Ch 1~ Twenty Questions

The doorbell rang.

Sighing, I got up to answer it, running a hand through my hair. I felt my brow crease as I opened the door. A girl stood there with a big man in a black suit behind her. Oh, geeze, it was David.

“Hey, Jeff.” he said. I waved my hand.

“So you’re Jeff.” the girl said, smiling almost slyly.

“Uh, yyyyeeeeah?” I said slowly, it coming out like a question.

“My name is Sherlock Molyneux. I’m Arthur’s sister.” She held out her hand to me and I shook it, the silver ring around her left thumb cold in my hand. She looked at David over her shoulder. “Thank you, Inspector Kohler, I believe I can handle it from here.”

David smiled and patted her shoulder. “I’ll check up on you later.” he said and was gone. I was frozen as the girl, Sherlock, I think her name was, walked into my apartment and set down two big vintage style suitcases.

“What are you doing?” I asked, closing the door.

“Didn’t anyone tell you?” she asked, turning to face me.

“Tell me what?”

“Arthur is dead.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And I’m his sister.”

“Right, you said that.”

“I’m going to be living with you.”

It was like I got punched in the gut. “What?!” I cried.

“I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”

“But we don’t even know each other!”

She looked at me. “I know you name is Jeffery Ayers Parker. I know you’re a doctor and you’ve just recently gotten out of medical school. You graduated early, top of your class. I know you’re from Liverpool and you wear contacts as well, but had forgotten to put them in this morning. Near sighted, are we? Also, you’re left handed and you play guitar, but you use a pick.”

I felt my jaw slack a bit. “Did Art tell you all that?”

“Only that you play guitar.”

“Then how did you-”

“It’s elementary. There’s a thick callus on the last joint of the ring finger of your left hand, showing that’s where you hold a pen, but smaller calluses on the finger pads from where you’ve held down the strings of your guitar. Your right hand has trimmed fingernails. If you didn’t use a pick, you’d have longer nails to pluck the strings. As for the contacts, when you opened the door you squinted a bit, but you don’t have the indentions most people do on their nose after wearing glasses for a long period of time. So, contacts. I had Agent Addams do a background check on you back in New Orleans as well, which is how I know about your schooling.”

“O-okay. And who exactly decided you’re going to live with me?”

“I did.”

“You did.”

“Yes.”

“Explain.”

Sherlock sighed and put her hands on her hips. “Look. I know this is awkward, okay? I get that. But I don’t have any family in America that’s capable of taking care of me, not with my whackjob mind, anyway. And you were close to Art. You were important to him. He loved you like a brother, Jeff! It doesn’t say a word about me in my parent’s will. I know I’m a freak, I know I’m probably real hard to live with, I know my habits are weird and I realize that. But I choose where I’m staying and by Jove, I’m staying in London-”

“You’re right.” I said.

“Excuse me?” Sherlock said, arching her eyebrows.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I owe it to Arthur to help you out. It’s the least I can do.” I said, the words tasting like vinegar.

Sherlock smiled out of the corner of her mouth.

“I just have a couple questions.”

“Shoot.” she said, gesturing with her hand. I took that to mean she meant ‘go ahead with your question’ and if it didn’t, oh well.

“Where will you go to school?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. Sherlock leaned against the wall.

“I got accepted into the London Ballet. My teacher back in New Orleans has a friend there who owed her a favor. Plus, she saw a video of me dancing and gave the thumbs up. We have it worked out so I can take classes there during the day and do online schooling at night with an American company. It’s just like home schooling, but you don’t have to actually teach me anything.”

“Okay, then. What about-”

“If you’re going to ask about money, I get a pension from the American government, which pays for pretty much everything I’ll need.”

“I was actually going to ask about your parent’s ‘estate’” I air quoted the word “estate.” “in America.”

“Taken care of. Everything was originally supposed to go to Arty, but seeing as he’s no longer around, I get everything. Everything that used to belong to my parents- that I have no use for, anyway- has been or will be auctioned off in New York. All the money is going into a bank account that’ll pay for my college later.”

I was surprised at how business-like she sounded. She didn’t sound like a teenage orphan who’d just lost everything. She sounded like a lawyer or a member of Parliament or something. I wondered if she was always like this.

I took a long breath and closed my eyes, trying to take everything in. “Um…okay.” I opened my eyes again. “Is that all of your things?”

“No, Inspector Kohler will be coming by in a bit with the rest. Not much, just some books, instruments, paintings. Things like that.”

“Alright then. So I suppose we’ll need to be out of the house so they can get everything in?”

“That would be preferable.”

“I guess we can go get a bite for supper, then. I’ll leave a note in the door and he can move all of your things into the back bedroom. How about that?”

“Are you not using that room already?”

“Not really. I just have some books and a couch in there. It can be moved.” I lied. It used to be Art’s bedroom.

