"My name is Andie Holmes. And I am absolutely ordinary. My father, the great private detective Sherlock Holmes, tries so hard to teach me the Science of Deduction. Some things can be taught, like the violin (which he taught me to play when I was five). Other things can't be taught. You can't teach someone to be a genius. It doesn't work that way.
He wants me to be exactly like him, and I guess that's not a bad thing. He is a great man, and I would love to be like him one day. But I never will be. You can't teach an ordinary person to become extraordinary."
Andie closed her journal with a thud. Her uncle John had told her that writing about her life would help her sort things out. She was too skeptical to try blogging, so she had gotten a journal instead. Venting about her frustrations made her feel a little bit better, she supposed, but they were still there.
Andie's phone vibrated and she read a quick text from her dad.
Dinner is ready.
-SH
She sighed, put her journal under her pillow, put her phone in her pocket, and started downstairs.
She had lived in 221B Baker Street all her life. Her room used to belong to John, back when he and her father had been flat-mates. John wasn't really her uncle but he was her father's best, and only, friend, and Andie had always considered him her uncle. The flat was owned by Mrs. Hudson, a very elderly woman whom Sherlock was quite fond of. He visited her once a week, as she wasn't much up to getting out herself. Mrs. Hudson was sweet, though a little strange, and she never talked to Andie, though the latter always went out of her way to be kind and courteous.
She reached the kitchen and went to wash her hands at the sink. She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket just as she was rinsing her hands. She dried them hastily on her jeans and pulled her phone out. It was a text message from her "cousin" Christine Watson.
Have you asked him yet?
She sighed and quickly typed back.
No. I'm trying to find the right way to bring it up.
She put her phone away and sat at the table. Just as she sat down her father came in from the living room, pocketing his phone and carrying a bag of takeout Chinese food. Sherlock Holmes didn't cook. He either got takeout, went out, or had Andie cook.
He set the food on the table and sat down across from Andie. He glanced at her and Andie sighed internally, knowing what was coming next.
"Andromeda, how many times have I told you not to dry your hands on your jeans?" he asked. "Please, use a towel."
Andie propped her head in her hands and waited for the barrage of knowledge he was going to send her way. He didn't disappoint. He told her all about her day and reprimanded her for the things she could have been doing to better occupy her time.
"And you didn't even practice your violin today," he finished.
"I was going to practice after dinner," she mumbled, taking a bite of her orange chicken. He picked up the newspaper and drank his tea, the conversation apparently over.
Andie twirled her chow mein noodles around her fork, contemplating. He would probably be in a better mood after she had practiced. She could ask him then. She swallowed noisily. Her dad was a great man, but he intimidated her. And the plan that seemed so brilliant when she had first made it with Christine, now seemed foolish.
Her dad glanced up from the paper at her. "What?" he asked.
"Huh?" Andie said brilliantly.
"You have something to say. So, say it," he told her.
She looked down and grabbed a fortune cookie. She opened the wrapper slowly and broke the cookie. She was trying to avoid his eyes, though she could feel they were still on her. She pulled the fortune out and read it. Good fortune befalls an honest inquiry. Huh. Maybe she was meant to get that particular fortune.
She swallowed again and met her dad's eyes. They were guarded, yet curious. "Dad," she said softly, "Can I go to high school?"