I don't own anything. PLease review. Got a bit of a flashback going on here...
"This is truly wonderful," Sherlock said plucking the violin's string. Melody shot him an evil look.
"Don't break my strings," she hissed. She was currently standing on top of a bar stool attempting to reach the top shelf of a bookcase in her father's study.
"Teach me," he said from his place on the sofa.
"No. It's hard, I hate it."
"I want to learn to play an instrument."
"You look more like…a base."
"Why do you say that?" Sherlock asked.
"Because you're tall." Melody replied. She grabbed the piece of paper and jumped down landing hard on her knee.
"You ok?" Sherlock asked. She nodded and limped to the sofa. Sitting down she heard her father coming down the hall. He stepped into the room and smiled at the children.
"What are you laddies doing?" he asked pulling things out of his pockets.
"We're board," the two said in unison.
"Where's Mycroft?" Mr. Ravensdale asked.
"Studying for his entries," Sherlock answered, "Mother says she'll disown him if he doesn't get accepted into the top universities." He shifted in his seat rather annoyed. Mr. Ravensdale nodded in an understanding fashion before turning to look at his daughter.
"Get your school work done?" he asked.
"Yes sir."
"Did you find the clues I left you?"
"Just got the last one," she said holding up a bag. It seemed to be a game the father and daughter played. When ever Sherlock came over after school Melody was collecting clues that her father had left her. She was then expected to sit down and put the puzzle together. He timed her seeing how fast she could solve it. Today's clues were a dagger, red towel, a book on magic and a four leaf clover. Mr. Ravensdale pulled out his watch.
"Get ready get set…go."
"Macbeth."
Mr. Ravensdale and his daughter stopped to look at the lanky 12 year old in front of them. Sherlock could see Melody's eyes cloud over with anger. She was extremely competitive and her temper surged when someone stole her thunder.
"Sorry," he squeaked to his only friend.
"Explain," Mr. Ravensdale simply replied, "Why do you say Macbeth?" "A clover is representative of Scotland. A book on magic relates to witches, a dagger relates to murder and a red towels…it's not covered in blood but it's the color and Lady Macbeth thought her hands were covered in blood when they weren't. "
"You got all that from these things?" Mr. Ravensdale peered over his glasses.
"Well…you are covering it in class sir." Mr. Ravensdale looked over at his daughter. She sat with her arms across her chest obviously angry.
"Melody…go see if Mrs. Wallace has anything for you."
"But-" her sentence was cut short as her father glared at her. She stomped out of the room and paused to stick her tongue out at Sherlock. When Mr. Ravensdale was gone certain she was out of ear shot he turned to look at Sherlock.
"How's your mother? Haven't really had a chance to talk with her since she took the new job up the city councils office. Busy isn't she?" Sherlock nodded clutching the violin a little tighter. His home life was a little bit of a sore subject. "How long has your father been away?"
"Six months sir," he answered.
"How long have you been friends with Melody?"
"Five months sir." Mr. Ravensdale nodded. Since their first encounter he'd been at the house everyday.
"Mycroft…how's he? I'm sure with your father gone and your mother busy he must be the one who takes care of you? And I take it you don't quite like that?"
"No, I miss Mycroft being my brother and having fun. Last time we had fun was before father left. We went fishing together. Now Mycroft says he's the man of the family." Sherlock absentmindedly picked at the violin strings. Mr. Ravensdale nodded.
"Alright then," he said standing up, "It's been decided. Since you practically live here…you too shall learn the art of deduction." He began walking out of the room and motioned for him to follow. He headed upstairs. Stopping in front of what Sherlock new to be Melody's room, Mr. Ravensdale pulled a ring of key's out of his pocket and unlocked the door directly across from it. It was a large room with white walls, a large bed that had cherry chest with a matching head board.
"This will be your room. IF IF IF IF your mother should give you permission to spend the night you will sleep here. If you come over from school and you do not wish to sit in the library all afternoon you can come in here. You have permission to tell Melody that she is NOT allowed in her. You can also decorate it as you please. Understood?" Sherlock nodded absentmindedly. "Good. Now sit." Sherlock sat down on the bed as Mr. Ravensdale pulled a chair from the desk.
"Now. Deduction. It is a simple art form that can change a man's life. It will make him the most envied man in the world. The key is not to get to carried away with it. Mycroft…I've had this conversation with him…pulls it off breathlessly. Don't get pompous with it. Just simply act like your privileged to the information.
What is deduction. Well it is one man simply using his senses and using logic to come up with an answer. For example…your shirt is a shade bluer than what it normally should be. I take it Mycroft washed the clothes and didn't sort the whites from the darks did he? Now why would Mycroft be doing the laundry? Well your mother did just get the new job at the council and it tells me that she's been to busy to stay at home and fulfill her motherly duties. Right?" Sherlock nodded. "You must simply use your senses my boy and logic. Every layman could do it. It's nothing spectacular. And with your IQ and I for detail you should be able to pull it off." Mr. Ravensdale smiled at the boy. "Be here tomorrow at ten' o'clock. We start then."
Sherlock sprang off the bed and nodded. Heading down the stairs. In no time he was out the door and halfway home. It was a small cottage, one that'd been in his family for years. His mother's family had been farmers and bee keepers. His father…well he didn't really ever ask. Mycroft was sitting outside on the porch with his book in hand.
"Don't," he simply said as Sherlock head up the steps. "Mother has company over." Sherlock sighed and sat down beside his brother.
"Could we go fishing?" he asked. Mycroft didn't look up from his book.
"I'm busy. You know that."
"I know. But I miss by brother. I want to do things like we use to. You know before dad left." Mycroft looked up at his young brother. It pained him but he knew he had to do it.
"Those times are over. I'm an adult now. I can't partake in your petty childish games." As he said this the door opened at a tall man with blonde hair came out. He nodded at the boys and got into his car driving off. Sherlock turned to see his mother smoothing out her dress and fixing her hair. He sighed looking back at Mycroft. He was right. There wasn't going to be anymore fun and games.