I don't usually go home right after school. Mostly because there are a few nasty individuals who would like to know where I live so they could, I don't know, throw eggs at the windows. Or leave flaming bags of fecal matter on the step. I either go to the library or St Bart's. It all depends on how much homework I have, really.

I like going to St Bart's. The morgue is usually very quiet and Auntie Molly lets me look at corpses, as long as they aren't too mangled. We make a game of it, sometimes. If I can correctly identify the cause of death, just by observation, in under five minutes, she buys the crisps or coffee. Of course I can't just say 'stabbed,' 'strangled,' or anything, I have to give the lengthy medical explanation.

Dad was incredibly pissed when he found out but it's not like we've been doing this since I was little. It only started this year, actually, and I really think Auntie Molly just likes the company. She helps me with my science homework, I keep her from chatting to dead bodies, it's a won-win situation. Still, it's reassuring that adults can be happy despite their oddness. You'd think I'd know that well enough, having been partially raised by Sherlock Holmes, but I can never tell what he's thinking. Auntie Molly wears her emotions like a garment.

My favourite place, other than Baker Street and St Bart's, is Mycroft and Uncle Greg's flat. Neither of them are there much, and if they are then not at the same time. And they are usually busy with paperwork, even then. They don't really communicate much, I don't think. Unlike Dad and Sherlock who talk all the time. I guess it's because Mycroft and Uncle Greg have sex.

I don't want to think about that, I don't want to think about that, I don't - damnation, this journal is supposed to keep me out of therapy, not send me into it.

Usually when I go over there I head straight for the kitchen. It's always full of food that Dad complains would cost him a week's wages, and while I may not resemble a teenaged boy in a lot of ways, I do eat a lot. If Mycroft's there I poke my head in the sitting room and say hello, and if he's not busy I sit down with him and pester him with questions, usually the kind Dad and Sherlock won't answer. If Uncle Greg comes home when both Mycroft and I are there, he stumbles into the sitting room and collapses on Mycroft. It's amusing to watch, because Mycroft pretends to be bothered and Greg uses the partial deafness that got him relegated to desk duty as an excuse not to budge. Eventually he shifts down so he's sitting on the other end of the sofa with his feet in Mycroft's lap.

Most of the time, though, they aren't there, and after eating them out of house and home, I migrate towards my hypothetical cousin's room. It's painted a gender-neutral yellow but there's nothing to indicate that it was supposed to house a child. When I was five Mycroft and Uncle Greg found a surrogate and they were going to have a baby. The woman miscarried. They never really recovered from having that hope crushed, so they removed all the baby things from the room. It now holds their various combined musical instruments and players. There's a record player with two full bookshelves of records next to it. Another bookshelf and a half are full of sheet music for cello, piano, guitar, and violin.

The violin books are covered with half an inch of dust, but the other three get regular use.

I play cello. Mycroft plays piano, and Uncle Greg plays guitar. Well, that's speculative, because a lot of people would not call what he does 'playing'. They'd probably call it 'maiming'. Still, he never sounds too bad and smashing his dreams of being a rock star would be cruel. Dad plays a pretty mean guitar, though. Surgeon's hands, I suppose, are useful for more than surgery.

I hate being a teenager why is my brain making everything about sex why.

I'm sorry if I didn't properly warn you of this, oh-imaginary-reader-of-my-journal. Alas, I am a teenaged boy, and while I may think about sex an awful lot... well let's just say the prospect of touching another human being is a little gross. Particularly the human beings who are my age, half of which don't shower or douse themselves in cheap, foul cologne.

I'm starting to wonder if this is why I don't have any friends.

Tangent. I'm sorry. I was talking about music,

I play cello, and when Mycroft and Uncle Greg aren't at their flat, I go there and play for a while. Depending on the day I've had, 'a while' could either mean one hour or six. As I mentioned, I don't have any friends, not that I'd want to have friends my age as my age group is full of idiots, but because I am odd and have been raised by two men and am occasionally picked up from school in a sleek black car, I tend to attract the wrong kind of attention. It's rare for teenagers to be bullied physically, at least on school ground, but there are only so many taunts I can take before I start wondering how much C4 I would need to blow up the school or whether Auntie Molly would know where to hide bodies.

Playing cello helps eliminate some of the homicidal urges.

Oh they're never actually urges. Don't get me wrong, I'd be the first to admit that there's something off about me but I'd never actually kill someone. I'm not crazy, I promise; Dad had me tested.

Anyway, oh journal mine, I have decided that until something interesting happens to me I shall write down little details of my life, which is what I have been doing so far. Of course nothing interesting happens to me so this is probably going to end up being several gigabytes of useless information about me, things most of the people in my life already know. Boring.

(AN: Oh your reviews! They are lovely. YOU are lovely. I love you. Anyway, if you like, send me a situation/something 'interesting', and if I like it I may write a chapter on it. So far all my Hamish ideas are coming from my crazy messed-up brain and there are all over the place! I want to delve deeper into his relationship with the brothers Holmes, and Greg, and I have to introduce Irene at some point but I have an idea of how to do that... anyway. Ta, you lovely lovely people!)