#lyra stayed out for ages and eventually wanted to go to the backyard and had to be forcibly put back in (about which she of course whined)

[noivern]

im weeding and taking them out one at a time (cant supervise both while distracted) and lyra got ages of dirttime and still looks deeply aggrieved now pan's out

[ablastulasrecipe-blog]

Nanowrimo, Day 2

About 2 or so hours later Sherlock sits in whatever object he can find that resembles a bench. In this case, the bench was the remains of a 925-year old Red Cedar, the most prized log of the most prized lumberjack in town, cut down in a late autumn night, as the mildest rain started to fall that season. Most of its trunk was used to burn the fires of a fireplace that warmed the body of little Sally, as she faced the most dangerous cold a 2-year old can face. She survived and got better the day after, and the remains of the trunk was cut up and used to cover the hole in her bedroom, the one responsible for letting rain hit her and making her sick in the first place. A tiny log still remains of that tree, and it won two yearly log contests in a row, getting banned from a third entry because they realized how unfair it would be to the competition. Having no further use for it, the lumberjack now leaves it in the front of his house to show people he still has the best wood in town.

-          Watson. Are you there? – Sherlock opens his laptop in hopes that his friend answers.

-          Wow, I thought you were dead! Took you long enough, why didn’t you contact me sooner? Did you get Moriarty?

-          He escaped, or rather, he’s hiding in this town. Sorry for the worry, I’m fine. I’ve been trying to look around for him, but to no avail.

-          Huh.

-          And no one in town helps! It’s like everyone thinks I’m a plague. And others are just going around shouting something about mirages.

-          Weird, small countryside towns tend to be very hospitable.

-          Right? Only one person so far has talked to me, but I didn’t learn much.

-          That seems rough. What are your findings so far?

-          Well, if no one’s hospitable to outsiders, that means Moriarty is either having the same issues as me or he knows someone from here.

-          I can try and search for a list of criminals, see if anyone’s from around there.

-          I love when I don’t have to tell you what to do. Thanks Watson!

-          You got it. See ya!

Watson’s next step was as clear as that afternoon sky, or that boiling heat. Sherlock’s however, was not as obvious. He tried to talk to multiple townspeople, failing spectacularly in all attempts of human interaction. And the sheriff seemed to be nowhere in sight, as Sherlock couldn’t even get an answer as to whether or not he exists. Trying to search for the mayor led to nothing, as he was being persecuted for believing in mirages. Only two certainties were had: Sherlock didn’t want to stay there for long, as eating nearly-rotted food and having to deal with boiling heat under those clothes were the most inconvenient bothers he could ask for; And the other thing was, dealing with Moriarty meant spending a long time looking at footprints and hair strands.

-          You know, the rest of my snot-eating family would never forgive a peasant like you for the disgrace you’re bringing to this poor lumberjack’s house. – said a tiny Lyra, coming from out of the corner.

-          The kid from before. Were you following me? – asks the detective, getting up.

-          Escaping my dad is hard enough, so following a man that had no idea were he was going was a decent move to end up in an unpredictable place.

-          Escaping your dad? Are you even at the age to run away from home?

-          Duh, I’m not running, I just wanted to be alone for a moment.

-          Then I suppose this is my cue to leave.

Walking away, he hears something knocking on the log, and Lyra’s voice:

-          Wait, are you a swordsman? – Lyra climbed onto the prized wood before stopping Sherlock.

“A swordsman? I suppose that’s how one can look at me, but I don’t think I’ve ever been very proficient at the job, it’s mostly just Isabela helping me out. Or should I shut down any hopes of entertaining this girl? I mean, I’m a detective first and foremost, but I happen to swing a sword around sometimes, does that mean I’m a swordsman as well? Is a swordsman an occupation or a set of abilities? But then again, I work alone as a detective, so is that an occupation? Maybe they’re both sets of abilities, and I’m actually an unemployed person who happens to make a living out of selling said skills. But isn’t that what ‘working’ is in the first place?”

Some would say Sherlock’s inner debates are the reason he can’t make a lot of contact with people in general. But either way, that lasted a few seconds before he turned around.

-          Why you ask?

-          Look here ponpon, you answer me, and then I’ll think about continuing the conversation, okay? – Lyra had a little teddy bear called Ponpon, but she made his stuffing pop from his head, forming something resembling a hair bun. Sherlock’s hair reminded her of that.

-          Yeah, I suppose I can be a swordsman, sometimes. – Sherlock’s inner monologue is so unnecessarily convoluted right now he can’t even bother with Lyra’s attitude, or nickname.

-          That’s good enough. I’m hiring you as my teacher.

Hoping to settle the argument around his profession, and using the excuse of learning more about the town through that little girl, Sherlock accepts the request and follows the girl to her house.

-          Okay, stay here. I’ll call dad and tell him you’re willing to teach and be responsible for my abilities with a sword.

He regretted his decision fairly quickly, but still, he didn’t have a clear course of action to take if he left, so waiting around didn’t seem like the worst thing he could do. Some muffled discussion and arguments were had, until Lyra’s screams were very clearly heard by the neighboring houses. Not a lot of useful information to be had in that argument, though Sherlock was now aware of Lyra’s rebellious nature against not only her father, but her entire family as well. It made him wonder why he was never that rebellious at her age…

The door started to open, and a happy Lyra exploded out of the house.

-          This is the one dad! He’ll be my teacher, he begged me for the position, so I decided to give him a chance.

