I didn't actually intend for this to be long enough to be a two-shot, but here we are! Part two coming soon!

Part One: They say the owl was a baker's daughter.

It was on a rainy afternoon in mid-April that I found a rather strange-looking couple appear on the doorstep to my surgery. It had been a peaceful day, admirable for catching up on the mountain of work I'd found piling up in recent weeks. I sat at my desk musing through a leaflet on the subject of remedies for overwork when my secretary came to the door.

"A Mr. Hodges to see you, Doctor," said she. Ms. Meadowes was a smart-looking young girl, good with the records if a tad wanting in punctuality. If one wanted a girl to guard one's office from sporadic drop-ins, she certainly wasn't it. At that moment, however, I simply nodded.

As she admitted my patients, I found myself faced with a rather fine gentlemen, coat pressed, hat perfectly straight, and by contrast, a very bedraggled young woman with hair disheveled around her face and apparently having been forced into the fine dress that she wore, for a few buttons appeared to hang loose on their threads. I wondered what Holmes would have made of the pair.

The young man came forward, his manner brisk and business-like. "I wish for you to examine my sister," said he, passing a hand in her direction. "Following the birth of my nephew, you see, she's become subject to rather extreme fits of melancholy and hysteria. I hardly need tell you it is an unhealthy environment for an infant."

"No, indeed," I replied. "Perhaps you'd be good enough to let me conduct my examination in private?"

The brother considered this before casting a glance at the young woman who still stood in the doorway. "I trust you won't be long?"

"I trust not, but you understand that I must be thorough in my work."

"Of course, Doctor."

Having nudged the girl out of the way, he exited the examination room and closed the door smartly behind. The young woman, whose name I gathered was Elsie, stood where she had been unceremoniously pushed. With her lank hair escaping from her pins and her threadbare shawl hung loose around her shoulders, I couldn't escape the fact that she resembled a rather unkempt Ophelia. Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark, I could not help wondering as I extended my hand to lead her forward.

She came towards me like a child, shuffling forward with her head down as though she expected me to strike her. Having seated her, I knelt before her to take her hand in mine, feeling for her pulse. From this angle, if I looked up, I could see her face—the dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes, the hollowness in her cheeks. I could feel her life fluttering in her wrist, as though a caged bird were trying to escape.

Elsie had not spoken a single word since her brother had led her into my rooms. So when I sought to question her, it was unsurprising to have little answer from her. Slowly, I could see the fear in her eyes change from flame to flickering lights, her breathing slowing. The answers were simple. No, she did not sleep. No, she could not eat. No, she could not see her child. As I rose to retrieve my notebook, I was distinctly surprised to hear her mumble what was to be the first and only full sentence of our time together.

"It's like I feel everything and nothing for him." Her eyes were downcast again and any hope of retrieving her from the shell she'd created was gone, though I did not cease in my prodding.

A short while later, I called her brother to rejoin us. I sat behind my own desk as he approached, watching his eyes never quite flitting upon her.

"Well, Doctor?" he asked in a clipped, no-nonsense tone.

"It's my professional opinion that your sister is under a great deal of nervous strain following the birth of her child."

He snorted. "You say that as though it is news to me."

"Mr. Hodges, you asked for my professional opinion and that is what I am giving you," I said. "If you please."

The man stood before my desk and I gestured towards an empty chair next to his sister, but he refused. "My apologies."

"If what you say is true and her demeanor is much changed following childbearing, I would recommend a complete rest. This condition is not unusual and often resolves itself with time and care. Perhaps a trip to the country-"

"So you're in agreement with me, Doctor?" he interrupted, eyes cold. "You would agree that my sister is not sane at the present moment."

I cleared my throat and closed my notebook. "Not in so many words."

"But you've just told me she suffers from insanity, the same as her mother before her. The curse that follows all women of her kind."

"It is only temporary, given time," I repeated. "One would say a year at most."

He was silent now. "I would like you to sign a paper to that effect," said he. At my expectant look, a smile came over him. "You see, my sister's husband does not understand the delicacies of the female nature. He is as worried as I, and yet he was unable to come today to meet with you. I should like very much to be able to put his mind at ease. A note from the doctor detailing her symptoms and recommended course of treatment…"

"That is not my normal way of operations, unless I am referring my patient elsewhere," I returned. "If it pleases you both, I am more than happy to take on her case. If it's a question of money-"

"No, no, not money at all." His hand waved in the air as though grasping for something. "My brother-in-law is a stubborn man. He will not agree to just anyone seeing his wife. I daresay he will not be happy to hear that we have come to visit you today. So I am asked for the information that I need to convince him that she needs help."

