Thorne's of a Briar Rose

The Apprentice

Thorne:

"I'm looking for information on a man who's been seen around here recently, there's a £100 in it for you if you can tell me." A voice said as I kept writing in my book, writing the things I saw around me, turning it into the log of everyone who walked past, and the issues they had. "Or maybe you give me that book and you get the price you want."

I didn't look up at him, my scruffy dark hair over my face, hiding how I was younger than everyone else here by at least 7 years. "No one touches my book, and if you tell me what you want, I can tell you."

He kept looking at me carefully as I kept my head down, turning back a few pages to find what he wanted as he pass me a photo. I knew this guy, he passed through... 6 times in the space of an hour... Well, that was a record for most people in the lovely little area I sat and watched London from. Which he saw. "Now, why is he in this area so often?"

"He was looking at his phone and then up, obviously trying to find someone. From his age, and his dress, he's about a middle class worker drone, most likely in an office for a garage, and potentially for a car dealers, he's got a car from Mercedes, yet it's fairly new one, and there were traces of oil on his trousers. If anything, he's looking for a runaway kid, or maybe a wandering wife."

At which point I realised that I said too much because the man was staring at me, like he was both impressed and surprised. "You notice a lot then, I'm guessing? That book is full of all those sort of things, who people are, just from what they look like."

"I told you what you wanted, please give me the money and leave."

"Name."

I blinked at him, looking up. "What?"

The man was still staring at me. "Name, and from the fact you can't be more than 15, reason for being on the street."

Shit... I really shouldn't have looked up. "Thorne, and it's my own business. Money, then walk away."

"Thorne, right. And is that a street name, or your actual name?"

With a sly smile, I tilted my head to the side. "Does it matter? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, and have her thorns, especially in a dream. You can call me Thorne, and that's it."

"And you can call me Sherlock." Sherlock smiled, handing me a small money clip with a little over 100 in it. "Just making a note for you to be my first port of call from now on. Thank you, Thorne, enjoy your day."

Then he walked away from me as the weather started to turn, an bitingly cold wind coming through the open front of the alley, making me pull my knees to my chest. When the rain came, it would warm up, but before that? I'd have to find my own way to warm myself up, and to stop the migraine that was starting to form in the back of my head, my vision picking up everything around me.

I wasn't normal. I'd known that my entire life when I'd been moved three years up in primary school, and been very young while still ten times smarter than the rest of them. This was infuriating, being different. Probably why I was targeted, by bullies, by other people around me who seemed to think seeing everything and memorising it was a superpower instead of just it being hoarding memories.

Going into a very, very bad part of London, I knocked on a door to a warehouse, had the hatch open, and showed the money in my hand. Which meant that they let me right into the party, where no one was seeing anything but stars with the sweet smelling smoke in the air that I willingly breathed in, holding it there until there was a perfect lull in my head, where I could see the stars too.

It was cheating, yes, but it was worth it to stop it all. To not have to be brilliant minded, and just move with a crowd, to be no different from the person next to me and forget the pain and pressure in my mind. Without the drugs, and the alcohol, my brain was up to 11, where no matter what, I had to see everything, I couldn't look away and stop noticing things, it was everything was forcing me to write it all down, or to just know everything about everyone 3 seconds into looking at them.