Chapter One: Adventures
Sherlock POV
Mummy always worries. She says that Mycroft causes her far less trouble, and she wishes I would follow his example. Perfect Mycroft. Even when he's never here, I can't live up to his example.
Dad says I'm perfect the way I am. Whenever I come back with scratched up knees and a black eye, he puts me on the kitchen counter and goes to find the first aid kit. He listens to my discoveries, sometimes encourages them, and gets the skull and cross bones plasters. Those are my favourite. Then he takes me out to walk Redbeard because apparently we both need wearing out. I take them both to the ponds, and we play pirates in the little abandoned rowing boat. He lets me be the Captain. When Mycroft was here, I never got to be captain. Still he always taught me the best things, and I miss our adventures.
I suppose this adventure got a little bit out of hand. More than a little bit. Plasters with skulls and crossbones can't really patch together a gunshot wound.
I can hear the doctors now, but the sound is distant. There's movement, and I see them taking the body away. My body. Someone's calling my name. Mummy's crying. They won't let her in yet; they're all too busy rushing around me. I just stand, watching them go about the process, but I know it's too late. I'm over here, I want to say, I'm not going back in.
Mycroft arrives as the doctors finally step back, calling time of death. I see him drop his umbrella, I hear the thud, but my attention is elsewhere. There's a light. I feel like it's beckoning me. I want to go to it. I move a little closer, and I feel it's warmth.
To leave it all behind, to forget the pain and the bullies and the boredom, and go towards that feeling of warmth is so tempting. I reach out and the light touches my hand. It twinkles in a way that sickens me. So cliche, I think. I've almost made up my mind to go, but then there's a policeman. He's talking to my family. They don't know who shot me. I don't know who shot me. Where was I today? What happened?
The mystery hangs in front of me. The question dangles before my nose like the carrot before the donkey. I contemplate it for just one more second. Then I pull my hand back. I step away, and it fades away until I'm left in the harsh, clinical hallway of the hospital, and the light here is too bright and gives everyone a tired, sallow look.
Dad's got his arm around mummy, and Mycroft is sat beside them, looking desperately at the vending machine. Clearly still eating in moments of stress. None of them speak, they just sit. I join the silent group. I fall into line as I always have.
I won't go. I have an unsolved mystery to attend to before the light. My unfinished business.