Sherlock Holmes was a delightful little boy; his mother would tell anyone who would believe her (and even those who wouldn't). He was resourceful, delightful, careful, and simply overall wonderful (and no, it wasn't only her motherly pride speaking). Anyone with a functioning brain could tell that, and those who couldn't? Well they were simply mistaking her little genius' quirks for faults (a common mistake for anyone who didn't have a genius at home, she was sure).

Unfortunately, Sherlock's peers didn't seem to share the same opinion as her. But it wasn't her son's fault, of course. He simply didn't feel – ah – stimulated enough by the other children (mentally speaking, obviously). And that might have led him to engage in some… not so reputable activities. In fact, his mother was the only in possession of knowledge concerning his involvement in such activities, not that she'd ever let him know about it (and yes, that included the rest of the geniuses living in the house).

Living in close quarters with three budding geniuses could be hard – and very rarely, but still sometimes, boring too – but she was delighted to see that little Sherlock Holmes brought a little bit of spirit to the house.

After all, the mother thought as she sipped her tea and watched her youngest tie his brother's shoelaces together, he could have done a lot worse than a little pranking, couldn't he?