And London is My Game Board


I'm back with more Sherlock + Archie bonding! This one will have at least 3 chapters, possibly 4 or 5 (I've written the beginning, the end, and a chunk of the middle, but it needs filling in on both sides). If you're lost, go back and read Algebra for Detectives, aka Part 3 of A Chair in Its Proper Place.

Chronologically, this is Part 6 of the A Chair in Its Proper Place series, falling between Morphine and Chips and Friendly Advice, which I will be posting shortly.


1. Cynthia's Last Resort

October 18, 2014

Sherlock lay in his favorite thinking position, hands steepled under his chin. Two nicotine patches stood out against the pale skin of his arms, exposed by the wide sleeves of his dressing gown. John, after ten days of checking on Sherlock obsessively when he was home, and texting when he wasn't, had finally relaxed enough to go out. He was at Harry's for the day, leaving his best friend in the excellent care of Mrs. Hudson.

Lestrade was still refusing Sherlock fieldwork, partly due to his injury, and partly for not telling who had shot him. The detective had considered lying, several times, but nothing was convincing enough. Therefore, his week of convalescing was up and he still had no cases. Instead, he was reviewing what he knew of Magnussen in his mind palace.

BUZZZZZZZZZ!

Startled, Sherlock looked at his phone. He had not memorized this number or added it to his contacts, but it was one digit off from Archie's number. His mother, then.

He answered on the second buzz. "Hello, Cynthia."

"Hi, Sherlock," the secretary replied, sheepish. "Did I wake you?"

"No, not at all," he answered.

"Listen, I know you're still recovering," Cynthia said, getting to the point, "but I need to meet my ex and his solicitor in London this afternoon, and I've no one to watch Archie. I hate leaving him by himself—"

"It's no problem," Sherlock told her quickly. "Bring him 'round now, and he can spend the day with me and Mrs. Hudson. Go shopping, see your ex, have a nice dinner, and come back when you're ready."

"Really?" Cynthia Ross asked, too relieved to question Sherlock's ready acceptance. "Thanks so much, Sherlock, you're a lifesaver! I know he's been eager to see you!"

"Great, see you soon then," the man replied, and hung up after the goodbyes.

The day was looking up, Sherlock thought, ripping the patches off his arm. Archie had only called twice since his first call to the hospital, but each time revealed more about the clever little boy, and Sherlock was intrigued. No one had admired him for his brilliance until John, and perhaps The Woman, but Archie treated him with a reverence that bordered on hero worship.

It didn't hurt that Archie was capable of holding a five minute conversation without boring Sherlock, a rare gift indeed.

With a grin, Sherlock Holmes stood up—carefully—and headed for the shower. If Cynthia and Archie left their Swindon home immediately, they'd reach Baker Street in an hour and a half.

He took a long shower, washing carefully around his new scar. Mrs. Hudson came and went, leaving a tea tray laden with biscuits and today's newspaper. She really was a jewel among landladies, thought Sherlock, humming as he shampooed his hair. He finally stepped out of the shower when the hot water ran out.

After dressing in his favorite purple shirt and black trousers, Sherlock picked at his breakfast and plucked at his violin, keeping it low to avoid pulling at his injury. He was thus employed when Mrs. Hudson knocked again, ushering in Cynthia Ross and Archie Campbell.

To Sherlock's infinite amusement, little Archie was wearing dark jeans and a button-up shirt in the exact shade of purple as his own, though he wore it unbuttoned over a black T-shirt.

"Hi, Sherlock," Cynthia said, shaking his hand. "Thank you so, so much, really. Are you sure you'll be fine?"

"Yeah, we'll be alright," the detective answered, taking in the ink stain on her left index finger, a slight rip in the hem of her skirt, and two white dog hairs clinging to her red scarf. "We have Mrs. Hudson."

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your babysitter," said lady told him fondly, then looked down at Archie. "Have you had breakfast yet, young man?"

"Oh yeah, we had a bite at the station," Cynthia answered, "but he's having a bit of a growth spurt; always hungry, this one."

"Ah!" Mrs. Hudson said knowingly. "I have just the thing downstairs."

She went back down to her own flat, presumably in search of baked goods.

"Take all the time you need," Sherlock offered his guest. "Come back when you're ready; we'll be fine."

"Great," she replied. "Remember, Archie is allergic to—"

"Peanuts, shellfish, and soya," the detective supplied.

Cynthia smiled wryly. "You really do remember everything, don't you? Well, I suppose Archie is in good hands, then." She kissed the top of her son's head. "Behave, you. Ring me if you need anything."

"Mum, come on," he sighed, with all the exasperation of a boy who felt too old for these displays.

"Bye!"

She waved and finally left, all black trench coat, brown curls, and swishing red scarf. Mrs. Hudson appeared not a moment later, carrying a tray of scones and jam.

"Oh, those are the good scones," Sherlock commented to Archie, earning a swat on the forearm from his landlady as he took one. "She only brings those out if she really likes you."

"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson!" the boy said cheerily.

"You're welcome, dear. Enjoy, and don't let this one get you into any trouble!" she warned, brandishing a spoon in Sherlock's direction.

Sherlock licked a bit of raspberry jam off his finger, all innocence.

"I mean it, Sherlock! I will be checking every hour on the hour, and if I see any—any explosions, or severed heads, or guns, there will be hell to pay!"

Archie watched through a mouthful of scone, fascinated. Sherlock winked at him.

"I'll have you know, Mrs. Hudson, that Archie and I have had hours upon hours of conversation, and not once have I shown him a severed head or taught him to blow things up."

Perfectly true, of course. He'd shown Archie photos of corpses, both with their heads and without, but no severed heads.

She softened a bit. "Good. You have some common sense, then."

"He's alright, Mrs. Hudson," Archie added, cottoning on, "he helps me with my homework, you know, for school."

"Oh. Well, that's nice," Martha Hudson said, surprised. "I'll leave you to it, then."

When she closed the door, Archie and Sherlock exchanged the universal 'Mothers!' glance and went back to the scones, happy to devour every last one. It didn't take long.

"So," Sherlock said finally, once the plate was empty. "You didn't come here to do more homework, did you?"

Archie grinned. "Nah, I finished it yesterday."

"Excellent," the adult replied, clapping his large hands together.

"Can I help with one of your cases, maybe?" Archie asked hopefully.

Sherlock sighed. "I don't have any yet, unfortunately. I'm still 'recovering'," he moaned, making air quotes. "But," he added, brightening, "if you're still interested in becoming a detective, we can start your training today."

"Really?"

"Sure," the younger Holmes brother answered, getting off his chair and crossing the room to the kitchen sink in a few long strides. He washed his hands vigorously, then turned back to Archie.

"We'll start with a little field trip."


As always, many thanks to everyone who reviewed Algebra or the Chair series! I've enjoyed reading your comments and your compliments make my day. I have way too many stories going on at the moment, so I appreciate you all for coming back even with my infrequent updates and hectic work schedule. Have a lovely day, everyone!