Chapter Twenty Three- 2009 Role Model


"What do you mean, you have no new cases? Surely, something has happened? There are twenty four Murder Investigation Teams at the Met. At least one of those must be working on something fresh. Tell them to work with me."

If there was a trace of whine in the tone, Greg chose to ignore it. He knew Sherlock was bored, the young man had told him so, repeatedly.

"Sorry, it's an unexpected lull. I'm afraid I can't whip up a triple murder on command, Sherlock; life just isn't like that, or maybe I should re-phrase that- death isn't like that. The boys and girls at the Yard are keeping themselves busy with existing investigations, or digging through the cold case files that you've already rejected as too easy or too boring. In any case, I'm not working this weekend, so it's no good complaining to me."

He could hear the huff on the other end of the phone.

"Don't whinge, Sherlock. It's a lovely day out. Go for a walk, do something spontaneous. If you stay in looking at the four walls of your flat, you'll be tempted to do something silly, like that experiment that got you evicted last time."

"Lestrade, walking with no purpose is pointless."

"But, that's the idea – just enjoy the fresh air and sunshine."

"You don't understand. What seems a pleasant stroll to you is to me physical exercise that inundates my senses with useless information that serves no purpose. Why would I inflict that on myself?"

"Well, I'm sorry, but I can't help. I'm on babysitting duty. My sister Carole dropped Sam off this morning, and I've got him for the weekend. So, I'm not planning on going out anywhere that would amuse you."

"I thought your wife didn't get on with Sam."

"She doesn't. She's at her mum's today and tomorrow, helping prepare for her dad's birthday party on Monday night. I'll drop Sam off at Carole's on Sunday and join her at the party in Esher after work. Now that you know my every movement between now and then, what else can I do for you?"

He tried to keep the note of impatience out of his voice, but he was getting worried that he hadn't heard any noise coming out of the living room where Sam was supposed to be keeping himself amused, while Greg took the call in the kitchen.

"I'm coming over to your flat, should be there in about thirty minutes."

"Sherlock, I meant it. I'm not going to be free to do anything with you this weekend." The thought of dealing with one twelve year old autistic child was challenging enough. Adding a thirty year old autistic adult, who sometimes reminded him of the twelve year old, was beyond comprehension.

"I'm not coming to see you, Lestrade. I want to meet Sam."

Oh, that's …unexpected. He decided to proceed with caution. "Why?"

"Because I am curious, Lestrade, to know if there is anything I can help with. I mean I have some…experience of what it is like to be on the other side."

He hesitated. He knew that Sherlock would hear the hesitation and probably deduce the reasons why.

He heard a sigh from the young man. "You are going to be spending roughly 45 hours in the company of a child. At the very least, having someone there to take on a few hours of that should be greeted with relief. I don't know why everyone always assumes that I won't get on with children."

Greg sniggered. "Maybe that's because we see how you deal with adults who try your patience."

"Yes, but that's the whole point, isn't it?! They are adults, not children. I find children…fascinating. Their minds haven't yet been corrupted by boring conventionality and predictability. And Sam just might be more interesting than most of the children I meet."

The older man was thinking the idea through, when Sherlock interrupted. "Lestrade, there are too many people who think that autistic children should be hidden away from any social contact. I think that is more about their social embarrassment than about what the child actually needs. I'm on my way." And the phone line went dead before Greg could come up with any good reason why Sherlock and Sam shouldn't meet.

He went back into the living room and realised what Sam had been doing to keep himself busy. The boy had taken all of his wife's books off the three book shelves that he could reach, and was now re-organising them by size and colour. There were nearly ten small piles of books on the floor, and he was now neatly creating an eleventh. It's going to drive Louise nuts the next time she tries to find a book by alphabetical order. That said, he had to admit that the visual impact on the living room would an improvement. Maybe it's just a different way of seeing things, he mused.

