After much debate between the two men – although they were acting more like petulant children – it was decided that Sherlock should carry out the questioning, much to the Inspector’s dismay. While the Inspector and the other two policemen with him sat on a large and plump green sofa, drinking tea, Sherlock still paced around the room. 

We all stood in silence, watching him circle around the room, seeing his eyes dart around the room, picking up every detail, soundlessly deducing everything. I waited impatiently, I wanted to see Sherlock in action, see the Sherlock that my mother had often spoken of. 

“Hmmn.” That frustrated me. He said “hmmn,” and that was it?! Or was the pining that I had in me that tangible, that he was teasing me, making the wait more painful?

 And after what felt like hours, he finally began to talk. “Tell me, Mrs. Mason,” he said finally. Brilliant, I would finally get an insight to the methods of London’s detective mastermind. “Yes?” She replied bored, how could she be bored?! Did she know who she was talking to? And her tone, did I detect a hint of ungratefulness?

“Did your husband have any enemies? Anyone who’d want him dead? Anyone who he’d wronged?” Sherlock declared, facing the bookshelves, running one of his hands across the spines, with the other hand placed behind his back. 

“Not that I can think of,” she said, still uninterested, looking at her nails, still lounged in that uncomfortable-looking chair by the desk, glancing out of the window. Suddenly there was a commotion at the door.

A boy no more than 11 years old, strode in, head held high, stomach bulging, ignoring us completely, but then took a second glance at the Irregulars and I. He looked us up and down eyeing us up, before turning away from us. 

“Mother!” His voice had not yet broken, and the sound, no, the squeal –which was much like a pig’s-  that came out from his mouth caused us to snigger, Skit was laughing so hard he let out a loud laugh and had to bite his knuckle to contain himself. 

“Yes, Percy?” Mrs Mason suddenly brightened up, embracing her pig of a son. “Mother, what are those things doing here?!  Mother, I don’t like it, send them out at once! Mother!”

“Of course my sweetheart! Mister Holmes! Please remove your, um-”

“I’m sorry madam, but I need them here, I don’t see how they are a problem, your daughter seems quite happy with them here, I daresay she would enjoy their company.”

“As if she’s her daughter! And who are you?!” Piggy Percy addressed my uncle. I scoffed, what an ignorant little-

I am Sherlock Holmes, investigating into matters that do not concern you.”

“Hmn. That’s what you think, I am quite mature for my age, Gibbins says that I will become a good master of the house, actually, now that my father is gone!”

“Percy! Don’t you dare say that about Father!” Ella’s face was pure rage at her insufferable little brother. I was now quite glad that I didn’t have any siblings.

“Isabella!” Her mother cried. “Don’t you dare talk to your brother like that! Get out; go to your room, at once! Go! I will not have you in the same room as Percy. You are a wicked, wicked girl! Go!”

Ella’s face didn’t flinch. She didn’t move a muscle. She took a deep breath, clenched her fists and stayed put. “Isabella!” Her mother screeched again.

 “No, no, Mrs. Mason, I want her here too.” Sherlock said firmly, distracting her. Ella exhaled and stayed put, her lips in a tight line. I saw Piggy Percy stick his tongue out at Ella, her eyes narrowed, but she kept her anger under control. For now. 

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