Dear Nincompoop,
Today I went to get my new uniform. Mum tends to go to the shops today, but she wanted to go to the shoe shop and the plant shop and the health shop. But then Mycroft offered to take me, so I went with him.
Mycroft being nice to me is starting to pay off. Watson's still hating, though. He spent the day round Angie's and Diesel's.
After wasting £200 buying shirts and blazers and other stupid uniform stuff, we went to the bank.
"After I get some money out, I'll take you to the Ritz, OK? I get a serious discount." Mycroft said.
I have never been to the Ritz before. All the rich people go there. Since it's about £100 per cup of tea.
"Um... OK." I replied.
But then something completely random and bizarre happened. This dog in a balaclava came with two other dogs, and was holding a sack and a gun.
"GET DOWN!" they yelled. And then I realized who it was.
Dia.
Stupid government. They said she was locked up, with Roscoe and Rozi in safe and secure places.
"Hand over the money and I won't get hurt!" Roscoe (I think) yelled.
"We'll hurt this guy!" Dia screamed, picking up a random stranger. To be honest, he didn't looked that scared. The woman behind the counter did, and came running in with a load of money. Dia grabbed onto the stranger, and took him out of the shop anyway with the money.
We had to hang around for a bit so we could get interviewed by the police. This guy came in, and showed us a warrant.
"The name's Lestrade. I'm a police officer, and I need to ask you a couple of questions."
This is Lestrade:

"I'm Sherlock. And this is..." I began, but he started laughing.
"Let me guess. Watson? I know you might think this being strange, but my parents were obsessed with Sherlock Holmes, so named me after the police officer."
"Actually, my name is Mycroft." Mycroft muttered sourly. "Watson's my other brother."
"Oh, OK." the officer stopped smiling. "Can you describe the attacker?"
"Well, it was a female. She had a balaclava on... And that's it, really." Mycroft said.
"Her name's Dia. She's got black fur with rainbow stripes, and has a history of breaking the law before. She's hosted multiple kidnappings, and has two sidekicks, Roscoe and Rozi. Roscoe has button eyes and blue and white quilts, whilst Rozi has toffee color fur and floppy ears. They made off with a stranger whom they kidnapped." I replied. Lestrade stared at me.
"Well... Thanks for that." he said. "You've been most helpful. We may need to talk to you again, and you may need to appear in court at one point." He walked off, grinning.
"That was Dia?" Mycroft said when we were at the Ritz, having our very expensive afternoon coffee. "As in..."
"Yes, that Dia." I grabbed a cucumber sandwich from the thingy, and ate it. I have no idea what they're called, those weird posh things. But the sandwich was gross. I spat it out immediately. "There's no filling, or even butter."
Some posh dogs turned their heads and tutted at me. Mycroft picked up a newspaper.
"Don't spit food out at the Ritz, Sherlock. Posh people don't like it." he said. "Oh, and here are some tips for when you go to that posh school. Don't swear. Don't use abbreviations or text talk. Don't try and out-posh anybody. Don't laugh at the accents. And whatever you do Sherlock, don't go all cocky and think you're cleverer than them. Because you're not. They have tutors, and you don't."
"Um... thanks..." I replied. "I shall really take that to heart."
When we got back, Watson was sitting on the couch staring at the TV. Except he wasn't watching it, and was in a state of mourning. Mycroft beckoned me over to a corner of the room.
"Shall we creep him out?" he asked.
"Sure." Watson is getting annoying, acting all marytry. Mycroft pulled out his Macbook, typed a few things and on the TV it switched to Spongebob Squarepants. Except it wasn't.
IT WAS THAT HORRIBLE CREEPYPASTA SQUIDWARD ONE. AND IT WAS DISGUSTING.
I have no idea how Mycroft managed to wriggle out of that one.
"I'm sorry, Mum. I didn't mean to make Sherlock vomit." he said. Mum accepted his apology, and made me clean it up.
Ewww. It was Mycroft's fault. He should do it, the posh totty-
I mean, great big brother who is being nice to me all of a sudden. He's more fun than Watson.
No he isn't.
Yes he is.
Isn't.
Is.
But still, Watson isn't going to talk to me again. I accidently hit him, and he's now gone into some depressed creeped out state. Last time I checked he was sitting on the stairs, slowly rocking forwards and back.
Not feeling too good. I'm going to go find Mycroft.
Yours,
Sherlock.