A pair of acutely luminous green eyes stay fixed on the subject.
“This could be dangerous,” he says quietly, while hiding under his bed. “Nobody would ever believe us. They’ll think I’m mad.” For a child, his gaze is incredibly practiced, even, ardent. And his hair is so incredibly, incredibly curly. He had yet to become interested in the utility of a comb. “Even with today’s scientific advances…” He sighed. “Dad always says that I should observe, not just see things. This won’t be easy…” His gaze, still fixed, shifts a little. Determination.
“But I’ll need your help, I never write things down. I will need someone to talk to. Listen to what I will have to say next, it’s important.” He pauses, grasping for the right words for what he’s about to say. To declare. “I took you away from the game because…it was always ended the same. I promise you, I will give you a war. But I won’t let you die in one.” He means it, with a childlike precociousness and ferocity.
“My first case…the hunt is on. Come along, then.” He starts to wriggle out of his hiding place when a shadow darkens the door.
“Sherlock, Mummy’s been calling for you. It’s dinner time.”
“Mycroft is Latin for stupid.”