Locked Together

Chapter 2: New Home

"Mycroft, who's William?"

Mycroft looked at her for several moments then replied "My younger brother." For some reason, he didn't sound too happy. He continued, gesturing to the last room at the end of the hall. "That's his room. You'll come to find that he's... An odd one."

"Er... Alright". Raven proceeded to drag her luggage into her room and started to settle down.

"If and when you do decide to meet my brother," Mycroft suddenly called before heading down the stairs, "I apologize in advance." With that he was gone.

Huh... Whatever that meant. Raven thought to herself as she started to unpack.

***

Almost an hour had passed and Raven once again found herself sketching. She closed the sketchbook and leant back onto the bed. Though the feeling of the soft sheets were tempting, she was bored.

Maybe I should take a walk around the house. Or meet this William guy. Without hesitation she got up from the bed, stretching her arms. Wouldn't hurt to try and make a friend I guess, Raven told herself. She quickly stepped out of her room and down the hall to where Mycroft said William would be.

Walking down the hallway, she found herself looking around at the walls and furniture. The atmosphere of the house was comforting and she couldn't help but admire it.

As soon as she approached the door, she lifted her hand to knock, but before she did, a low, almost emotionless, voice sounded on the other side.

"Come in."

Taken aback by the unexpected call, Raven took a moment then gradually pushing against the wood and into the room. Upon entering, she was greeted by a cluttered sight. The floor was littered with old books and paper scraps. Large, dusty shelves, carelessly piled with books, lay against walls decorated in posters and newspaper clippings. Squinting, Raven tried to make our the words on some of them, but as ever it was a struggle.

"Catch." The low voice sounded again, Raven looked up to see a rubber ball hurling towards her. Quickly bringing her arms up, she clasped it moments before it could hit her in the face.

"What the-"

At the center of the room sat a boy behind a table, his eyes focused on a microscope. It was an odd sight, seeing as how the table was crammed with bottles and beakers, as well as what appeared to be containers of blood and several dead critters. Raven scrunched her nose in disgust as the decaying scent hit her. So this is William. She silently remarked, bringing her attention back to the pale figure. He had a head of dark disheveled curls that draped over his forehead almost covering his blue-green eyes. The sleeves of the white dress shirt he wore was pulled up to his elbows, and the collar was propped up messily. She couldn't help but notice his high cheekbones and how oddly angular his face was.

"Hi, you must be Will-"

"Just call me Sherlock." He interrupted calmly, eyes still fixed on his microscope.

Hmm... Sherlock. Odd name. Raven opened her mouth to speak again but she was once again cut off.

"Oh introductions aren't necessary, I know who you are." William, or as he said, Sherlock finally looked up from his experiment and gave Raven an empty gaze before continuing. "Raven Underwood, yes?"

Raven slowly nodded.

"Just letting you know beforehand, I have no intentions on socialising so don't bother, you'll only be wasting your time as well as mine. Will that be all?" He gave, what was clearly a fake, smile then brought his attention back to his experiment.

Wow... Rude, much? Raven stood, speechless at his bluntness for several moments, then headed out the door. "Well... It was nice to meet you too, I guess. I'll be going then."

"Ah before you go, can I borrow a pen?"

"Sorry?" She stopped, looking back confused.

"A pen." Sherlock once again looked up from the microscope. "Seeing as how you do quite a lot of art, do you happen to have a pen on you at the moment?"

"Actually I..." She reached into her pocket then pulled out the pen she used earlier. "How did you know that? That I did art?"

"Same way I know most things." He got up and started walking towards her. "Correct me if I'm wrong but, previously you had gone to Meadows Ridge School, Sussex, at least that was until the little fire incident three months back. You're suspected of involvement in the incident aren't you? Must've been quite troublesome and for that reason you're glad to be moving for the week. Might I also add, I can tell you have dyslexia, quite unfortunate really."

"Wha- Have you been looking into me before I came?" Raven stepped back, baffled.

"Of course not, I simply observe"

"Observe?"

Sherlock stopped in front of Raven, eyeing her with his cold blue-green gaze.. "The bump on your right middle finger, paint stains on your sleeve, and ink smudges on your hand says artist. When you entered the room, you had a difficulty in reading what's on the wall, yet you were able to effortlessly catch the rubber ball I threw in your direction. Difficulty in reading, not sight, so dyslexic, obviously." Before she could protest, Sherlock continued with more enthusiasm. "Ooh now for the fun bit. Your clothing, very specific brand from a shop in Sussex. Traces of ash on your shoes as well as the contracture scars on your forearm suggests you've been around fire somewhat recently, more specifically, three months ago. Sussex, fire, three months from now, so, the Meadows Ridge School incident. It's been in the papers. Then there's your suitcase, saw it out the window when you first arrived. It's old but barely used so you don't travel often. Though this little trip seems to be an exception, maybe because you've got issues back home. " Raven took another step back, a sense of frustration growing.

"Old bruises on your arm," Sherlock took her right arm and pulled up the sleeve, revealing several faded dark marks. "Distinguishable and quite clearly from students. You've had your fair share of fights judging from your knuckles, but, no offense, you seem more of the victim type. Bullied, then. Now why on earth would anyone physically assault a victim of a fire? Unless you were believed to be not so innocent. Am I wrong?" he finished, grabbing the pen Raven was holding.

She looked down at her feet, clenching her fists. "The fire wasn't my fault." She muttered darkly.

"I never said it was." Sherlock replied with the same emotionless tone he had earlier, before walking back to his table of experiments. Not knowing what else to say, Raven headed out the door.