lying down on the sofa with his legs in the air making a cycling notion. He needed the exercise but he was too scared to go to a gym and too lazy to go out on a bike ride.
“I’m spelling it out to you. I think my necklace is haunted!” she exclaimed.
“Agh,” Sherlock cried sitting up straight. He swung his legs back around so he was sitting in the chair normally. “How is it you think the necklace is haunted?” he asked.
“Well,” she began. “When I wear it I can feel a tingling sensation in my neck. My arms and legs don’t work properly. I get chills and sometimes I can hear moans. I get confused and dizzy, I can’t coordinate.”
“God, you’re so boring! Why can’t you come with a better problem, like a murder? God I love murders,”
“What are you talking about? Why do you think I feel like this?” she asked.
“God, it’s so simple. Cervical spondylosis,” he sighed.
“What’s cervical spondiesis?” she asked.
“Ah, cervical spondylosis, don’t you have ears?” he sighed. “It’s a medical condition-”
“A medical condition,” she interrupted. “You’re not a Doctor.”
“And neither are you from the sounds of it. You have cervical spondylosis, the feeling in your neck, the pins and needles in your arms and legs, the un-coordination. It’s not the necklace you idiot. It’s you. You’re getting old!” he sneered.
“I am not!” she exclaimed.
“Well let’s face it; you’re not getting any younger. It’s a wear and tear issue. Go to your Doctor, I don’t waste my time with these stupid types of problems.”
“So it’s not the necklace it’s me?”
“That’s what I’ve been saying! Get out!” he exclaimed. The woman got up and said some strong words to Sherlock before storming out of the flat. And now he was alone. Alone and bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. 

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