I paused for a moment before picking up my prescription pad. "Please, inform your brother-in-law that my services are available to him and his wife whenever needed. I shall write down what I have observed today and what I recommend, as you have requested."

When he looked quite jovial at my words, I felt compelled to remark, "But I beg of you to remember that I am doing this against my better judgment. It is to help your sister, not for any other reason."

"Understood, Doctor."

Having scrawled my notes upon a pad of paper and signed it, I tore it from my little book and handed it to him. "I do hope to be seeing both of you again soon."

"I hope so too, Doctor Watson." He took his sister by the elbow and slowly brought her up standing next to him. "You've been very helpful. Thank you so much for your time."

I bad them both farewell and closed the door to my surgery behind them. Could beauty… have better commerce than with honesty? I offered a silent prayer for my little Ophelia.

It was some months later that I found myself on the steps of 221B. Holmes had sent a message round the surgery the day before, asking me to come and sup with him. In those days, I found that I rarely seemed able to spend time with my old friend, and therefore relished the opportunity.

Upon my arrival at Baker Street, I was surprised to see that there appeared no sign of Mrs. Hudson. Indeed, my knock upon the door went unanswered and I was forced to retrieve my key from a spare pocket in my overcoat. Upon entering the flat, I made my way upstairs to my old rooms to see Holmes sitting before the fire, his pipe clasped in one fist, looking intently at a rather weary middle-aged man. Having not expected a client, but knowing better than to be surprised, I bid them both hello as I removed my outerwear and sat down upon the settee.

"Oh, now, Mr. Blaser, may I introduce my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson," spoke Holmes, not having taken his eyes off the man. "I can assure you that whatever you may say to me, he will keep in the strictest confidence."

I nodded, taking in his sleep-deprived eyes and sallow skin. He appeared to be approaching his mid-50s, his face beginning to crack where it was not covered by the scraggly shadow of his impending beard. He wrung his hands together as though he expected to be holding some sort of object; I surmised the crumpled piece of paper upon my friend's lap had been turned round and round. "Good evening, Mr. Blaser."

"Pray continue, sir." Holmes handed me the crumped up piece of paper. "You say that you have received a letter threatening your infant son and that you fear for his safety. I am compelled to ask what you think it is that I will be able to do to assist you."

Mr. Blaser coughed and shifted in his seat. "Well, Mr. Holmes, I must confess myself at a loss. I cannot think who it is has anything against my family. I am not a wealthy man. I have nothing to offer them; indeed, it is not money that they've asked for, as you saw."

Holmes was silent as I examined the paper. It had become so creased that I was unable to fully read the words that had been penciled in and subsequently smudged, whether accidentally or on purpose.

If you do not help… have no choice… Your boy's… numbered… soon. He's hurt… them. Do… what I can.

As I finished reading, Holmes looked at me expectantly and I returned with a shrug. "I cannot say that I can see much of a motive here myself," I addressed our visitor. "Can you perhaps expound on your tale?"

His eyes cast up at the ceiling as though searching for the answer to an exam. "I raise my son alone. Or at least with the help of a hired nanny. He's nearly 11 months old. He's not hurt a soul in his lifetime."

"I hardly think the morality of your son was in question," said Holmes dryly. He stood, took another puff upon his pipe and took up a stance at the mantel. "You say that you parent the boy alone. The boy's mother?"

"Indisposed," he spoke after a brief pause. "Her health has made it impossible for her to live with us for the time being and she rests at the seaside for the time being. I have every reason to believe that she'll return home to us in the next few months. But for the meantime, yes, Isaiah has become my sole responsibility. I chose the woman who attends to his needs and I keep in contact where I can. However, I spend much of my time traveling abroad for my work, and therefore, the two of them are often left to their own devices in the London home."

"Yes, I see that. I would imagine that a mate such as yourself upon a trade ship would spend very little time in one's own home port. You see, you surely spend a great time upon a merchant vessel, as given by your tanned skin, the way that it's formed around the uniform of a first mate. Your hands do not suggest a great deal of manual labor, nor do your choice of clothes suggest that you are so wealthy as to be called captain on that same vessel." Holmes shrugged and exhaled deeply, eyes absently following the cloud of smoke.

Mr. Blaser looked caught between astonishment and weariness as he finally dropped his head and rubbed his eyes. "I'm at a loss, Mr. Holmes."

"Can you think of anyone who might have a grudge against you or your family? Against your wife, perhaps, or any of your other children?" I asked, coming over to lay a hand on his sagging shoulders. He looked so downtrodden and I caught his back hitch with a gasping breath. Holmes nodded as I turned to pour a whiskey from the sideboard.

