Chapter 1
"You shouldn't be here." A voice whispers in the young man's ear.
"Neither should you." He replies coolly.
"I promised I'd keep you away from drugs." She says. He turns to face her.
"And I promised I'd keep you off the booze." He retorts. The girl fights the urge to slap him.
Sheryl Molly Watson crouches with the boy behind a stack of shipping crates in an abandoned warehouse in London that is currently being used as a drug den. In his hands are a cigarette and a lighter, which she quietly takes from him.
"Come on, Holmes. The car is waiting." She tugged on his hand.
"Did my father send you?" He sneers.
"No; protecting imbecilic geniuses is just in my DNA."
"I'm not going." He gave the Holmes' trademark sulk and slouched against a crate.
"Yes, you are. Even if I have to carry you out."
"You aren't strong enough." He muttered. She quirked an eyebrow in response. With two trained killers for parents, Sheryl had been able to defend herself from the time she could walk. Her baggy, boyish clothes hid her muscle tone, but the Holmes boy wasn't fooled.
"We're leaving. Hamish." The boy stiffens.
"Who told you? My mother?"
"Sherlock, actually. I helped him tune his violin during one of his withdrawal spells." The children were familiar with the consulting detective's drug ridden history. He had been clean for years, but every so often he'd be hit by the absence and he would be jittery and irritable for hours on end.
"Hamish Daniel Holmes, you are coming with me." The boy looked into those impossible blue eyes, a gift from her father, and he relented.