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“Sherlock?” The teacher smiled a bit, but composed herself before a snicker could escape her. “You’re making terrible smudges on the glass.”
A young boy removed his hands from where they had been on the glass separation between visitors and the museum’s displays, but made no move to back away or otherwise remove his nose from that same surface. He wanted to be as close as possible; he wanted to memorize every inch of bone displayed behind the glass.
“We’re going to see the dinosaurs now,” she explained softly, but no reaction came from the young boy. He was interested in this display. That sort of thing didn’t happen very often with Sherlock and seeing there was such intensity to it, she wanted to encourage him. He was a bit difficult at times, but could be a wonderfully charming little boy when something caught his eye. “Sherlock. Take my hand, let’s go.”
“They’re all different,” he commented, putting a finger to the glass, pointing at the human skulls displayed – human evolution from Homo Habilis to Homo Sapiens.
“That’s what happens with the passing of millions of years. It’s called evolution.” She explained and continued with a brief summary of what she knew of it (privately thanking National Geographic in passing). Though his eyes were still on the skulls, she could see he was listening to her intently, without taking a breath, fearing he would miss something if he did.
“Someone who studies the evolution of man is called an anthropologist. Perhaps you would like to be an anthropologist when you get older?” She ventured. Everyone knew Sherlock could soak up knowledge like a sponge and was far more intelligent than other boys, but he so often lacked any outward sign of interest to learn.
To her surprise and great pleasure he nodded.
“Then you should go to the library tomorrow and borrow lots and lots of books on the subject. And maybe, after we’ve seen the rest of the museum, we’ll go to the museum’s shop this afternoon.” She spoke kindly. “Now, we’re going to see the dinosaurs. Will you take my hand?”
Sherlock nodded and took her hand, eyes still on the skulls, but assured by the promise of the book shop that it was better to move on.
She smiled. Some might think the fascination of a young boy with skulls revealed some underlying problem, or as proof of a questionable sanity, but she was merely pleased that something had drawn his attention and awakened his curiosity.
To this day Sherlock Holmes remembers everything he’s ever read on the subject. None of it discarded as useless knowledge just yet.