Prologue

“Mr. Creech, there’s someone here to see Sherlock.” Miss Carla said over the intercom.

Mr. Creech, Sherlock’s history teacher looked at her and waved his hand to say she may leave. He hardly let anyone leave the classroom for anything.

Sherlock winced as she stood, her boot rubbing a blister from Pointe that morning. She’d run out of toe tape and Lord knows Emily never had any, so she had just decided to suffer through it until Nanny could drop by the grocery and get some more. She gathered her books and picked up her hound’s-tooth bag, catching Emily’s eye as she made her way to the door.

Sherlock sighed as she walked down the white hallway. She heard the faint music of a guitar class from down the hall as she turned the corner into the front office. A tall gentleman with a mess of blonde hair and kind green eyes stood with his hands behind his back at the desk while Miss Carla argued with a parent over the office phone.

“Sherlock a Molyneux?” the man asked as Miss Carla got up and went towards the gym.

“Yes.” Sherlock replied, tucking a dark curl behind her ear.

“I am Special Agent Varen Addams. I work with the New Orleans police. I’m very sorry to inform you that your parents have been killed in a car accident.”

Sherlock felt her throat run dry and her chest tighten. Her shoulders felt weighted all of the sudden, but her mind was lighter, almost…relieved?

“Along with your brother.”

Now she felt like someone punched her in the gut. “My brother works in London.” she croaked.

“We believe they had been on the way home after picking him up at the airport. A surprise homecoming, perhaps?’

Her parents would have told her if Arthur was coming home. Arthur, however, with his mischievous nature, would have wanted to keep it a surprise.

Agent Addams drew his hand from behind his back. He held a box about the size of her history textbook, tightly wrapped in white paper with a red tag on it. “This is addressed to you. We found it on the back seat of the car, next to your brother’s body.”

Sherlock set her books on the desk and took the box. She stared at it for a moment before reading the tag- “For Sherlock, From Art” written in her brother’s sloppy script. She choked on tears, but pealed back the paper and opened the cardboard box inside. It was a black and grey striped scarf. She pulled it out as a single tear slipped down her pale cheek.

“Your parents will does not leave any instruction about where you should go. You are free to choose where you wish to stay and with whom.”