Sherlock's first dinner with the Holmes family was a decent one. He was polite as he could be, and didn't eat what one might think too much. This was still a strange household and he didn't want to go against the 'strange household' manners just yet. Mycroft had no problems questioning him about anything and everything in front of the parents, however as soon as the meal was done he left the room and didn't talk to his younger brother for the rest of the night. Sherlock didn't doubt that he was listening to him from through the wall, though. Suburban houses tended to have thin walls, and they happened to share one. While he was talking to himself, he managed to restrain from punching the wall once just to give Mycroft a lesson in personal space. It wasn't that big of an issue, but he didn't want him nosing in on his business just because he felt he needed to know.

.

He'd slept relatively well his first night at his new home. And since it wasn't a school day, he was allowed to sleep late, but he didn't. He prided himself on being an early riser, when he slept at all. The shuffling about in the room next to his let him know that Mycroft was also awake. The Mr. and the Mrs. weren't awake yet, though. If they were, he imagined they would already by making breakfast for their sons. Sherlock kept himself entertained for an hour or so looking out the window, finding every squirrel and every crack in the sidewalk he could see. He would have the small rows of houses memorized and mapped out in a very short amount of time. From the types of vehicles in the driveways, he could guess what type of family it was. The minivan next door, for instance, suggests a family of at least four or more. The small silver car in the driveway opposite led him to guess they didn't have an children, and if they did they only had one, and not particularly young, there didn't seem to be a booster or a car seat in the back. One of the smaller houses didn't seem to have a car at all, but from the oil stains on their driveway he guessed they'd gotten up early for work or were on vacation. Something to that effect.

At around eleven, when Sherlock was fairly certain he'd gotten the neighborhood down to a T, Mycroft pushed open his bedroom door and nodded in his direction. The other occupants of the household were awake, now, he had heard them bustling about downstairs. Mycroft, however, hadn't left his room until now. Sherlock stood from the chair by the desk and followed his brother out the door and into the hall. He heard muffled conversation from the kitchen, as he suspected his parents were making breakfast, though probably for themselves. They had already guessed that the boys had been up all morning; since Mycroft woke early it was second nature to find him up when they finally woke themselves. Mycroft and Sherlock walked down the stairs and to the front door, neither bothering to inform their parents where they were headed, and they left the house. Out on the porch, and at eye-level with everything Sherlock had observed through his bedroom window, he could make more specific inferences. He cast a sidelong glance at Mycroft, who was also scanning the cul-de-sac with mild interest.

"It's a nice day, Sherlock." He stated simply. Sherlock nodded. They stood in silence for a few moments before they started off down the driveway. He assumed they were going to meet the neighbors, or at least he was to acquaint himself with them.

In a matter of minutes a couple of teenagers ran out of the house to the right of their own, tossing a ball back and forth over the lawn. One was shorter and blond, with a horrifying sweater on, and the other had similar genetics, with slightly longer hair and older. They were roughly Mycroft and Sherlock's age, he guessed. Neither of them paid them any attention, content with tossing the ball to each other. Mycroft started walking towards them, and Sherlock followed a couple of feet behind. These would be the people he would be living around for the rest of his young life, he might as well make the most of it, however little he planned to interact with them.

"John," Mycroft nodded to the shorter boy, who looked over in surprise, as if he hadn't noticed the two dark shadows on the other side of the street. "Harry," He addressed the next one. She smiled as they walked up, standing next to John, the ball forgotten.

"Who's this little guy?" Harry asked, extending a hand to him. Sherlock began to question her ethics almost immediately, not to mention she was obviously shorter than him. "Mycroft?"

"Sherlock." Sherlock answered, he was sure Mycroft wasn't going to.

"New kid, huh?" Harry whistled, removing her hand once she realized he wasn't going to take it. "Wheew, they grow up fast."

"He was adopted, Harry." Mycroft didn't much appreciate the joke, it seemed, but he wasn't as put off by it as Sherlock himself.

