"John, Sherlock, anyone home?" I hear Lestrade's voice from outside our door.
Am I allowed to answer the door here?
"On my way!" Jake yells, I flinch down.
I didn't answer the door, I'm going to be in trouble later.
Jake appears in the living room, and quickly opens the door.
"Hey, Greg." John lets him in, but then I see someone with him.
Mycroft.
"How are you doing, Brother Mine?" Mycroft sits in the chair opposite of me.
Silence .
"He doesn't talk much." Jake explains, then sits on the couch next to Lestrade.
"Interesting." Mycroft sounds uninterested.
"How re you boys getting along?" Lestrade smiles at me.
Test or order?
"Sherlock, would you like to talk to anyone?" Jake asks.
Silence.
Test or Order?
"Shit, umm... Sherlock, you are allowed to talk." Jake turns red for a second.
"What?" Lestrade looks to him with a raised eye brow.
"He won't do anything without being told directly."
"I scheduled an appointment for my brother with a psychologist." Mycroft looks at me with piercing eyes.
"I don't need a doctor." I snap.
Mycroft killed Allan .
"Glad to see you're still capable of feelings." Mycroft looks detached.
No, as much as it will cot me I want to see him angry, I want him to hate me as much as I hate him.
"Anything eventful happening at Scotland yard?" Jake asks Lestrade, changing the subject.
"We've got ourselves a serial killer.
"We have a serial killer." I correct, then freeze in horror.
Shit, no correcting. No correcting.
"Glad to see you're..." He looks confused at me. "What are you doing?"
I'm kneeling in front of the fireplace, arms wrapped protectively around my violin.
I can't lose it again.
"Please not the violin." My beg is barely above a whisper. "Me, not the violin."
"Sherlock." Jake comes over and crouches next to me. "We're not going to hurt you, and we're not going to take your violin."
"Please not the violin." I wrap my arms tighter around it. "Not the violin."
"What's wrong with him?" Lestrade sounds horrified.
"This keeps happening." Jake sounds tired. "He thinks he's going to be in trouble for everything, he protects the violin with his life."
"Allan burned his violin for disobedience." Mycroft's voice is cold.
"God." Lestrade breathes.
"Sherlock, mate, I promise you can keep the violin."
I won't look at him.
It's a trick, I know it is.
"Why don't you go rest in your room so I can talk to Mycroft?" Jake suggests.
"Yes, Master." I stand up, still protecting my violin, and go to my room.
Leaving the door open a little, I sit on my bed and pluck the violin's strings.
I can't lose it again.