-=|AUTHERS NOTE|=-
Sorry, I meant to post this last night but there was some error so I couldn't.
Thanks to those who have read my story so far: I wuv you! Also, a very special thanks to Daniel Blythe for reading my story at my school
I have every intention to continue this story, but homework and other stuff and homework have to be done first. Ridiculous!
-=|BACK TO THE STORY!|=-
The girl slipped Sherlock the keys. He grinned at her, and began to walk
down the pavement. He turned a corner onto a slightly busily road, and hailed a cab. Sherlock got in.
'Where to?' the cabbie asked. Sherlock told him, and the cabbie set off. About five minuets later, Sherlock felt his phone buzz.
Ignoring me won't make me shut up me up, brother.
MH
Sherlock laughed sarcastically. It would eventually. The cab slowed to a halt.
'Fifteen quid fifty please.' Sherlock handed him the money and jumped out. He was outside Lestrades' block of flats. It looked a bit run down: the walls had something green under the windows and the concrete was a darker colour closer to the bottom. Sherlock went into the building, and up to Lestrades floor. Sherlock fished around in his coat pocket and pulled out the keys, and unlocked the door. He went in. It was messy, with the occasional case-file scattered on the sofa, coffee table and dining table. He picked one up, and it had the date of three days ago. It wasn't solved yet. Sherlock read it through. Bit transparent, it was obviously the biker. Sherlock put the case file down exactly where it had been beforehand, and made his way into the kitchen. Messy, like the living room, but with dirty cups of coffee and plates scattered around. Sherlock started to rummage in the draws, looking for a mobile number. It would probably be in a draw with bills in, but maybe not. He found a draw with papers, nicotine patches and a gun. Sherlock carefully removed the gun and the nicotine patches, and pulled out the papers. Gas bills, rent bills… yes! Contract bills! Sherlock skimmed the text… and found the number. Sherlock memorized it, and carefully started to replace everything he was about to put the nicotine patches back in when he decided against it. It was beginning to be impossible to continue smoking in London, and maybe the nicotine in the patches would be a good enough substitute for the cigarettes. He closed put the gun back, and closed the draw. He then swiftly made his was out of the flat. Sherlock stuffed the keys back into the keyhole, and closed the door behind him. Sherlock went back down the stairs and out of the flats. He strolled down the pavement. Then his phone buzzed.
I don't actually have any meetings today, and I'm a little bored.
MH
Mycroft and no meetings? Three words that can't be in the same sentence. Not possible. There would be some Colombian president or something that Mycroft would be having a meeting with. Just as Sherlock was about to put his phone into his pocket, his phone buzzed again.
Come on, Shirley! I have my eye on a nice place in central London that I could reserve for you.
MH
Just because Sherlock had just been evicted from his flat (for repeatedly putting animal and human parts the sink and bath) didn't mean he necessarily needed a new one. Sherlock was perfectly happy doing what he was at the moment: not sleeping at all. He could deal with that for a bit, anyway.
As Sherlock had been lost in his thoughts, mainly filled with general spite toward his brother, it had been an hour after Sherlock had broke into the flat. But then Sherlock was bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. He then decided to text Lestrade.
It was the biker.
-S
Let him ponder that! But then Sherlock was bored again. Bored. Bored. Bored.
-=|SHERLOCK|=-
Mummy would not be happy. Sherlock had managed to get himself chucked of his flat out again. And, after the third time and a talk from Mycroft he had still put dead body parts and god knows what else in the bath. Mycroft, though in the middle of a particularly boring meeting with the MPs from Scotland and North England, Mycroft decided to text Sherlock.
You know, Sherlock, I could actually fund you a flat. After all, I do apparently run the government.
MH
Sherlock wouldn't reply, but it was fun enough just to send the text.
After the meeting, Mycroft texted Sherlock again.
Ignoring me won't make me shut up me up, brother.
MH
Mycroft made his way back to his office. His office was a nice place, in his opinion. He looked at his schedule. He raised his eyebrows. No more meetings today! This would be a brilliant chance to get some paperwork done and annoy his dear little brother. He wondered what Sherlock was doing right now. Probably spying on someone, or a crime scene, just one of his many little habits. Mycroft took some of the papers in the inbox and read through them. Then he texted Sherlock again.
I don't actually have any meetings today, and I'm a little bored.
MH
And then again.
Come on, Shirley! I have my eye on a nice place in central London that I could reserve for you.
MH
Mycroft really did have a place: It's on Chaltist Street, 63 Flat 04. It was a decent size, and they where okay about pets. Mycroft presumed it extended to sociopaths.
Mycroft then texted the man who he had following Sherlock. Mycroft worried out of his mind sometimes, especially now Sherlock had been kicked out his flat. Mycroft had nothing to bug, so a… supervisor… was needed.
Where is he?
MH
Mycroft left the phone on his desk and sat back, but quickly the man replied.
Outside a flat. He just went in, and then out again. He's walking down the road now.
AD
Mycroft put his phone back into his pocket. And then suddenly remembered:
Sherlock had been 6, Mycroft 13. One of the older kids had beaten up Sherlock, and Sherlock, being 6, thought that the best idea was to run out of school. Sherlock had been missing for two days, and mother (and to some extent, father) was sick with fear and worry. They had made call after call to all the local police to search out: it had been on the BBC news. But then that day, they received a call from the police… in the north east. Nearly 400 miles from their home. He had been found in a supermarket, trying to steal some bread from a shelf. The security had found him, and he had promptly burst into tears. They had asked his name… and made up the name Captain Jonathon Johonas. The security had laughed, making matters worse. They took him to the staff room and then called the police. Sherlock had been brought back home, and after many tears from him and mother he went up to his room and didn't speak for a week.
-=|AUTHERS NOTE (AGAIN)|=-
Sorry if this chapter drags on a bit, I had a bit of a writers block :(
More of an adventure next chapter, which should be coming tomorrow or day after (hallelujah!). Please be patent.