Origins

Chapter Six

"Who in the world would do such a thing?"

With a hand to her mouth, Ruth watched out the window to the garden as a constable studied the dead rabbit and wrote on a pad of paper. Another constable lazily wandered around by the back porch, his eyes barely staying on one plot of ground and Sherlock felt his jaw ache from grinding his teeth so hard. Idiots. Blundering idiots. A portly gentleman by the title of Detective Chief Inspector Joseph Bennett walked up the porch stairs and opened the screen door. His almost pure white mustache billowed as he blew out a breath.

"Well, Ruth, I wish I had more news to soothe your worries, but I have to say, there isn't much here that we can go on-"

"Oh, Lord- and you call yourselves a police force."

Both DCI Bennett and Ruth looked to Sherlock in mild surprise. "Sherlock, mind yourself-" she started, but Sherlock stormed past them all and outside into the yard, ignoring the protests from the rest of the constables standing around.

"Young man, this scene must be left preserved-"

"Which would be plausible, if you all hadn't been walking around like a herd of bull in a china shop," Sherlock snapped. Ignoring the puzzled murmurs in response to his outburst, he began to scan the ground, being careful of where he set his steps. "No heavier than 175 pounds, size ten shoe, six feet five or so in height-"

"Young man-"

"The tread isn't British-"

"Stop right there!"

Sherlock obediently stopped in his tracks, took an extremely slow, deep breath through his nose and turned around to face the house again. The DCI's mustache twitched as he and the boy stared at each other. "Now." DCI Bennett cleared his throat. "I'm going to ask you again to leave the scene alone."

"As long as you and your men promise to watch your step from now on," Sherlock replied levelly.

"Sherlock," Ruth snapped.

"Is that a request?"

"If you want to think of it that way."

Chief Constable Bennett held up his hand as one of the constables stepped up to say something. "Fair enough," he said with serious stare after a few seconds. "We're done here at any rate."

With a glance of triumph to the shocked constables, Sherlock walked back up the porch steps and stood next to Ruth. From the corner of his eye, he saw her hand twitch and he thanked whoever was watching that there were people around so that she was forced to restrain herself from lashing out at him.

"As I was saying, I'll be in touch, Ruth," Chief Constable Bennett said as he walked down the stairs to join his men. "Don't worry, we'll find out who did this. Trust me."

Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he and Ruth watched everyone walk around the house and leave down the hillside. As soon as all was quiet, Ruth sighed and rubbed her temples. "I can't believe you, I just can't believe you."

Sherlock sputtered. "What, I didn't do anything wrong-!"

"Your mother needs a strict talking to about how to raise a child with manners." They walked back into the house. "Talking to the police as though they're daft-"

"They are-"

Ruth turned around. "Sherlock-"

"Oh, but don't mind the fact that they barely paid attention the whole time they were here."

"They're the police-"

"And for some unfathomable reason, I seem to doubt that they know what the hell they're doing-"

"Oh, and you do?"

Sherlock opened his mouth and shut it again. "I'm sure I know more than they do," he finally said after a few seconds. Ruth huffed and walked into the kitchen.

"You know, as much as you would like to believe that you're all grown up and can act however you please, you're still very immature."

Sherlock felt his blood boil. "I have more maturity in my pinkie toe than most people in this entire town!"

"I'm done talking to you." Ruth pulled out the large soup pot from the cabinet. "Come back and talk to me when you calm down." She waved her hand to dismiss him and Sherlock spun around, making sure to stomp so loud that furniture shook as he passed. He slammed the bedroom door behind him and flopped down on the bed. It only took a few seconds of being still for him to feel the effects of his stomping and he hissed out a string of curses as his knees and shins began to burn and ache. Curling up on his side to hug his knees, Sherlock glared at the wall. His mind began to concoct all sort of experiments that he would pull when he got back home just to get on his mother's nerves. That would teach her to send him away just because she felt like it. If she didn't want him gone then, she would after he was done with her.

I'll make her pay – no, I'll make them both pay for this.

He sleepily sighed and reached to pull the quilt over himself. But first, I need to sleep, he thought to himself as the bed enveloped him in comfort. Then I'll make them pay.

"Forgive me, sir, but I thought the agreement was that I wouldn't have to do field work."

Simon looked from the paperwork he was signing to Mycroft. "Well, you may be observant, but your memory could use some tweaking. I said that if we found you more useful in the office, then you would stay there. Until then-" he nodded toward an empty seat. "Have a seat."

Mycroft pursed his lips and moved to sit down, his hands moving to pose in a steeple position under his chin. Simon tossed his pen aside and muttered as he went through a pile of files on his desk.

"The assignment will be simple, I promise." Simon pulled out a rather thick file. "Know anything about banking?"

"Of course," Mycroft said.