"My wife and I lived a quiet life," said he, his voice muffled slightly in his hands. "Isaiah is our only child. As I told you, my wife has not lived with us for a time after his birth. I thought it was important she recover fully before interacting with him. I cannot think of anyone who'd wish her ill or our child. She's the kindest, gentlest soul you ever laid eyes on." He accepted the glass that I set on the table next to him and gulped it down quickly and efficiently before wiping his mouth delicately on his handkerchief.

"To come to the point then, Mr. Blaser." Holmes spoke with slight irritation. "You received this letter when, yesterday morn?"

"That's right."

"And it threatens that the child will disappear on Friday. What is today, Watson?"

"Wednesday," I replied.

"Then we still have plenty of time to ensure the child's safety." Holmes laid his pipe aside and went to his cabinet, rifling through a drawer.

"Does that not do us no good, Mr. Holmes?" he spoke slowly, as though tripping over his own words. "Even if the child is well and at home on Friday evening, what's to stop the man from trying again? I have no idea what he wants; I will never be able to give him what he feels he needs. Surely his need for vengeance will continue until he's either satisfied or caught."

"Mr. Blaser, please." Holmes put one hand in the air, not looking up from his search. "I can only offer you my help one problem at a time if you have no more information to give me."

He considered for a moment and then shook his head. "Nothing more that I can think of, Mr. Holmes."

"I wish to speak to your wife, if that's convenient. Perhaps you could write her address down; Watson will provide you with paper."

At that, he stiffened. "As I told you before, sir, my wife is indisposed at the moment. No guests may be accepted to see her. It upsets her, you see. I will write down my own address and expect you to call upon me instead. I'm sure you and I will be able to come to an arrangement in order to make certain that my son is safe until we can catch this madman."

Holmes whipped around and stared at him, his face mildly curious. "Why have you come to me and not straight to the police?" he asked. "I feel certain that you have not bothered to try and contact them and I confess myself curious. Could it be that you do indeed know more than you're telling me?"

I had by now found the promised leaf of paper and set it in front of the man. He took the pen from me and scribbled an address down, located a few miles from Bake Street. "Mr. Holmes, you do forget yourself. If you can assist me in keeping my child safe on Friday, please call upon me at this address. If you cannot, send word and I will find some other way of ensuring that he remains safe."

"I expect that you'll keep him close in the meantime," said Holmes. "Perhaps the nurse you employ will also be useful."

He stood now and picked up his hat and coat from where he'd lain it on the back of a chair, the result of Mrs. Hudson not caring for our guest. "Thank you very much, I'm sure," said he, moving to open the door and go down the stairs.

"I'm very sure we'll be in touch," called Holmes, having returned to his filing cabinet. The door slammed behind Mr. Blaser and he considered the piece of paper, the note, which the man had left behind. Then he slammed the cabinet shut and returned to his place before the fire. "Watson, bring me the tobacco slipper, if you will."

The slipper retrieved and the pipe filled, he settled back into the chair and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry to have not given you any warning, but the man appeared at my doorstep an hour ago and I found myself most curious."

"Quite all right, Holmes." I sat back down as well. "A new case is always welcome."

"Please do send Mary my regards," he said, as though he'd just remembered. "Forgive me for taking you from her. I see you've been very seldom home at a reasonable hour in the past week."

"Will you be needing me for your excursion to Piccadilly come Friday?"

He considered, rubbing his chin with the tip of his pipe. "I'm loathe to leave the safety of a small child to chance, even if I do disagree with the merits of his father. Whatever else the family has done, the child is not to be blamed."

"Do you have a plan then?" I asked.

"For keeping the boy safe, little is needed if the aspiring kidnapper wishes to remain anonymous. It is the time afterwards that makes me anxious for his wellbeing." He reached out in my direction, which I took to mean he wished the note to be placed back in his hand. He stared at the smudges for a time. "I don't think Mr. Blaser wished for us to know the full contents of this letter. Perhaps they're more incriminating than he realises."

"Does it really matter, though? Will you be able to resurrect anything from that text?" I trusted I knew the answer before I asked the question.

"I have no doubt, Watson. But it is late, and I can see that you came prepared to sup. As you've no doubt seen, Mrs. Hudson is out and we will be forced to fend for ourselves in our repast. I'm sure you'll have no objection to dinner at Marcini's while we discuss far more interesting fare than this case. It will wait for our reunion on Friday."

Thanks for reading! Comments always treasured.