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Showing off his new invention, the Mini Music Carrier, Herlock strode through the streets of London on a sunny yet fairly cool day. He didn’t pay mind to his surroundings, even skipping along to the music that was emanating from his hat’s mini speaker. However, he didn’t realize his joyous mood would be broken by an inspector of the Yard. Yet he remembered what Ashley Graydon did to the inspector in court and made that a mental note.
Inspector Tobias Gregson. He bumped into Gregson and knocked him down. “Argh—can’t ya watch where you’re goin’ for once!?”
“Ah, Inspector Gregson! How are you feeling now, my good fellow?” Herlock asked, putting his pipe to his mouth.
How is he? He’s mad—no, he’s pissed at Herlock. He’s fed up with his childish shenanigans; Herlock is 34 for God’s sake. He needs to act like that, not like he’s five But Gregson knows that Herlock refuses. He knows that Herlock refuses to act his age, and that is what ticks him off.
“Mr. Sholmes…honestly, why can’t ya act your age?” Gregson waved his fish and chips, which is neatly wrapped in a newspaper from 1860.
“What are you inquiring about, Inspector?” Herlock put a finger to the bottom of his cap.
“The bloomin’ way ya act! Her Ladyship has more mind than you!” Gregson countered, yet it put a strain on his sore throat.
“Inspector, might I offer a question?” Herlock looked at Gregson.
“What?” Gresgon eats more of his fish and chips.
“Think of this: In a relationship, who typically is right?” Herlock put his finger to the bottom of his cap again.
“What? What’re ya askin’?” Gregson waves his newspaper around.
“Usually it’s the one with the most intelligence, is it not?” Herlock puts his pipe to his mouth.
“What’re you gettin’ at, Shamrock?” Gregson said in a furious tone.
“Consider this: The adult of the relationship is not the one that can tell you which chemical can make your blood into a gaseous state, but can offer wise advice for not doing such an experiment.” Herlock flicks his cap and smiles.
Gregson didn’t know how to answer that. In a way, Herlock is right, yet he isn’t.
“So, I ask you again: Who is truly the adult in the relationship between Iris and me?” Herlock did one of his poses.
“...Iris.” Gregson sternly answered.
Herlock fell over. “P-Pray…why is it still Iris?”
“You know good ‘n well why.” Gregson glares.
Herlock’s emotions slipped into a depressed mood. “Oh…”
Gregson rubs his temples. “Listen, Shamrock. I ain’t sayin’ you ain’t an adult; I’m sayin’ you rarely act the part.”
Herlock just looked at him. “Why should I care?”
Gregson sweat drops at this. Lovely, he made Herlock upset. If Iris finds out, that’s the end of his detective career. But how does he cheer up a childish adult? Not like he can just ask to go out for coffee. Maybe he should ask Iris. But he looked up and Herlock was gone. When did he leave? He didn’t hear a thing.
He did have to wonder…what if Herlock was right? What if he is acting like this on purpose?