A/N: Im so sorry guys, its been quite a while since chapter two. In a mix of classes, a ton of assignments and tests, and a lot of stuff going on at home, I finally got a chance to write up chapter three this week, and the last day or so has been editing. So its here now, and I have the start of chapter 4 written up as well, so I will get that to you as soon as I can. Thanks for all the follows, likes and comments. It means a lot :)
"What do you think?" Sherlock's father asked, hand on his youngest sons shoulder. The family of four was standing beside their car, facing their new home. It was a large house. Two floors with lots of windows from what Sherlock could see. A small driveway led up to the door where one step led inside. And the yard, or rather the land around it, was expansive, stretching on as far as the eye could see. Behind the house was a small shed-like building with a garden between that and the main house. And behind that, a forest that went on for miles on all sides.
"Its different," Sherlock mumbled softly in dissapointment.
"You didnt expect us to move into a replica of our old house, did you?" Mycroft teased, heading up to the door to look on the inside.
"Of course its different," Sherlock's mother responded warmly, ignoring his brothers remarks. "But you'll get accustumed to it quickly. Shall we take a look?" She asked, stepping forwards for Sherlock to follow. His father nodded to him to do so, and followed behind wife and son as the three entered the house as well.
Sherlock stepped into the house, his eyes wandering around the large empty area. The floor was bare, and echoed as Mycroft came quickly down the stairs after having gone up to check it out. Sherlock left the side of his mother to have a look for himself.
The entry hall was different from their old house, leading to the right into a small office space. To the left was the kitchen, like before, and off of that a dining room and study. The stairs instead of being directly head on from the door, were off to the side as well, next to the door of the office.
Sherlock decided to explore the upstairs first, and possibly claim a room, had Mycroft not done so already.
The eight-year-old trudged up the wooden steps, hand trailing along the banister. He counted each rise, and when he got to the top, the second floor, Sherlock discovered this house only had thirty-three steps. A third of the last. Also, only two floors instead of three.
The upstairs was weird to the boy. It was short, with two doors on one side and three on the other. At the end, just a plain old wall. The first two doors on the left were bedrooms, and on the right, a room, bathroom, and fourth bedroom. The doors were each open slightly, and Sherlock decided to look into the first on the left to start. He entered slowly, letting the door creak open and tap against the wall when it had done so.
This room was empty, boring, and the only interesting thing was a window high up on the wall. So high that Sherlock couldnt see out of it, even if he had something to stand on. He knew this one would definately not be his own. There was nothing about it to like.
Sherlock exited and came to the next room, the one across the hall. It was similar to the first, only this one had a shelf built into the wall on one side. after a quick glance, Sherlock left again, going past the second door, the small bathroom, and coming to the third room upstairs.
The third bedroom didnt even have a window. There was no shelf, and the peeling wallpaper of the four sides made Sherlock scowl, only having entered as far as the doorway before seeing enough of it. That only left the second door on the left, and if that didnt work, Sherlock would have to choose between these others. He pushed the last door open slowly, not wanting to rush it, or get his hopes up for a magnificent bedroom that might not even exist. When the door was finally open, and Sherlock was standing umoving in its doorway, his small lips formed into a smile. This room, this was it. To the right was a window, a little tall, but if Sherlock had a chair he could easily see out of it. And directly across the door, a second window, this one giving an excellent view of the forest out back, the tall neverending trees, and above them, the blue sky that loomed overhead.
Stepping farther into the room, the eight-year-old let his eyes wander to the white painted walls, the small corner off to the side that would serve as a perfect spot for his books. And across from it, the wall where his bed would go, leaving just enough room for his desk to sit facing the window. Yes, this room was perfect, and Sherlock claimed it silently as his own.
Sherlock headed back downstairs again, taking his time. He took each step down individually to make the process slow. His shoes clicked on the wood with each step, moving across the walls of the empty, but soon to be filled house. When reaching the bottom, Sherlock discovered his brother exploring the kitchen and dining room area, and his parents looking through the office. The eight-year-old looked to both the right and left before hopping off the last step and letting his shoes echo across the floor. He paused then continued on his way into the office where his parents were.
Sherlocks father turned to face the door where the eight-year-old had now entered.
"Any thoughts? How do you like it?" the man asked proudly.
Sherlock managed a shrug from his position in the doorway.
"Have you picked out a room?" his mother asked, noticing his absent enthusiasm.
Sherlock gave a simple nod, silently, at the same time allowing his eyes to wander around the office.
"Excellent." his father exclaimed. "Why don't you get your things from the car and place them up there, eh? Before someone else takes it," His fathers ruffled Sherlocks hairs as he moved past him and out into the hall. His mother followed.
"After that you can help Mary with the rest of your things," she told him with a smile.
Sherlock turned to watch them leave, standing alone in the office. He took one last look into the empty room that he knew would soon be filled with bookshelves and his fathers large desk.
The boy left the room for the hallway, then headed back outside to the car.
Being the only one outside at the current time, Sherlock got a chance to get a proper look of the outside of the house. He first pulled his bag out of the car, lugging it to the front tires. After setting it down, he walked slowly a few steps forward to see past the side of the house.
