I sometimes wonder what I get myself into with my adventures with Sherlock Holmes. I was certainly thinking about that, when I was forced to leave my practice early in order to go and visit my old friend at 221B Baker Street. When I got into the house, Mrs Hudson took my coat and allowed me to see Sherlock Holmes.

"Mr. Holmes" I gasped.

"Don't tell me Watson" Sherlock began. "You've got a patient which wishes to see me"

"But how did…?" I began until Sherlock interrupted me.

"What other explanation could there be for you to leave your practice at a mere 12'oclock?" Sherlock remarked.

"I suppose that is reasonable" I said. Sometimes I find my friend to be psychic and I sometimes, I find it strange how he can come to the conclusions he makes when nobody else can.

"I can also tell that the patient in question is severely injured, that he is a child, but should be ready to be let out again sometime today"

It was then when I got very annoyed with him.

"HOLMES!" I bellowed.

"Relax Watson; I could tell that the patient was severely injured by the fact that you came instead of the patient. Your presence here today, instead of say; four months ago, clearly proves that the child is almost ready to come out. As for the age of the child? If I was nearly dead I would go immediately to the police for assistance, even I though I do know the mental ability of some of our detectives. Why wouldn't your patient go to the police? Evidently he was refused before and did not want to be involved again. Who is most likely to be refused by the police? A child of course".

I slumped down into an armchair and sighed. "He is to arrive at around 3'oclock" I said and with that we waited in silence.

Eventually the front door opened again and the child who had been at my practise walked into the room. He had blonde, neat hair, wearing a dinner Jacket which indicated to me that his parents must be quite wealthy. He also had very pale skin, which was most likely the result of his injury. He looked around 13 years of age

"Holmes" I began "This is Ronan Oswald Benedict; he was stabbed a few weeks ago and came to my practice to be healed".

"Pleased to meet you both" Ronan greeted us in a very cold voice, which appears to be his natural one. "I will not waste my time with introductions as I already know who both of you are."

Sherlock got out his pipe and said "Then please do tell us on what brings you here today?"

"Coincidentally Watson" Ronan began "My father is also a surgeon. He was a very rich man"

"Was?" Holmes picked up observantly.

Ronan nodded "He was murdered about 6 months ago. He was found dead in his office with a knife in the back of his neck. Evidently the killer waited for my father before he went into his office, and as soon as he entered, his life was taken." Ronan paused for a few moments then continued. "My mother was distraught over the loss of her husband, but she eventually recovered in about 2 months which was when the killer struck next. We were eating food together which was virtually identical, although I had tea instead of my mother who had wine. We had a replacement of a child butler as our original one fell ill, however this change is of great importance as soon as my mother drank her wine, she suddenly died. It turned out that somebody had put poison in the wine, who I am certain was the child butler, as he disappeared soon afterwards."

"A child murderer" I remarked.

"Most interesting" Sherlock mumbled.

"I was taken into care by the adult servants soon afterwards" Ronan went on ignoring both of our statements. "For the next four months nothing happened. I was beginning to believe that the killer had lost interest in me, until on my way home after a friend's dinner party, when I noticed a street child with black long hair in all directions, with unhealthy skin, and seemed to be around 14 years old. I walked up to him, hoping to interrogate him of his intentions before… before…"

I could tell what had happened by the way he was refusing to remember what had happened. I quickly told him not to continue as I am sure we reached the end of his tale.

"So…." Holmes started. "You have a quack for a father, you detest your father, and possibly hate your mother too, and I believe you know the identity of this individual who stabbed you."

Ronan looked staggered. "But... how… can…" he began.

"It is quite elementary" Holmes declared. "You have described your father as a 'rich' man, which I find a strange word to use to describe a doctor, unless of course he isn't very successful. I could tell that you hate him because you stated how your mother felt after he died, yet you didn't seem to mention your feelings at all, which tells me that you did not care other your father's death".

"And my knowledge, on my killer's identity?" Ronan asked coldly.

"If I owned a child butler, I would certainly not have him dressed like the boy you described. Yet on the day you were stabbed, you seemed to have recognized the boy who stabbed you."

Ronan got up from his seat. "Very well Mr. Holmes, I will tell you how I knew this boy, as it is quite central to my… injury."

"Then please" Sherlock asked, "Explain it to us."