Chapter Seven

More John, Miranda and Sherlock

Sherlock had fallen asleep while eating so John had collected up the (almost full) crisp packet and sat back down at the desk. He studied Sherlock's sleeping features for a while before looking around the room again. A door at the back of the room led to an en-suite bathroom, Lady Holmes had said each of the family bedrooms had one. John slowly got to his feet, limped over and opened the white painted door. Inside were the remains of what had once been a very stylish bathroom; marble walls and floor, designer facilities including an oversized walk-in shower. Dark, dirty bubbles coated that now, slimy green … something oozed in the sink, the toilet lid was cracked and the entire room sank of bleach though from the layer of dust John didn't know what that was supposed to have cleaned. He backed out quickly.

There was another knock on the door and he hurried to it glancing at Sherlock to make sure the noise hadn't woken him,

"Doctor Watson I thought I would show you to your room," it was Miranda again,

"Thank you but is there a bathroom I could visit first?" John checked his still sleeping charge before following the maid out into the hallway shutting the door behind him,

"Your room has an en-suite," she smiled,

"Really?"

"Mister Mycroft and his parents thought you should have the room next to Sherlock's. Its right here," she pointed to the door next to Sherlock's 'toy' room.

"Oh thank you," once inside the door John couldn't help but look around it for a security camera.

"Is something wrong?"

"Looking for the camera," John answered curtly,

"There aren't any in the bedrooms, Mycroft only put one in Sherlock's room last year after he . . ." Miranda bit her lip,

"After he what?" At John's question Miranda peered across the hall into Sherlock bedroom. She entered John's room and closed his door,

"He snuck a diplomat's son and a serving girl into his room,"

"What for?"

"They were err getting to know each other a…and Sherlock wanted to watch,"

"Watch?"

"He was curious,"

"Curious?" John knew he sounded like a parrot but he was so surprised he didn't care

Miranda just shrugged,

"Ok and Mycroft didn't approve?"

"The guy was drunk and both he and the girl were more … interested in Mister Sherlock than he was expecting,"

"Was Sherlock ok?"

"Of course not Lady Holmes wondered in just as he realised they actually wanted to …" Miranda had gone entirely red by that point and was stuttering badly,

"Ok I get it; he's a teenager. I still don't think the cameras are ok though,"

"Mister Mycroft can be scary but he means well and he loves his brother,"

"Has a funny way of showing it," John muttered.

"Mister Sherlock is a difficult boy and takes up a lot of Mister Mycroft's attention. James tries to help but Sherlock doesn't seem to like him very much anymore,"

"Why are you surprised just today he was handcuffing him to his bed!" John spoke with a quiet fierceness that surprised Miranda and she became defensive,

"For his own protection!"

When John shook his head and went to argue Miranda continued scornfully,

"I doubt you'll last a week before you're doing the same thing – he's spooky and always trying to get good people in trouble."

John stared at the maid with shock and sudden dislike.

"I couldn't say it in front of mister Sherlock or his parents but no money is worth trying to help that kid,"

"That's an unbelievable thing to say about a child,"

"He's not a normal kid though is he? And I say it to all his tutors and most of them, like you, vow to stay – 'he can't be that bad' they all say – funny that none of them are still here. I'd suggest you stay away from Sherlock Holmes."

"…"

"James is always saying … Doctor Watson if you value your heart and happiness you'll leave,"

"My heart?"

"He likes to mess with nice people like you, like I said get you in trouble. Life's just one big game to him and the struggles of us ordinary folk are insignificant. How long before he's telling his brother lies about you I wonder,"

"Lies?"

"'He told me to try that heroin', she let the cat in my room even though I'm allergic to them', 'he murdered our maid', 'she doesn't know Latin', 'he's a criminal' … I could go on,"

"So he didn't always tell the truth as a child . . . "

"That last one was just last week."

John looked vaguely worried but continued his defence of his patient anyway,

"It doesn't seem like anyone believes him so why should I worry?"

Miranda groaned,

"Arr I'm just trying to do you a favour!" then huffed as she left.

John wondered slowly over to the double bed where his suitcase and laptop bag had been carefully placed. He pondered the maids' warnings as he gazed around the room.

It was the same size as Sherlock's but everything else was completely different. Where the furniture in Sherlock's room had been damaged, dirty and dark, John's was light and neat and tidy. John's room had the bed, a desk and the en-suite as well as a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, two bedside tables, four wall shelves holding a few ornaments and a mirror and painting hung on the wall next to each other. The window in Sherlock's room was covered with a thick dark curtain while the curtains covering John's were light and decorated. Sherlock's room almost had a derelict feel to it whereas John's was clearly well looked after. The contrast between the two rooms was startling but hardly the strangest thing about the Holmes household. John resolved to ask Sherlock about it when the teen was better then pushed this puzzle to the back of his mind.

After visiting the bathroom John collected his laptop and returned to sit at Sherlock's desk. The teen was still sleeping and John studied his face his thoughts returning to the conversation with Miranda again,

"Curious?" he questioned and the sound of his voice startled him slightly. He picked up the first book his hand landed found and opened it without looking to see what it was. Most boys were curious about sex … they just didn't usually want to watch a couple in front of them. John thought the young teen and the situation he got himself into the previous year was very distressing. Thinking about it made him fell awkward so he forced himself to forget it and just focus on whatever book he'd grabbed. He nearly dropped it in shock when it turned out to be an in depth and very graphic investigation into bullet wounds.

"Are you going to have another flashback?" Sherlock's interested voice startled John further,

"Huh! Oh … no … Sherlock why do you even have this?"

"It contains some very interesting experiments conducted at the Tennessee Anthropological Research Faculty which I'm going to need to know. In particular the . . . "

"The body farm?"

"You've heard of it?"

"I'm a doctor of course I have but you haven't explained why you want to know about the effects of bullets on decomposing bodies?"

"For when I'm a consulting detective,"

"…"

"I made the job up myself – I'll be the only one. The police will consult me when they need help. I'll never get bored!"

"The police don't consult anyone … why not just become a policeman?"

"God no they're all so stupid – that's why they'll come to me."

John blinked at the critical statement,

"… That's an incredibly harsh assumption."

"No it's not,"

"You have conclusive proof that every police officer everywhere is stupid?"

"Every one I've ever met is," Sherlock was staring up at his ceiling and John was suddenly struck with worry,

"Sherlock … when did you spoken to the police?" he got off the chair and stood at the end of Sherlock's bed looking down anxiously at the teenager.

Down in Mycroft's office, James Moriarty swung his legs of the desk and leant forward, watching the screen intently . . .

WC 1383