Buzy Bee

A Story by johnwatson

Sherlock Holmes isn't perfect but he meets someone who is...

                            BUZY BEE

                            Sherlock Holmes, 17 years of age, was practically perfect, well so his family thought. An A* student with A* manners and A* etiquette. He was the pride of his family, well, one of the prides. Second best really. There was still his older brother, Mycroft Holmes who happened to get a job with the government about a month ago. He was so immensely jealous of his older brother, he vowed that when he was older that he would become even more well known. It wouldn't be difficult considering his brother's job was rather secret. The idea that Sherlock was simply the 'angel' of the family had become tedious long ago. Maybe he did have the advantage of looking like one with silky black curls, sharp cheekbones, pale skin and nebula eyes. Though thanks to modern media, he would more than likely fit the description of a vampire or some sort of devil child. His family insisted he was beautiful none the less. It had gotten to a point where Sherlock was willing to leave out the animal carcasses he had been dissecting for his family to find, that would surely shut them up. He'd always thought that one of the weaknesses of mankind was that they decided to see the best in people. How foolish...
                            "Mycroft has been ever so busy, it is rather unfortunate he's hardly ever here to see you anymore, Agna." Mummy Holmes clattered about, cleaning up cups of tea. "Don't you agree Sherlock?" She smiles at him with those big, blue eyes and Sherlock can feel his insides churning. "Yes mother, of course. I miss Mycroft ever so much, we used to have so much fun together. How unfortunate that he decided to leave me behind in pursuit of money." He batted his long, dark eyelashes sweetly.
                            "Sherlock!" Aunt Agna gasped, frantically wiping up the tea she spilt in surprise at his statement. "Your brother hasn't just left you. How dare you believe that he's so selfish?! Unlike you, young man, your brother is working for the better of this country!" Her double chin wobbled as she spoke and Sherlock simply smiled whilst picturing a variety of ways he could murder his dear aunty right this second. Resisting, the strong urge to roll his eyes, he sighed instead "It's all fine, I can live perfectly fine without Mycroft anyway. Don't really need his witless battering." he examined his manicured nails. He suddenly shot up from his comfortable position " Anyway, it was lovely to see you Agna but i do have some very important business of my own to attend to." And with that, he kissed his aunty's peachy cheeks, bid farewell to his mother and raced out of that prison. It was far too hostile for him. All that smiling and happiness, how dull. Sherlock had better things to do with his time anyway, nothing was worse than talking to bloody Aunt Agna. Why did he have to suffer with her insolence because her husband died? The woman must have some friends who can help her? Then again, she is completely intolerable so maybe not...
                            Sherlock skipped along his street, chirping proudly at his own escape. Wearing grey trouser-shorts, immaculate white polo shirt and knee high socks along with black shoes that glimmered like stars and a green cardigan wrapped firmly around his skinny hips.
                            He admitted that he didn't look the part considering he was going to a 'rad' party to see his 'cool' friends. Well, not really his friends. Lestrade's mother had insisted that her son invite Sherlock out of his mother's insistence not to leave the poor loner boy alone again. Sherlock took the opportunity of course, despite his distaste for social interaction. Parties were perfect for analyzing teen behavior. Of course they would all get intoxicated and try to snog as many people as they could but it was their personal lives that Sherlock enjoyed digging into. The only way this lonely, skinny boy would find power was by knowing everyone's weaknesses.
                            Sherlock turned down the next street, he would have to walk for approximately another five minutes before the sound of thumping music hit his ears and another three for him to actually reach Lestrade's house. The boy had not given Sherlock an invitation out of hope he would not turn up and Lestrade could simply say the wild haired boy was busy. Not that anyone cared. His mother certainly wouldn't know, Lestrade had found an excuse to get rid of her.
                                Sherlock wondered how alarmed Lestrade would be when he turned up. Of course Sherlock knew his address, he knew everyone's address. That information was kept to himself of course as they would all be rather alarmed if they discovered that. They would probably try to kill him. Teenage boys were notoriously aggressive...
                                Rain started to fall as he approached the small council house. What a lovely day to have a party.
                                The place was average sized, small front and back garden, white paint peeling from the walls an orange light flickering on and off from behind the curtains with the beat of the bass music.