Classroom 223-a Sherlock fanfiction

Chapter 1 (Rosie's POV)

I am currently sitting on the soft leather couch listening to 'Fur Elise' as silently as possible with my ear phones in, fiddling with my pencil scribbling down the answers to my maths homework. In front of me is a content looking Sherlock perched on the side of his black seat, eyes pursed shut and hands under his chin. He hasn't stirred one bit since John left for work. Sometimes I think that he doesn't even acknowledge my existence, although I do understand his unsociable habits after growing up in this cluttered flat my whole life. Currently he is working on this rather compelling case which involves a sandglass and a crumpled note. I haven't bothered with this case which is very unusual for me but this is because I have found myself completely immersed in my maths work. Isn't it fascinating how numbers work?

Suddenly, I am jolted awake from my thinking trance as Sherlock triumphantly jumps up from his position and yells "Rosie, I've solved it!". His eyes brighten up with joy as he dances around the flat. Removing my headphones and pressing pause on my music, I reply "Wonderful, so who was it?" Sherlock rambles out his findings at lightning speed reminding me of that fast part from Eminem's 'Rap God'. Everything escapes from his mouth in one giant bundle as I pause to take in what he has told me. The amount of times I have done this on a daily basis is surprising, I'm not sure how someone like my Dad could have made sense out of it all those years ago. "Ah, interesting." I remark, pretending that I have just comprehended all the information he has just blurted out. Obviously, someone like Sherlock knows when I am pretending, so with a disheartened look he proceeds to sit back down on his couch, pulling out his phone from his pocket. With a few taps on the keypad, he phones Lestrade in order to tell him about the case.

"Sherlock?" I ask hoping not to distract him too much as he rapidly taps away on his laptop. "Mmm?" He replies without removing his gaze from the laptop. "Have you got any new cases? I'm dying to get out of the flat. Sorry for earlier, I was distracted by my maths homework." I express hoping that there is an interesting case I can help with. "Of course." He says delighted, gesturing me to sit beside him with a brief smile. Pulling out a wooden chair, I join him at the kitchen table, curiously peering over at his laptop. "Pick one and don't make it boring." He says softly, drawing his deep eyes towards me as he sighs on the last part of his sentence. Sherlock swiftly slides the laptop over to me and I start rifling through his overflowing emails. Fixated, he watches my every move intently as I rummage through all the requests. Most of them are unusual ranging from 'I think my cat is a murderer' to 'Please find my missing TARDIS'. Whatever that is. However, several are intriguing and catch my attention. Flicking through them, I find this email from a woman called Sylvia. I decide to read it to Sherlock. "Dear Mr Holmes, lately I have been visiting the 'Old wellington' pub on Friday evenings. Every time I visit, there is a strange man who observes me from a chair in the corner. He always has a black umbrella that he brings with him, brown neatly shaven hair and an expensive looking suit. Last night he decided to approach me and sternly told me 'that I have stored with me secret algorithms to do with our British Government'. I am extremely confused as I do not possess such information. Please can you help with identifying this man and his intentions, from what I've heard, you're good at it. Sylvia Wellsbrough." I read holding back my laughter as me and Sherlock exchange disapproving looks as we both know who this 'Strange Umbrella Man' is. Mycroft.