Hey! This is just a little Sherlock fanfic I've been working on. Tell me what you think.
Sherlock entered the dining room, donned his pirate outfit, and took a seat at the table. No one noticed or even acknowledged him as he started pushing his eggs around his plate. As usual, he didn't have much of an appetite. Mother and Mycroft were busy listening to Father, who was reading an article from the newspaper.
'Last Monday, during a meet at Bristol South Swimming Pool, Carl Powers, 11, drowned.'
Sherlock listened intently. The stories in the paper usually were uninteresting to Sherlock, but this one seemed different. It felt different.
'According to the police, Powers suffered from a seizure while competing, and drowned. His backpack, clothes, and socks were all found in a locker at the pool.'
There was something strange about the boy's death, but Sherlock couldn't figure it out. Something didn't make sense…
Father finished the article, and folded the newspaper back up. "Poor boy."
"And so young," Mother added.
Mycroft looked annoyed. "Tragic," he said sarcastically.
"Mycroft!" Mother said sharply.
Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to block out his family's voices so he could properly think. He did this often.
He sat on the floor in the middle of a room. The room was completely empty, with no windows or door. The walls were a light blue, the carpet the same color.
This was Sherlock's thinking spot. Nothing could distract him here.
Carl Powers. Came to London for a swim meet. Died. According to the paper, from some sort of stroke. They found his swim bag, clothes, and socks in a locker at the pool.
What's wrong with the facts? There has to be something wrong.
Sherlock came to a realization just as his Mother startled him out of his thoughts.
"Sherlock!"
Sherlock's eyes fluttered open.
"His shoes!"
Mother and Father were both staring at him. Even Mycroft had looked up from his toast.
"What, sweetheart?" Mother asked him.
Sherlock's mind was racing.
"His shoes! They found his bag, clothes, and socks, but not his shoes. Where did the shoes go?"
"Who's shoes?" Father questioned.
"Carl Powers."
Sherlock looked at his parents, grinning happily at them. Both of them stared at him, looking confused.
"You shouldn't trouble yourself with such horrid matters, Sherlock. It's not something a boy your age should be thinking about." Mother told him sternly. Father nodded his agreement.
Sherlock frowned. Why wouldn't they just listen?
Sherlock turned to Mycroft. "Myc, don't you think that it's strange the shoes are missing?"
Mycroft looked up from his toast only to say "Don't care."
Sherlock had had enough of this. He excused himself from the table, and went to find Redbeard. Sherlock's dog would always listen to everything he had to say.
Please review, favorite, follow. It would mean the world to me.
Laters!