Young Sherlock | School of Deduction (Book One)

Chapter Two

Bus 307 was an ordinary bus with worn, faded blue seats and a scuffed metal floor covered in unattractive stains of a variety of colours. Sherlock noticed a creamy-orange stain that resembled vomit, and due the shape of the stain and the probable trajectory, he deduced that the person who had thrown up had been sitting in the seat he was currenly sitting in. This didn't really bother him - after all, if he became a forensic scientist or a detective like he wanted to, then he would have to deal with worse.

Sherlock and Mycroft were seated in the only two seats that had remained unoccupied - Mycroft at the front of the bus, Sherlock at the back. On his left was a woman with a crying baby who had quite clearly had two accidents his stressed mother had failed to notice. On his right was a girl with brown hair that had been shoved into a messy pony-tail which came down to her shoulders and held in place by a dark red elastic which she had only started using two days ago.

"Sherlock Holmes, isn't it?" she said, with a look of recognition on her face.

"Yes," he replied shortly. He had no intention of starting a conversation with a stressed college girl who was having money troubles.

"We're in the same Chemistry class - isn't your brother the tutor who knows everything about everyone?"

"Yes." Why couldn't she just leave him alone?

"Oh, that's him over there isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to keep saying yes until I leave you alone?"

"Yes," Sherlock replied, his tone emotionless, although he nearly laughed.

The bus lurched to a halt, and the woman with the baby exited the crammed vehicle. Luckily, no one else boarded the bus.

"Are you -" the girl continued, only to be interrupted by Sherlock.

"Look, I am annoyed enough right now without you jabbering on," he spat. "It's raining and I have to spend my life in London with a collection of ignorant people like you with varying levels of stupidity.

"Looking at you, I would say you are at the more intelligent end, because of the way you recognised me and my dear brother immediately which shows you have a brain capable of quickly recalling information, but you are stressed, made obvious by the bags under your eyes and messy hair, which also suggests that you are struggling to get work done and have limited time to do so. In that case, I would guess you have a part-time job, probably in the local KFC or McDonalds judging by the grease on your shirt cuffs and the traces of sauce on your hands and fingernails.

"Why do you have to participate in both work and college? Probably because you have extensive money problems because, let's face it, landlords in London charge way too much."

He turned away, expecting to have silenced the girl, but to his surprise, she replied.

"Well I'm annoyed too," she said. "I have to sit in a bus that smells like sick with pompous idiots like you. And I'd wager you have problems too.

"I'm guessing you still live with your parents - you and Mycroft always travel together to the same destination which implies you still live together. But you two despise each other and so wouldn't do so by choice, implying other family ties are involved.

"You moved to London for your first year at college which probably means your parents want you to do well and make sure that you do your coursework and revision. You were up all last night finishing something college-related, and this is made obvious by the stains of coffee on your shirt cuffs and the bags under your eyes because you were trying to stay awake.

"You have stiff fingers and marks on your wrist so you probably completed the work on the computer and no sleep plus too much time sitting at a computer equals grumpy the next day, but you're always scowling whenever I see you so I guess you are just extra especially grumpy today."

The bus shuddered to a halt and stopped again, and the girl rose from her seat.

"See you around, Sherlock Holmes," she said, and walked down the aisle and off the bus.

Sherlock couldn't believe it! Someone like him. Someone who observed things. Someone who wasn't completely ignorant to the world around them.

So when he got off the bus with Mycroft, he decided to ask him a question.

"Mycroft, I don't suppose you know the name of the girl from our college who was on the bus?"

Mycroft looked confused as to why his younger brother wanted to know, but always eager to show off his endless connections to everybody, he replied.

"That, my dear brother, is Sophie Marie Thompson. Anything else you'd like to know?"

Sherlock paused for a second before replying.

"Can I have her number?"