11 year old Isabelle Watson-Holmes bit back her tears as she drummed her pencil on the desk. She didn't know how much more of the teacher's sympathy look she could take. Her teachers, and Hamish's, had been informed of Sherlock's exile after he had killed Magnussen to protect Mary, and how it would be hard on them. But she had enough of pitying looks and 'you know you can talk to me' conversations when she thought Father had killed himself two years ago. She had been nine, and it happened a few short weeks before Hamish turned five. Still, Sherlock had said his goodbyes t them and insisted they go to school, not wanting to damage their education. He had promised they'd be fine without him, and they'd have a great life with Dad and Mary, whom they had now started calling 'Mum'. But all of this didn't stop the fact that she wanted to curl up and cry.
'OK class,' said Miss Mayer, Isabelle's Year Six teacher, 'we're going to watch video on the greenhouse effect. Quiet, please.'
OOOOO
'Class settle down,' Mr Johnston, the Year Three teacher who taught Hamish Watson-Holmes, called out. All the other kids were laughing after the lunch time hype, but Hamish sat in his chair, after spending all lunch time in the toilets, crying for his father. He had said his goodbyes to him along with his sister, Isabelle, but he still wanted him back. It was just like how it was when he thought he was dead, except he was older now, more able to understand why he was leaving them. The teachers were being kind, which was a plus in his friends' eyes, but Hamish loathed their pity, it just kept reminding him of the fact Father was gone. Dad had said before he went into school 'chin up, brave soldier'. Hamish didn't feel like being brave today.
'Now class,' Mr Johnston said 'come on. We're going to be using the interactive whiteboard-I know, how exciting-now let's get this up and running….'
OOOOO
The video began, the same old dribble about carbon dioxide and cars and the O-zone. Isabelle could practically hear Father beside her, making sarcastic remarks, and gave a half laugh half cry, forgetting where she was. Miss Mayer gave her a sympathetic smile, whilst her classmates turned and looked at her.
The screen began flickering. Isabelle thought it was because of the terrible technology in the school, but then she saw the screen. The pencil slipped slowly from her hand until it hit the floor. She stood up, knocking her chair to the floor, every nerve in her body shaking.
'Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?'
'Hamish!' she yelled, and before anyone could stop her, she was running down the corridor, Miss Myer shouting after her.
OOOOO
Mr Johnston called after Hamish, but he kept on running. He had to tell….
'Izzy!' Hamish ran to his sister and grabbed her leg 'Iz, the whiteboard, it's…. it's, it can't be! It can't be!' Isabelle took hold of her terrified brother.
'I know, kid,' she said 'I know, but it is.' Hamish could hear it coming from every classroom in the school on TVs, computers, interactive boards.
'Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?'
The Watson-Holmes children steadied themselves and looked into a classroom. A teacher was banging the TV to fix it, while other kids were taking the opportunity to talk.
And they stood rooted to the ground, holding hands, chilled to the bone.
As Jim Moriarty was on the screen, taunting them over and over.
'Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?'