The game is a FootMr. Holmes glowered down at his two children from behind his dark
wooden desk. His boys named Mycroft and Sherlock stared wide eyed back up at him yearning for the dreaded silence to end. Mr. Holmes let them suffer a moment longer before inquiring rather loudly, "Do either of you want to explain why our newest housekeeper quit this morning?" Sherlock suddenly felt very small standing in a room with his overly annoyed father next to his older brother who was clearly more frightened than he was. Well, Sherlock guessed he might not be clearly frightened, but surely anyone else would notice that Mycroft's breathing was much faster than Sherlock's own. Or that his brother's habit had kicked in and his fingers were nervously tapping 'Help me' in morse code on his leg. But more scared onot, Mycroft was his brother and Sherlock had to help him.
Both boys hated every nanny, babysitter, and housekeeper that came to call. They bearly ever saw their father and every time another caretaker quit their father had to watch them until he could find a replacement. It had become a great game for Sherlock and he regularly enjoyed terrorizing the house keepers, being only the age of seven. Mycroft, who was soon turning fourteen, only got rid of them because he thought himself old enough to take care of both him and Sherlock by himself.
The most recent housekeeper had only started three days ago, fifteen days before Christmas, but Sherlock had already memorized her pattern. When she woke up, when she took a shower, when she served them their meals, when she dusted, vacuumed, cleaned, and mopped; when she came up stairs to get his laundry and when she went to the market every Friday. So with the help of Mycroft, they divised a plan to make her quit. Sherlock knew she hated bloody, gross things after she almost fainted when he rode his bike into a light pole and got a cut on his forehead that bled into his eye. That morning they had put a body in the shower. It wasn't a real dead body, of course, but only a fake that they got with the help of Mycroft's connections. However, it was so realistic that the moment that the housekeeper saw it, she packed her bags and left. She didn't even stop to collect her last paycheck.
After Sherlock explained all this to his father, Mr. Holmes sighed deeply, "I don't know what to do with you boys anymore, so I've decided not to hire any more nannies."
"Does that mean that I'm old enough to watch Sherlock now?" Mycroft stammered.
"No! Mr. Holmes snapped. "It means I'm sending you to St. Angie's, that boarding school we were talking about, as soon as school starts."
After their talk with their father the boys went to the library room. There Sherlock practiced his violin and Mycroft reorganized the books. Both boys were thinking about St Angie's. Finally after Sherlock missed almost half the notes in his song and Mycroft finished re-reorganizing the library Sherlock set his violin down and asked, why does father frighten you so much? Nothing frightens me Mycroft replied. Except every thing Sherlock mumbled under his breath. Then Sherlock sighed and started walking in circles around his music stand. On about the fifth time around he noticed a glitter out of the corner of his eye. By the sixth circle he pinpointed its location and stopped. He looked were the glitter had come from and there in between to large books was a small brown journal with Sherlock written in silvery letters on the spine. What in the world he started when he pulled it out. The front of it was blank so he fliped through it. There was only one entry it stated look outside Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock looked out the single large window in his homes library and saw detective inspector smiths car pull up onto his driveway. Mycroft he said were we expecting company? No Mycroft replied who's here... Mycroft's sentence dropped off when he looked out the window. What in the world is smith doing here? I could ask you the same question Sherlock said.