He headed back to the kitchen to see if he had enough pizza in the freezer to feed three. He wasn't sure that Sherlock would eat, but it was worth a try. At least he wasn't working on a case. He made a salad, and pre-heated the oven and set the table. Maybe I can convince Sherlock to eat because he should show Sam the importance of good nutrition? The harder challenge would be getting Sam to eat at a table; he'd never managed that previously with Greg.

By the time he returned to the living room, Sam was starting to put the piles of books back onto the shelves. "Here, let me help you. We need to finish putting these away before my friend arrives." Sam didn't look at him, but carried on putting the books up. Greg lifted a pile.

"No, not those. This pile goes next, and then three others."

"Why?"

A baritone voice answered. "Because they need to be in the right order, the order of the colours of the rainbow."

Sam didn't look up, but he just said, "Yes."

Greg smiled a greeting to Sherlock, who had let himself into the flat. He'd given the young man a key years ago. "Better that you have a key than you pick my locks; if you want in, you'll get in; just don't do it when Louise is here," Greg had sighed as he handed over the copy.

Sherlock bent over and picked up the first of three yellow piles and handed it to Ben who slid them onto the shelf. Greg started to reach for the nearest of the other two yellow piles, but Sherlock stopped him. "The other one- it's in order of colour saturation."

Sam stopped and tilted his head. He still wasn't looking at either of the two men. "What's 'saturation'?"

Sherlock handed him the correct pile. "Related to chromaticity, saturation tells us how a colour looks under different lighting conditions. For example, your bedroom painted a solid colour appears different at night than in daylight. Over the hours of the day, although the colour is the same, your eye sees it differently because the light is different."

Sam thought about this for a while as he pushed the books onto the shelf. "Yes. Colour at night- it's different from day, because of the light."

"Yes." Sherlock handed him the last of the yellow piles.

Greg just watched. He would not have thought to use words like 'saturation' or 'chromaticity' which would be, he thought, beyond Sam's vocabulary. Yet, the boy had grasped the concept. And Sherlock had not talked down to him, just helped him understand the words by relating them to the way he saw his own bedroom.

"Sam, this is Sherlock. He's having lunch here and spending some time with us." Sam just kept putting the books back on the shelf, and Greg wasn't sure if he'd understood.

Sherlock saw Greg's uncertainty. He gave a gentle smile. "Sam, what's my name?"

"Sherlock."

"Yes, it's an odd name, you are right. Your uncle didn't know if you realised it was my name, because you didn't look at him."

"That's stupid."

Sherlock smirked. "Well, yes, that may be true. But people like him need to use their eyes, because they don't understand things the way we do."

"You're different. You're like me?"

"Yes."

"Hmmm." Sam put the last pile of books on the shelf and stood back to look at the results.

"I like colours, too, so let's play a game. Go into the kitchen. Find me seven objects, in rainbow order, but start with green. So, what colours will you be looking for and in what order?"

"Green, blue, indigo, violet, red, orange and yellow." Sam chanted them off.

"That's right. Just walk around the kitchen and see them, but don't touch them or move the object; just remember where they are. You need to keep them secret, so don't tell me, I'm going to have to guess. I'm going to wait here, and then when you have decided about your objects, then tell your uncle to call me in for lunch."

oOo

At least he is sitting down with us. Maybe he'll eat a slice of pizza without realising he is doing it. For once, Greg was thinking about Sam, not Sherlock. Sam's attention usually wandered when it came to eating at a table. Carole had given up trying to have family meals pretty soon after Sam was able to sit in a high chair. As a baby, he fussed non-stop and wouldn't eat, and made life difficult for her and her husband, Steven. He came home tired after his work as an IT project manager, and needed some peace and quiet. So, over the years, Sam had got used to eating on his own- and rarely at a kitchen table.

Yet, here he was now, sitting patiently, watching Sherlock who was across the table from him. Studiously avoiding looking at Sam, the tall brunet was instead just looking everywhere else in the kitchen. "You're sure that every one of the seven objects is in plain sight?"

"Yes."

"New rule- no words. No yes or no, just nod your head for yes and shake your head for no."

