Ok, since I'm new at this, I completely forgot about a disclaimer for the last part of my story. So here it is.

I do not own Sherlock Holmes, Watson, or anything else created by Arthur Conan Doyle. Everything belongs to him, so please don't sue me, 'cause I don't have anything that I can be sued for, essentially.

I'm sorry I haven't written for a while. I've become sick, and then when I tried to open my files that were saved to disk, they had been wiped clean. So... here is the next chapter.

Chapter Two: Holmes' Father

It came to the point where we were inseparable in just three months. Wherever Holmes was, you could be sure to find me. I invited him over to my house almost everyday, where he would entertain me by pointing out strangers on the street and tell me about them. He began to teach me and amazingly enough, I understood. Yet he never told me anything about his family life. Finally, on a Thursday in October, I popped the question.

"Holmes, when do you think that I can come over?" I asked quickly. He dropped the books he was carrying and knelt to pick them up.

"Never, that's when," he replied. I glared at him, but with no effect.

"Why not? I have showed you everything that there is to show about me, yet I hardly know anything about you at all. You are like a closed book!" I said angrily. He turned to me.

"Watson, you are not to come over to my house, ever. That is my final answer," he said quietly. I glared at him once more, but he walked out the doors to go to his house. After he had left, I smiled. I had the perfect idea.

I decided to follow him home. I kept to the bushes and found that he had a rather ugly house only about a block from where I lived. I watched as he entered it and slammed the door shut. I ran to a window, abandoning my personal items, and looked in. I saw a tall man sitting in a chair, glasses on, reading. The window was cracked open a bit, which I was glad of when Holmes entered the room.

"Hello father," he said carefully. His father looked up and frowned.

"You're home, are you? What, do you want money or something?" he asked nastily. Holmes sighed.

"No father, I just was telling you that I was home. I'm sorry I disturbed you," Holmes said meekly. That surprised me a great deal. Holmes never said anything meekly. Quietly, yes. Meekly, no.

"Well get to your room, right now! Charise and I are going out tonight, and don't want to be disturbed. If you ain't good, I swear to God that I'll hurt you so bad..." The man trailed off, leaving the sentence open. Holmes looked at his father, than ran up the stairs.

I supposed Charise was his mother, but I didn't really care about her for the minute. I ran to the other side of the house to find a tree that I could climb, so I could find Holmes' room. In about five minutes I managed to find one. I climbed the oak and peered into the window.

Holmes had a very neat and tidy room, I noticed right away. He had a closet, a bed, a desk, a chemistry set, two bookshelves, and a few things scattered here and there. I watched as he sat at his desk and wrote something down on a piece of paper. I grew quite bored of this and rapped impatiently on the window. He jolted up and saw me. Holmes stood angrily and opened it.

"What do you think you're doing here? Get out of here, now!" he hissed. I pushed past him.

"So, this is your room, huh? Nice. I thought it would be different, but oh well," I said, ignoring him.

"Watson, please. If my father finds you here..." he trailed off. I looked at him.

"Tell me about your father and your mother," I demanded. He sighed and sat on the bed.

"Fine. My father is an alcoholic. He is not abusive, contrary to the beliefs that go around school. He is just somewhat of a jerk. My mother left us when I was ten. She was hurt in a car accident and father found her repulsive to look at. She moved to America, I believe, and I haven't heard from her since," he answered angrily. I was rather confused.

"Then who is Charise?" I asked. He smiled lightly.

"A very nasty lady whom my father is dating. She isn't a big deal though. She'll be gone in another week or so. She has a criminal record too. She used to take drugs. I told my father that, but he doesn't care," Holmes said bitterly. I hugged him.

"Your family life sucks," I said. He shook off the hug and smiled.

"I suppose it isn't the best. But, one has to go on. I can't let my father ruin my entire life, now can I?" he said. I smiled.

"Now that is the Holmes I know! So, what are we doing after your father leaves?" I asked. He shrugged.

"I suppose we could just stay here. There isn't much to do in my room, but I think we'll manage," he replied. I frowned.

"Why can't we leave your room?" I inquired.

"My father locks the door."

"But you know how to pick locks, remember? On that thing last week, with the missing lunch money case? The door was locked and you picked it?" I questioned. He rolled his eyes.

"My father may look like an ignorant slob, but he does have the Holmes family genes in him. He can tell when a lock has been picked. I really don't need him angry at me," Holmes explained patiently. I sighed.

"All right then Holmes. If you wish for me to stay, just give me the word. Otherwise I'll leave," I replied. Holmes looked at me in utter disbelief.

"You truly think that I want to stay alone during my confinement? I wish for you to stay, but of course," he uttered. I smiled.

"Thank you, Holmes. Now then, when will your father leave?"