John, who'd remained quiet most of the conversation, piped up from behind his sister, "Why?" Sherlock shot him a glare, keeping much of it to himself so as not to scare this one away. John didn't seem to notice it, and instead looked in Mycroft's direction for an answer. Sherlock also looked at his brother, who shook his head sadly.

"The want for another person to baby, I suppose." He looked over at Sherlock, who huffed and looked away. His hair was ruffled by an unwanted hand on his head, Mycroft's. So he was going to plat the obnoxious big brother role after all, was he? Sherlock could deal with that. He would just need some work on the annoying younger brother role.

Harry shot John a look of disapproval, and her younger brother hung his head under her stern eyes. "Sorry about that, he's not… Good with strangers." She could say that, but he had the air around him of somebody with little to no shame, relying on his sister for such things, as right now demonstrated. She elbowed her younger brother in the side, and John looked up at Sherlock apologetically.

"Sorry about that." He managed, and Sherlock nodded. He was content with this apology. It wasn't the best, but it wasn't the worst. Average, like everybody in this cul-de-sac, he imagined.

He figured they could get along nicely, given time, but Harry was a bit too boisterous for his liking.

Mycroft nodded to Harry, who gave John a little shove in Sherlock's direction before walking off with the older Holmes. Sherlock watched them walk away, his boredom already showing on his face. John watched them walk off too, but in more of a nervous manner, as if he was going to call his sister back. He wasn't fond of the Holmes family, they were strange and cold. Well, at least the sons seemed to be, he hadn't talked to them.

"What's it like here, John?" Sherlock asked after a minute of looking in the direction of his house. The blond looked up at him, more in annoyance.

"Well, it's normal, for the most part. You know, families live here with their kids and all that. Figured it was a nice place to grow up."

"For the most part?" Sherlock's interest was piqued. John blinked, as if he had unknowingly let that piece of information slip his mind. Sherlock let escape a small smile of victory. It always was pleasing to know he had made somebody re-think what they had said.

"Well, we've got our share of mysteries. Greg's been trying to find out what's been happening to the dogs, and—"

"What is happening to the dogs?"

"Some of them have been going missing. Only the past few weeks, and over a certain interval, they're pretty unrelated, but he thinks something's going on. We sent our dog to our grandparent's house, just in case." John scrunched up his face in concentration, looking for something he may have missed. It was obvious to Sherlock that he was missing something, and it was intriguing.

"John!" A voice was calling from over the fence across the street. "John!" It came again, more urgent this time. John grinned and ran across the 'sac to the house.

"Yeah?" He asked, grabbing the top of the fence and standing on the tips of his toes to see over the side. Sherlock followed him over more slowly.

"John, who's that?" The voice, now that he could hear it better, was unmistakably female, and when he reached the fence and peered over, a young girl with light hair and bright eyes stood on the other side, making no effort herself to see over the fence. Her eyes flickered to Sherlock, who was watching her with interest that served only to make her nervous.

"Oh, this is Sherlock, Mycroft's brother." John replied. He looked to the side at Sherlock and then explained, "This is Molly Hooper. Her mother doesn't let her out of the fence." He beamed with pride, adding, "Harry and me tell her everything she needs to know. She's been helping Greg and Sally find the dogs, too. But closer to home." He chuckled, like he was clever.

"Harry and I." Sherlock corrected. John looked confused for a moment, but gasped when he figured it out.

"Oh, I see. It's very nice to meet you, Sherlock!" Molly exclaimed, reaching up a hand to shake his. Once again, he made no move to return the gesture, and she put it back down at her side again. "Oh, John! Has Greg found anything new yet? I've been thinking, and it doesn't seem like they're using a truck."

John nodded, "He doesn't think so either, but that's the only explanation he can think of considering the circumstances." He fell from the tips of his toes and his face scrunched once again in thought. "And if it isn't a truck, then what is it?" Sherlock was chalking all of this information, and their small, homespun investigation in his mind, sure to go over it later when he had time. Certainly not here with John and Molly chatting it up next to him.