From out of the room, came the man Sherlock recognized from earlier that day. His hair was better kept than any other resident in town, and his clothes were probably more expensive than everything in Sherlock’s apartment combined.

-          I’m happy you accepted her pleas, stranger. By the tired look and unwashed clothes, I’ll guess you don’t have a place to stay.

-          You’re right, but mostly I’m here to get information as well.

-          I see. Then you’re welcome to live here for as long as Lyra’s teaching takes. What’s your name?

-          Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes.

-          Nice to meet you mister Holmes, I’m Cliff Desmond. Lyra, take mister Holmes to his room.

As the man goes back inside, Lyra picks his arm.

-          I’ll guide you there.

-          How did you get your father to accept a stranger like me to not only teach you, but to live in your house? – Thinking back on Lyra’s screams from before, he realized he had spaced out halfway through the discussion and didn’t understand a thing of what was going on.

-          Dad tends to do what I ask if I scream loud enough. He has sensitive ears. This way.

…

His room was a lot bigger than he expected. And the shower helped a lot to alleviate the horrible heat from outside. Still, he made no progress in finding Moriarty that day. But maybe Watson did.

-          Did you find something?

-          I found out that this town has no sheriff whatsoever. Since the townspeople all knew each other, crime was rare, and eventually, nonexistent.

-          So, how come there’s a series of robberies happening? Is the world just going crazy?

-          I can’t answer the second question, but for the first… I think it has to do with why the town is so isolated in the first place.

-          What do you mean?

-          Apparently, until three years ago, there used to be a forest no so far from there, and the river was much bigger. But apparently that’s no longer the case. Everything outside of the river’s remains is a desert around you.

-          And now resources are getting scarce, so people are starting to get things another way.

-          That’s my theory as well.

Beneath his feet, Sherlock could hear a thumping sound. He was on the second floor, so that was clearly someone below. He ignored at first, but it kept going.

-          What about the mirages? Do you think that’s just because people are not used to deserts, so anytime something like that happens they blow it out of proportion?

-          Could be, but still, I can’t find a single thing about that. No one has reported on that. Probably because it hasn’t hit the news yet, I mean, there probably isn’t any journalists in there.

The noise continued. It got louder, but Sherlock kept ignoring it.

-          Okay, I was able to find a house to stay. So at least I’ll have a place to rest now. I’ll keep updating you, and you do the same.

-          You got it, I’ll search something about these mirages.

-          Thanks.

Watson said something before tuning off, but Sherlock didn’t hear his voice over the bangs happening beneath his feet. “Is this going to happen every day? What even is that? Do I have permission to walk around the house and check? Maybe it would be best to just accept, I already had a place to stay, I can deal with something like that.”

“Or maybe that noise is because someone needs help? Maybe the house’s getting invaded and there’s no one to protect it. If Lyra hears It she might even try to stop the robber herself, giving her attitude.”

Creating doubt in his mind made Sherlock walk downstairs, to find a messy and very angry girl with a wooden stick banging on the ceiling.

-          Wow! You have the most heavy sleep I have ever seen! Or maybe you just hate me and wanted to see if I could get angry. Well, I am!

-          If you wanted to talk to me, why didn’t you just call me?

-          If you want to live in this house, why don’t you treat me with more respect?

“Can she talk like a normal human being for once?” Sherlock realized what kind of person he was dealing with.

-          Come on, we’re starting my training!

-          Now?

-          Now!

He accepted the job, but truth was, he had no clue how to start teaching someone about fighting with a sword, let alone a small girl in her early teens.

The backyard was big, as expected, but it also had a bunch of destroyed vases, unkept grass, and wooden poles stuck in the ground. All probably victims of Lyra. “Maybe that’s a good first lesson” though Sherlock.

-          Okay, let’s spar! – Lyra ran with her wooden stick in hand and turned to face Sherlock

-          Spar? It’s far too early for you to think about that.

-          What?

-          If you want to fight with a sword, first you must learn how to behave like a swordswoman.

-          No way! I demand a sparring session! Now! Defend yourself.

Lyra came running, guard down, arms up, towards Sherlock, who decided to use the tip of the sheathed Isabela do knock her down in a single move.

-          Ugh.

-          Are you happy? Now, let’s learn something useful.

-          No way, I can still keep going.

-          I’m here to teach you how to be a proper swordswoman, not how to attack every piece of wood that crosses your path. If you want to behave like the spoiled brat you are, be my guest, but we’ll be doing things my way because if all you wanted was to try and hit someone you hardly needed to call a teacher like myself. Now, sit down!

He felt good about that, there was enough confidence in his words that it inspired him to try and teach her something. Her reaction was looking down before obeying. Sherlock realized that while he was teaching her, he could get through her impulsiveness.

-          So, the first lesson I want to teach you is the most important one of them all. – He starts to talk as he walks in front of her.

-          I really don’t need the same kind of fluffy talk about being an honest person that my other teachers tried to teach me, okay?

There wasn’t much more Sherlock said besides picking up her stick from the ground and advancing at her with extreme agility, hitting her in the shoulder and knocking her over.

-          Ouch! How dare you! You told me to sit!

-          The first lesson is to always expect the last thing your opponent could possibly do. – Sherlock stands near Lyra and hands her stick. – Now get up!

Lyra smiles as she obeys. Her teacher was much more than she was hoping for.

…

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I’m happier with today’s content, at least the first half. This is actually a lot more than I was expecting  to write, and yet, I feel like I should have done more. Word count at 3170.