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Acorns and Gingernuts

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Eurus Holmes puts a basket down under an oak tree. She puts her fingers up to touch her forehead and squints.

“What are you doing, Eurus?” Mycroft asks.

“I'm trying to make the acorns drop with only my mind.”

“Oh. Is it working?”

“No,” she says. “But I can predict where they will fall.”

“And that's what the basket is for, to catch them?”


“Why do you think that you can move them with your mind?”

“Because of everything I can do. Magic must be real. I must be a witch. It's the only thing that makes sense.”

“Predicting is simply probability. There's nothing magical about it.”

“But if it was magic, imagine what that would mean. There might be a school that I could go to and learn magic. Maybe there is! Maybe someone will come and take me there.”

“A magical school? That's fiction. Perhaps you should write a book about it.”

“No need. Someone else will soon.”


An acorn falls then landing squarely in the basket. Sherlock runs over to look at it. “Did you see that?” he asks, picking up the acorn and balancing it on his fingers before throwing it hard across the lawn.

The car drives up and Mummy steps out. “She's brought cake,” Mycroft says.

“How do you know?” Sherlock asks.

“Observe, brother. Look at the bag. It is from a store that mother rarely frequents. She complains about their prices all the time. She only goes there for the sweets, therefore cake. An elementary deduction.”

“Oh, I see,” Sherlock says. “You'll eat the cake, and you'll stay fat.”

“He won't always be fat,” Eurus says.

“Yes, he will!”

“She's bought gingernuts too.”

“Gingernuts! I love Gingernuts!” Sherlock says running across the yard toward the house.

“Sherlock!” Eurus yells. Sherlock stops, and an acorn bashes hard against his head. He starts to cry. Eurus smiles.


“The acorn wouldn't have hit him if you hadn't called for him to stop,” Mycroft says.

“I know. It was funny. It made him laugh, didn't it?”

“He was crying.”

“What's the difference?” Eurus says.

“Well, I think that I'll be going too.”

“The cake?”

“I'm going to help mother unpack the groceries.”

“You want the cake.”


“Mycroft. If they have witch schools, they must have witch prisons as well.”

Mycroft turns back to look at her, “You may have to put me in one someday.”


Mycroft pauses looking back at her, then he turns back to walk towards the house.

“Mycroft!” Eurus calls. Mycroft takes three more steps forward and one to the side before stopping.

“Yes, what is it?” he asks just as an acorn hits him hard on the nose.

“Ouch!” he yells.

Eurus laughs and laughs.