Robert was still cleaning the next morning when Sherlock Holmes let himself into the flat with a key.
"Don't you Holmeses ever knock?"
"Why?" Sherlock asked walking toward Robert and waiting expectantly, a slight smile on his face. He was carrying a backpack, probably containing a change of clothes and, instead of the uniform that he had seen him in before, he was wearing black jeans and a dark blue jumper of some very expensive yarn, perhaps Angora. It looked like he had come to stay.
"Take a seat, Sherlock?"
Sherlock put down his bag and sat on the couch. Robert propped his broom against the wall and sat down in the arm chair. "So has your brother explained his plan of hiring me as your tutor."
"Yes," Sherlock said bouncing a bit and leaning forward.
"And what do you think about it?"
"I think that it's the first intelligent thing he's done for me in years."
"So you want to be my pupil again. What is it you want to learn?"
"You know. The thing about people, how to read them, how to understand them."
"I see. You understand that if I agree to be your teacher, I will not be easy on you. I will demand much of you, and if you do not meet my expectations then I will dismiss you and you must go back home. Are you willing to follow my orders?"
"Yes."
"Even though they may counteract with what you want to do, or what you like? Even if they hurt, or are difficult?"
Sherlock's eyes widened. He was curious and excited by this. "Yes."
"You should say 'yes, sir'."
"Yes, sir."
"If I accept you as a student you will not smoke. You will not drink alcohol unless I specifically say that you can, and you will, outside of our tutoring hours, conduct yourself in a manner that is appropriate to your position in society."
"Outside of our tutoring hours? I thought that I was coming to live with you?"
"Did you? I suppose we will have to discuss the terms more specifically at a later date. I will continue to be looking for a position for the autumn term. I don't expect this to last much past the beginning of term. It is very likely that at the end of the summer I will be moving to another city. I might even leave the country. My plans are not yet fixed."
Sherlock's eyes widened, but he said nothing.
"There is, however, one point that I will be completely inflexible on. I will not accept your brother's money. I will not work for him."
Sherlock jumped to his feet. His breath rapid. "But I thought, but you said, do you mean you won't teach me?"
"That's not what I said, Sherlock. If you wish me to become your tutor, you will have to pay me yourself."
"Myself? But...I don't have any money. There's a trust fund, but I don't have access."
"Discuss it with your brother. Borrow money if you must, but I will only do this if I am working for you. I am not agreeing to control you or to babysit you. I will be employed to teach you. Is this what you want?"
"Yes, but ... how much? I mean ... I've never hired anyone before."
"Then I will be your first."
"You mean you will do it? If I can agree to your terms, and find the money."
"Yes. I'd be happy to."
Sherlock grinned from ear to ear. "I'll go talk to Mycroft. You stay here," he said before running from the room.
Robert crossed his ankles and shook his head. Sherlock was so painfully earnest at times. He didn't know what to expect from him. One thing that he had known, however, was that Sherlock would never trust him if he was working for his brother. Sherlock could be creepy, but his brother was absolutely distressing at times.
He would take this time to teach Sherlock how to get along with others. It would be an interesting interlude between one phase of his life and the next, his "Summer of Sherlock". He rose from the chair, picked up his broom, and continued sweeping the kitchen.
He received a phone call that evening inviting him to a meeting. A black car came for him and drove him to an expensive home with a gate and a large lawn. He walked up to the door and was ushered into a large dining room with wooden chairs upholstered in a rich tan velvet, the paneled windows containing colored stained-glass crests, and life-size statues on horseback no less.
He sat on one side of the table. Mycroft and Sherlock sat side by side on the other. Mycroft pushed a paper across the table toward him. He snagged it with his forefinger and thumb, pulling it toward him to read.
Appointment terms, renewable month to month with an initial appointment of three months. A flat in the city. A cottage in the county. A dedicated car and driver. An expense account. Plane fare on request subject to approval. A child could afford this? Unlikely. He pushed it back.
"I thought that Sherlock was employing me? Are you telling me that this child can employ a full time chauffeur?"
"The chauffeur belongs to the estate. He is on loan as are the other items listed. They belong to the family, and Sherlock is allowed the use of them. Your salary will go directly from his trust fund to your account and believe me, he will be paying us back. Do not concern yourself about that."
Robert glanced at Sherlock. He was staring at his brother who wore that same half-smile he had seen before. He picked up the pen and signed. Sherlock took the form and signed next to him, and Mycroft signed as witness.
He rose to go, stopping at the door as the butler helped him put on his coat. Mycroft held out a hand and he shook it. Then Sherlock came from another room. He was wearing a brown coat, a backpack, and dragging a suitcase behind him. The butler opened the door and they walked together out of the mansion. Robert climbed into the car.
"Where are we going?" he asked Sherlock as he climbed in after him.
"To your flat, unless you want to go to the other flat, or the cottage."
"No, home is good."
Sherlock nodded and then leaned against the door and closed his eyes. He was asleep by the time they reached the gate. Robert looked at the boy... man... boy. This was going to work out, wasn't it? He had never had custody of a child before. He lay back and tried to get some rest himself.