The forest really did stretch on forever, and the garden out back of the house, the only other feature of the yard. The boy longed to go explore it, but knew first he had to bring his bag inside.
Sherlock went back to stand by his bag, watching a few of the hired movers carry the larger furniture from the truck into the house, where no doubt his parents were directing the movers on where to place each item.
Sherlock picked his bag up again, half dragging it on the ground before getting It up the step and inside. The house no longer felt empty as it had, the hired workers getting right to work. There were movers going in and out of the office and dining room, adding life to the new house.
Sherlock watched them for a moment before continuing on to moving his bag upstairs to the second bedroom on the left, the room he had already claimed
He got the bag upstairs and dragged it down the hall to the room at the end on the left. Sherlock pushed the door open again, smiling at the sight of this room that he knew was perfect. He set the bag down in the middle of the floor to tell others it was his. He left it there and headed to the window across from the door.
If Sherlock stood on his tiptoes, he could easily see out of the window and see the trees. And off to the side was a tree just like that in the old house. Sherlock unlatched the glass and pushed it open, the cold air nipping at his exposed skin. He stood there quietly for a moment, leaning out of the window as far as he could, his head sticking out and hair being blown about by the light breeze. Very easily, if Sherlock wanted to, he could climb out of the window and reach the tree, where he could then climb down to the ground. He wasnt sure when, or if he would ever need to use this feature, but it was nice to know about. Definatly a necessity when it came to adventures.
Sherlock grinned and pulled the window shut once more, making sure it was latched tightly. He turned to see his brother arrive in the doorway.
"Nice choice," Mycroft commented, having watched Sherlock look into the window. "Just make sure you don't make too much noise. I'm next door," he warned, leaving again to go his own room.
"Of course you are," Sherlock returned under his breath, glaring at Mycroft as the older boy left. The eight-year-old turned back to the window again. Maybe he would get a chance to explore the area a little later.
Movers came and left, bringing Sherlock's bed and bookshelves into his room, and carrying the boxes up as well. Sherlock watched them all, standing in his spot by the window and taking turns observing the land features, and the moving of his things. When everything was upstairs, and placed in somewhat of the right spots he wanted, Sherlock headed back downstairs. Mary was already on her way up to help him unpack the boxes, but he walked past planning on coming back up later.
The eight-year-old was greeted by his mother at the bottom of the stairs.
"Can I go outside?" he asked quietly, standing on the last of the steps, one hand rested atop the banister.
"Not right now. Go up and help Mary with your stuff," she told him.
"Can I go outside later?" he asked in repsonse.
"We'll see," was his mum's simple reply. Sherlock turned around and trudged back up the steps slowly in protest. He dragged his feet up each step and finally got to the top where he followed the hall back to his new bedroom. Mary was already in it separating the boxes into different areas of the room by content: books, clothes, desk, other.
Sherlock entered silently and say down on his bed that was yet to be made. The sheets, blankets and pillows rested at the end of the bed on the bare mattress where Sherlock was now seated.
He sat there watching Mary move the boxes. Finally she spoke up, having sorted them out for him, and going over to open up the ones containing his clothes.
"Sherlock, do you want to put your books away?" She asked, pulling out a pile of clothes and going over to the dresser he would now be using in replacement for the absence of a closet.
Sherlock slid off the bed slowly, going over to the boxes of books, set nicely in front of his empty. Bookshelves. He opened them, and kneeled down next to them on the floor, pulling them out in stacks of three or four at a time.
The two continued in this way for a long time, silence between them. Mary was busy doing most of the work, and Sherlock did the little that had been directed. After a while, when the boy's curiosity was too much, and when he couldn't handle the quiet any more, Sherlock spoke up.
"What do you think of the new house, Mary?" He addressed the woman, stopping his sorting of the books on the floor, and looking over at her.
"I hardly think my opinion is of importance, Sherlock," She told the boy, continuing with a box of his clothes, folding them and placing them in the their drawers in the new dresser.
"Well it could be. So what do you think?"
"It's a nice house," Mary replied simply.
"Alright, but really. Do you like it?" Sherlock returned, pressing for her opinion.
"Yes, it's quite fine,"
Sherlock scowled and turned back to his box of books, taking them out and stacking them on the floor.
"I think it's stupid." He mumbled.
"And why would you say that? Is a very nice house. I'm sure your mother would not like to hear you describe it as such."
"It's dumb, and small, and I don't like it," Sherlock frowned, pulling another book out and stacking ontop of the pile that was growing tall, and more unsteady with each addition.
"Just because it's different doesn't mean you don't have to like it, Sherlock," Mary tried reasoning. "I'm sure you'll come to like it in a few days time,"
"Unlikely," Sherlock muttered. He returned to his books, beginning to place them on the shelves.
When all the boxes were empty, and Sherlocks new room was more or less set up, Mary left to go back downstairs. Sherlock remained in his room for a minute. The boy went over to the window once more, placing an elbow on the windowsill, and resting his chin in his palm. He gave a sigh, looking out over the back garden and once more the endless trees. At some point he would have to come to terms that yes, this was where he lived now, whether or not he liked it.