Chapter 9

June 2001

In his room Sherlock hurriedly packs a large duffel bag. He stuffs most of his clothes and most prised possessions. Namely a few of his science books, a pocket magnifying-glass, an engraved pen knife, a plain pen knife, a photograph of him, Violet and Mr Drake after an awards ceremony the previous year, a photo of Mycroft and him with Violet. He pulls the top of the bag shut at the same time as a knock sounds at the door. 'Lockie?' Sherlock freezes as Violet's voice floats through the door. 'Dinner in ten minutes.' Sherlock listens to Violet's footsteps head away from his door before returning. 'Is everything okay? Lockie?'

'It's fine.' Sherlock snaps. Sherlock relaxes as Violet retreats from the door and looks around his room. His gaze lands on his violin. He hesitates and glances at the door. Before he can make up his mind another knock sounds at the door. Sherlock scowls.

'Sherlock' Mr Drake's voice comes through. 'Your mother rang me.'

'She worries too much.'

'You've been hospitalised three times in the last four months. Each time the Pycroft boys have put you there. She's your mother she's aloud to worry. Let me in.' Sherlock picks up his bag. He carefully places in on the floor and slides it under his bed. He strides over to the door and opens it to let in his friend. Mr Drake casts his eyes over Sherlock's room. 'Where are you planning to go?'

'Who says I'm going anywhere?'

'Sherlock! I didn't become Chief Superintendent for nothing. Stop pretending that we're both stupid and tell me.' Sherlock shrugs.

'Dinner time.' Violet shouts from the kitchen. Mr Drake put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

'Wherever you're going you can wait until you've had dinner.' Sherlock glares at him but relents, nodding. He allows Mr Drake to lead him to the kitchen.

Three hours later finds Sherlock sitting in his room. Waiting. As the clock ticks towards midnight, Sherlock rises up from his position on the bed and pulls his bag from under the bed and slings it onto his back ignoring the violin. He leaves his room walking as quietly as possible. As he gets to the front door he pauses and looks up to his room. He silently removes his bag from his back and creeps back up the stairs. He re enters his room and looks around for his violin, bow and case. He locates each other them and lovingly places his violin and bow into the case before carefully and quietly shutting and locking the lid. He picks it up and vacates his room for the last time shutting the door. He steals back down the stairs and picks up his bag after putting his coat on. Securing the bag and gripping his violin case he opens the door to it's halfway point and exits the house making sure the door is closed and locked behind him.

As the sun rises over Hindhead Violet gets up and starts preparing breakfast for the two of them. She notes the time and calls for Sherlock. Hearing no reply from her son she walks up the stairs. She tentatively opens the door to Sherlock's room and finds empty. Looking around the room she notices that the violin has gone and have the few photos that decorated the walls. She panics, rushes out of the house and onto the street, nearly knocking over Mr Drake. 'Violet?'

'Sherlock, where is he?' Mr Drake grabs her arms and guides Violet back to her house.

'Sherlock has gone?' Violet nods dumbly. 'I'll call some people to look for him. Did he leave a note or anything?'

'I don't know.' She rises to look but Mr Drake stops her.

'I'll look.'

Mycroft heads to his desk after an early morning meeting. He yawns and stretches his back persuading his spine to realign. He yawns for a second time and reaches for a file to read through. He finishes reading the file and picks up another as the phone rings. 'Mycroft Holmes, how can I help?'

'Croft, it's Sherlock.' His mother's panicked voice filtered through the speaker.

'Sherlock?' Mycroft stiffens 'What has he done?'

'Croft…' Mycroft detects a sob.

'Violet, give me the phone.'

'Mycroft? It's Mr Drake.'

'Mr Drake, what's going on?'

'Sherlock has disappeared. Runaway it seems. I'm coming up to London on the next train. Can you meet me?'

'I can try but it's doubtful. I've got meetings all afternoon.'

'Try.' Mr Drake's voice comes through sharply. 'I'll be in London by nine.'

At eight fifty, Mycroft steps onto the platform at Waterloo and watches at the train draw into the station. Mr Drake spots Mycroft easily in the throng of commuters and he quickly makes his way over to him. 'Mr Drake.'

'Mycroft. You haven't been looking after yourself.' Mycroft grimaces.

'Any news on Sherlock?' he swiftly changes the subject.

'Left the house between midnight and six this morning. Last seen hitchhiking into Guildford. I've a couple of old contacts at Scotland Yard starting to look into it for me.'

'Pulling favours?'

'Something like that.' Mr Drake mutters. Mycroft guides him through the concourse and to a waiting car. Once they are safely ensconced in the car Mycroft looks at Mr Drake.

'There's something you aren't telling me.'

'Last night, I spoke to Sherlock and I thought that I had persuaded him to stay. Evidently not.' He finished with a wry smile.

'He is a Holmes Mr Drake. Stubborn, obnoxious and manipulative but absolutely charming and amenable when the need arises.' Mr Drake snorts. 'Did he give a reason for running?'

'Do you need me to answer that or can you?' Mycroft works the reason out in a matter of seconds.

'Ah.'

'Precisely.'

'The Pycroft boys.'

'Got it in one.'

'Scotland Yard sir.' The driver tells them. Inspector Lestrade opens the car door for Mycroft and Mr Drake to get out.

'Chief Superintendent Drake.'

'Lestrade, this is Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older brother.' The two younger men shake hands.

'Pleasure.'

'Likewise. Any leads?'

'A couple.' Lestrade closes the door and leads Mr Drake and Mycroft into the building.

They sit in the office of the current Chief Superintendent. Mycroft and MR Drake sit in the chairs while Lestrade perches on the desk in front of them. 'We have CCTV and eyewitness statements that shows your brother boarding a London bound train in Guildford.'

'But?'

'Not alighting at any of the station.'

'Is that possible?' Mr Drake asks

'It's difficult. But not impossible.' Mycroft answers. Lestrade glances at him sharply. 'I'm a very junior official for the government.'

'Does he know about surveillance techniques?' Lestrade enquires.

'Yes.' Mycroft answers dubiously. 'I taught him some but-'

'He's fairly proficient.'

'But there's a difference in avoiding schoolyard bullies and trained professionals.'

'Inspector, I taught him counter surveillance.' Mr Drake snaps. 'He has an outstanding memory and can retain virtually every fact and decipher any puzzle or challenge he sets his mind to. He knows how to lie low.'

'Sir?'

'What is it Mr Drake?'

'He's young, scared, vulnerable, impetuous and recalcitrant. Stubborn Lestrade.'

'There's no knowing what he could get up to.' The expressions on the faces of Mr Drake and Mycroft confirm Inspector Lestrade's suspicions.

'May I ask why did he run?'

'Remember when you met him? You said four boys looked over the top of my fence seconds after Sherlock had made it onto the house?' Lestrade nods.

'Those four boys have bullied both Sherlock and myself since they moved to Hindhead in 1991. We have both been hospitalised by them multiple times.'

'It got worse for Sherlock after you left for University. The attention of all four of them was focused on him and him alone.'

'Haven't the local forces done anything about it?'

'We all know what happens, who does it so on and so forth but the Pycroft boys are smart as well as vicious. They never do anything when witnesses are near.' Mycroft snorts.

'I wouldn't call the elder two smart. The younger two, Tom and Jerry, have the brains of that family.'