Simon scoffed. "Maybe the better question would be is there anything you don't know. All right, so-" he pointed to a photo of a middle-age gentleman with dark hair and sunglasses, "I'm assigning you to a group of agents from MI5 to track this man." Mycroft leaned forward to study the photo. "Roger Parrington. He's the CEO of one of the largest banks in Europe, has more money than what one human being would know what to do with. Word is he's been…mishandling some funds and funneling them into different accounts overseas. He's very close to being handed over to the local force, but there's some gaps in his activities that we want to investigate first."

Mycroft sat back and nodded. "All right then."

"Well, I'm sure you would- oh…oh wait, you're not…saying no."

Mycroft shrugged. "You said it yourself: it's simple and I have to agree, it is."

"Oh. Well-well, good then. Um, you'll meet with the rest of the agents on Monday." Simon shut the file and tucked it back into the pile. "So any grand plans for the weekend?"

"I was actually thinking of going to visit my parents in Cambridge."

"Oh really? You…your…your parents?"

A saccharine smile spread across Mycroft's face. "Surely you weren't under the impression that I was born from a test tube, sir."

Simon barked out a laugh but quickly sobered. "Have a restful weekend, Mycroft. Come back to Monday prepared to go into the field."

Mycroft took his leave and as he walked out of the office, the three words in Parrington's file that caught his immediate attention floated before his eyes. University of Bristol. Seemingly harmless, he thought to himself as he straightened the cuff on his shirt. But coupled with a snippet of the conversation that he had with Mummy a few days prior, the information suddenly took on a whole new light. Who needs a team of people when only one person will have the answer? He pushed the down button on the lift and stood back to wait.

Yes, it would be good to visit Mummy and Daddy for the weekend. Hopefully, for once, they could finally prove themselves useful.

When Sherlock opened his eyes, the bedroom was dark and cool with night. At some point, he had moved to lie at the opposite end of the bed and he raised his head to listen for any sign of noise. A bark of shrieking laughter made his ears ring and as the ringing died, a rich deep vibration of a chuckle followed it. He blinked and sat up, shaking his head to clear any lingering grogginess. Opening the bedroom door, he walked down the hallway toward the sitting room.

"…I wasn't sure about what to say when she said that," a male voice said, his voice growing louder and louder. "I have never had a woman become that bold with me, especially at ninety-one –" At Sherlock stopping by the kitchen entrance, Ruth looked away from her guest and clapped her hands together.

"Oh, there you are, sleepyhead! I'm sure you must be so hungry, you slept all afternoon." She quickly got up and the man that was sitting at the table smiled politely, his eyes almost completely obscured by his bangs.

"So this must be that ornery grandson I've heard so much about."

"He's the ringleader of the entire group of them," Ruth replied as she bustled to make Sherlock a plate of food. "Sherly, you remember this gentleman don't you?"

Sherlock cleared his throat and walked into the kitchen, extending his hand to the man. "Of course I do. Nice to see you again, Mr. Mahmood."

"Please call me Safi." They shook hands. "Mr. Mahmood is my father."

"By the way, how is your father, dear?" Ruth asked. "Heard he was quite ill a few weeks ago."

"Oh, fine, thank you for asking. He's still feeling somewhat under the weather, but at least he's up and about tending to duties around town."

"Well, something is better than nothing." Ruth set a plate of cottage pie down on the table. "Oh, that reminds me, the book you came for is in my room. Be back in a moment with it." She bustled off and Sherlock picked up his fork to pick at his food. Safi folded his hands onto the table and cleared his throat.

"So, are you enjoying your stay with Ruth?"

"…you could say that."

Safi chuckled. "She's a nice woman, your grandmother."

"When she's not holding a gun to your head to help her bake cookies," Sherlock replied as he stuffed his mouth full of cottage pie.

"Her cookies are some of the best I've ever had, honestly. You help her bake them?"

"Like I said-" Sherlock made the shape of a gun with his hand and held it up to his head, which made Safi laugh. "But she also can't portion ingredients properly, so I suppose my helping her is a way of practicing my eye for measuring."

"You must be interested in science."

"Chemistry, specifically."

"Ah. Well, you know what they say: every good chemist began in his grandmother's kitchen helping her bake cookies."

"Are you two talking about me?" Ruth called from down the hall as they shared a chuckle.

"Not at all, Ruth." Safi slowly stood to his feet and without looking to Sherlock, he moved to take the worn book from Ruth's hands. "I'll be sure to bring this back right away."

"Oh, take your time with it, dear. Don't forget your cookies, now. And make sure to get that step at your office looked at." She pointed to his ankle.

"Yes, ma'am, I will." He nodded to Sherlock. "It was nice to meet you." As soon as Safi left, Sherlock set down his fork and pursed his lips. A faulty step was hardly the reason as to why Safi was limping. Patches of dirt crushed on his sweater and pants, careful to laugh only so hard, shaky grip, light bruises on his fingers and hands…

Someone had been throwing stones at him - rather large stones, at that. And Sherlock had a feeling that it wasn't the first time that it happened…and that it would be the last time. With a thoughtful hmph, Sherlock began to eat again. Maybe it would be worth getting to know Safi a little better with the time left at Nana's.

After all, his mind couldn't stand to be occupied with animal maiming all the time.