“Alright, then.” She smiled.

~~~

I sat across a small table by the window from Sherlock at a tiny, family owned Jewish restaurant I’d been coming to since I was a kid. As Sherlock stared out the window, I got my first chance to really look at her.

She was a skinny little thing, that was for sure. She was tall, too, and incredibly pale. She was very pretty as well- ivory skin, a red little mouth and big, happy, intelligent eyes so dark you couldn’t see the pupil. Her wavy dark hair was pulled up in a messy top not with a dark red headband and her nail polish was a weird purple color. Periwinkle, Regina would have said. She wore black shoes with white spats, black skinny jeans and a white shirt with pale blue Greek letters on it- Alpha, Delta, and Pi. Her long wool sweater was the same blue color and had vintage wood buttons and about four sizes too big for her. Her earrings were roses, similar to the ones Regina had, but black. There was a pink thing around her right ear, too. A hearing aid? I knew Arthur knew American Sign Language and I didn’t recall him saying anything about anyone being deaf in his family, but I didn’t really want to ask.

I didn’t really know what to say to her, actually. She knew all that stuff about me, but I didn’t know a thing about her. Now, Art, I knew everything there was to know about him. But his little sister? Nothing. I didn’t know her favorite color, or food or movie or book or animal. I didn’t know what kind of music she liked, what she didn’t like, if she was allergic to anything, if she’d ever been to England before, if she played an instrument, what her favorite season was, if she liked football- soccer, as she probably would have called it- or if she put sugar in her tea.

“What’s your full name?” I asked, breaking the silence. Way to go, Jeff, you officially made it even more awkward.

Sherlock drug her gaze away from passing cars and the muggy London rain to look at me. “My name is Sherlock Alys Vitus d’Petite a Molyneux.”

“Whoa.” I said before I could catch myself. She smiled.

“Sherlock, after Sherlock Holmes, obviously. Alys- that’s A-L-Y-S- is pronounced just like Alice, but different spelling. Vitus is my conformation name. Saint Vitus is the patron saint of dancers. D’Petite was my mother’s maiden name and a Molyneux was my father’s surname. What’s yours?”

“Jeffery Ayers Parker.” I said.

“Simple. I like it.” Sherlock replied, pouring a teaspoon of honey into her cup of Earl Grey. Well, that answers the sugar question.

“What’s your favorite color?” I asked.

“White. You?”

“Red, I think. Favorite animal?”

“Who are you, Mr. Twenty Questions?”

“I’m just trying to get to know you.”

Sherlock folded her legs up under her and leaned her chin on her hand before taking another sip of tea.

“So you know all that stuff about me. But what about you?” I asked, holding my teacup tightly.

“What about me?” Sherlock asked, cocking a dark eyebrow.

“What do you like to do? What do you like to eat? What’s your favorite kind of music?”

She looked at me for a moment. “I like to dance.”

I snorted. “Well, obviously, if you got into the London Ballet.”

“I’m a ballet dancer. This is my ninth year of dancing, my fourth on Pointe. I’m a vegetarian, more specifically a pescatarian which means I don’t eat any kind of meat, except for fish. I like classical music. Mozart is my favorite.”

“Your usual, Jeff?” Mrs. Heften asked, patting my shoulder. “Well, who’s this? Where’s Regina?”

“This is Sherlock Molyneux.” I had to stop myself from saying “Sherlock Holmes.” “Regina‘s doing fine. And yes, please, the usual.” I replied and looked over at Sherlock, who let out a long string of Hebrew. I felt my eyes widen. Where did this girl get off, anyway?

“Alrighty then. I’ll have that out in just a second.” said Mrs. Heften and disappeared around a corner.

“Okay, what did you tell her?” I asked, leaning over the table.

“Calm down, Parker.” Sherlock replied laughing. “I very politely told her you were a friend of my brother’s and that I would like a cup of beer cheese soup. Now it’s my turn to ask the question. Who’s Regina and what is ‘the usual’?”

“It’s a Greek pita and Regina is my girlfriend.” I answered, folding my arms over my chest.

“A Greek pita at a Jewish restaurant? Okay then.” Sherlock snorted. “So what is this Regina character like? I’d like to meet her.”

“Oh, God help me if you two ever meet.” I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. Before Sherlock could say anything, my phone went off. I picked it up and held it to my ear.

“Get over here now.” a low, gravely voice said.

“What is it now, Inspector?” I asked, looking up at the ceiling.

“Double murder. Get over here. NOW.” McDaniel said. “Whitechapel.”

“The same place as-”

“Yes, now get over here, Parker!” He hung up the phone.

I sighed, standing up. “I need to head over to-”

“Whitechapel. In Westend.” She smirked. “I could hear him all the way over here. I would surmise that was your boss. Let’s go.” She stood up and pulled her sweater closer.

“No, you are not going to Westend to investigate a-”

“Double murder. And yes, I am. It’s not like I can find a way back to your apartment by myself and you, it would seem, don’t have time to argue. Now let’s go.”