Sam started to say, "okay" but was cut off by Sherlock. "No words, just nods or shakes."

That got Sam nodding. That meant Sherlock had to look at him briefly, with his peripheral vision, but he avoided direct eye contact.

"So, the first object is green."

Sam started to speak, stopped himself and nodded vigorously. He was watching Sherlock's eyes wandering around the kitchen.

"There are at least three possibilities. I'm going to deduce which one is right. Deduction means 'figuring something out'. I'm very good at it."

Lestrade smiled as he deposited a plate in front of the two of them, with a steaming slice of pepperoni pizza. He watched as Sam picked up the slice and bit off a piece while looking at the same bits of the kitchen that Sherlock was looking at.

"Right. It's the green pepper sitting in that vegetable basket."

"YE…" Sam stifled the word and just nodded vigorously. But, as he chewed, he couldn't stop himself from asking "how?"

Sherlock looked down at his own plate with a furrowed brow, and somewhat suspicious, he tore off a small piece and ate it. He didn't look at Sam. "Does your question 'how' mean how did I figure out it was the pepper and not the sponge by the sink, or the teapot? And remember, nods or shakes only."

Sam's left hand shook a bit. Lestrade knew from that his nephew was excited. He was enjoying this game. The boy nodded again as he chewed his next bite of pizza, and watching Sherlock's face as he pulled off another piece of his own and popped it into his mouth.

"Yeah, Sherlock, I want to know the answer to that question, too."

The young man smirked. "I will tell you both when we are done. Now, onto blue. There are no fewer than fifteen items in plain sight that are blue, so this one will be harder. Lestrade, your wife really likes home decorating, doesn't she?"

Now it was Greg's turn to smirk. "Yes, blue is her favourite colour, so I'm lucky the whole flat isn't covered in the stuff."

Sherlock moved his gaze around the kitchen, still keeping Sam within his peripheral vision. After a minute, he looked back down at his plate, and said quietly, "It's the tea towel on the drying rack beside the sink, isn't it?"

This time Sam just gave a rapid nod.

"Right, onto indigo. This one is harder, wasn't it Sam?"

Sam shook his head; he squirmed a bit in the chair, and bit his lip. He was clearly excited.

Greg wondered if he actually knew what the colour indigo was apart from a really dark blue. He looked around in vain; Louise preferred the light blues and pastel colours.

Sherlock said, "Well, Sam, you and I know what it is, but clearly your uncle doesn't know what we do, does he?"

This time Sam nodded furiously and his eyes lit up in excitement. He took a quick look at Greg out of the corner of his eye, then looked away and smiled.

OH. My God, Sam actually smiled. Wow. I can't remember the last time I saw him smile. I must remember to tell Carole; she'll be thrilled.

"Uh, you're right; haven't a clue, Sherlock, so put me out of my misery."

"As ever, you observe but do not see. Sam and I know that there's actually only one item in the kitchen that qualifies as indigo- the jeans you're wearing."

Greg laughed at that. And saw Sam nodding furiously.

The rest of the game carried on as the pizza slices disappeared without anyone really thinking too much about it. At the end, Sherlock explained that he could tell when he looked at the right object by seeing Sam's eyes- his pupils dilated in excitement when Sherlock got it right. THat led to a detailed explanation as to why pupils dilate and constrict, and how it affected vision, and why pupils dilate when a person is excited. Lestrade questioned how Sherlock had seen it; "you never looked at Sam directly."

"I don't have to; I can watch when he isn't looking at me, and learn everything I need to know." Now he looked straight at Sam, who met his gaze, although he was a little uncomfortable about it. "And, Sam, if you get good at it like I am, then the other person won't even know you are doing it. It's safer that way." Sam looked away from Sherlock's direct gaze, but kept him in his peripheral vision.

"Yeah. I get it." He sounded a little amazed.

And Greg was pleased to have learned something new about both his nephew and his consulting detective- more gets done through a sideways glance and the challenge of a puzzle than by telling someone what to do or how to do it.