"Could you go see him? I told him and Sally to come over today and we could put pieces together, and I don't know if they're going to or not." Molly asked, hooking her hands over the fence and pulling herself up on arms that were apparently stronger than then looked. She scrambled with her shoes on the fence and was nearly over it when a shout came from within her house.

"Molly Hooper! You get down off that fence this instant!" She automatically complied, looking back to her house. The windows didn't show anybody, but her mother had told her to get down. Must be watching her from somewhere. She would have to be more careful.

"John. Pssst." Molly leaned as close to the fence as she could. "John!" Her whispering was unnecessary, Sherlock mused, but it was making his day much more interesting. "Can I come with you guys tonight?" John looked warily at the new Holmes boy, but nodded.

"If you can. Wear something warm, because—"

"Obviously." Sherlock interjected.

"Oh shut up, will you." John shook his head. "You got that, Molly, something warm." She piped up a squeak and nodded. "Alright. I'll go see if Greg is up yet." John turned from the fence and looked over his shoulder at Sherlock, who nodded, and they both took off down the road.

.

This 'Greg's house looked pretty similar to every other house, if you didn't count the three separate chicken-wire fences on the lawn and yapping from inside. A paranoid-looking boy sat on the porch, holding a half-eaten doughnut. John walked up to him and waved, the boy waving back, taking another nervous bite out of his pastry. Jelly dribbled down his chin before he wiped it away.

"Greg, Molly doesn't think it's a truck either. She hasn't heard anything, but she's been keeping track from her end." John huffed, leaning on his knees, tired from running up the block. Sherlock was also on the verge of keeling over, but he wouldn't. He was here to make an impression on the others, not show up a panting mess on their doorstep.

"I know, Sally and I agree, we've been watching the road. Quarter past midnight we heard something, but it wasn't a truck and it passed out cul-de-sac right by."

"Oh, and Molly was wondering if you and Sally were coming over her place later. She invited you, but apparently you didn't answer..?" John questioned. Greg ran his fingers through his hair, making a face like he needed to shower, and quickly.

"Oh, uh, yeah. Sure." Greg answered, looking out across the lawn and then back to John. He looked up at Sherlock, just noticing his presence. Very observant, this one, Sherlock thought.

"Who's he?" Greg asked John, pointing to John's shadow. Sherlock tipped up his nose, was everyone here this ignorant?

"Sherlock, the new Holmes kid." John answered, picking himself up. "So, is Anderson coming tonight?" Sherlock wondered just how many children were on this block. If he ever met the last of them it would be too soon, he supposed.

"New Holmes kid?" Greg inquired, giving Sherlock a good sweep up and down. "They grow up so fast." He kidded. "Yeah, I can see it." He shrugged and finished his doughnut. "Oh, yeah, Anderson said he would come around. Shouldn't be hard for him to get out of the house, his parents are going to a meeting, he said they won't be back for a few hours after midnight. We've got time."

"Oh, that's just great." John groaned, and Sherlock wondered who this Anderson was, since nobody seemed incredibly glad to have him along, even Greg looked ruffled to give the news.

"Say, is Mycroft coming along?" Greg pondered aloud, scratching the back of his neck. He didn't seem to want to look at the two. Seemed perfectly content sitting on the step and looking off down the road like a lost child.

John shook his head. "Like I told you yesterday, he seems like he's got something better to do every night this week. It's a shame, we could've used his observant skill."

Greg looked up at Sherlock then, giving him another once-over. "What about you, Sherlock? Gonna come along?"

Having expected to go even if uninvited, Sherlock nodded his head. This may be the only interesting thing he'd ever be involved in in this neighborhood, and he wasn't going to let it slip by. Nor was he going to leave this case in the hands of such incompetents.

"Alright then, John, Sherlock." Greg held out a hand to him and stood from his seat on the porch, but pulled it back and put it in his pocket when it became apparent that he wasn't going to shake it. "See you tonight."