Greetings, again. Summer Skye, the new Sherlock Holmes fan fic writer on the block, here with the revised edition of A Friendly Reunion, Chapter 1 of A Diamond in the Rough. A few things before you read.
Thank you georgie d for your review. To tell you the truth I wasn't too happy with what I had posted to begin with, but I didn't know what was wrong with it. Thanks to you, I know what had to be fixed. Keep on reviewing.
Spyglass, your encouragement is a big help. Keep up the good reviews.
To everyone else, please review. Let me know if I have seriously gone down the wrong path. I can't fix it if you don't tell me. For those readers who believe I have sinned by writing a Sherlock Holmes romance, please don't hate me and don't flame me. Instead just don't read the story. And if you have to hate someone, hate my muse. I just write what she tells me to.
Now on with the story. Enjoy!
WATSON
It was late April of 1887 and I was sitting by the fire with my friend and colleague, Sherlock Holmes. I had been concerned with my friend's health for sometime. We had just returned from Reigate, where Holmes was supposed to have a rest, but had solved a case instead. I think that I shall entitle the story The Reigate Squires. Now Holmes was being bombarded by cases. Not a day went by when he didn't have a client with a case to put before the great Sherlock Holmes. Most he solved in a day or two. He considered them trivial, but took them anyway. In a way I was glad for these trivial cases, because they gave Holmes stimulation. Before when he had no cases to work on, he used a seven percent solution of cocaine as a substitute for his lack of mental simulation. Now that he was so busy with cases, he used it less frequently.
However, this particular week had been a fairly light caseload and Holmes had returned to the comfort of his vice. This concerned me and I became desperate to look for away to keep him distracted. I eagerly scanned the papers daily in search of something that would pull him away from the grasp that cocaine had upon him. But my search was in vain until I read the Thursday early edition of the Times. In the paper was an article concerning a recent production of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. The article was written about a young actress by the name of Adeline Carmichael. The article wrote of the controversy over her portrayal of the character of Robin Goodfellow, also known as Puck. I thought at first that it was a rather bold casting choice having a woman play such a role. But reading further, I learned that she was quite an accomplished actress and singer. After this production, the article said, she had the intention of retiring and living in comfort for the rest of her days.
When I mentioned this to Holmes, he simply said, "You think that by dragging me to this production of fairies and four comical lovesick people, you will pull me away from my so called addiction."
"Holmes, you know very well my views on your use of cocaine between cases. Please come to the play with me. If nothing else, it will give you an opportunity to find out what is coming up in the following season."
He rose from his chair and took tobacco from the toe of the Persian slipper. He loaded his pipe with it and struck a match. Sucking the flame into the bowl, he resumed his seat and looked at me with his piercing gray gaze. "Very well, doctor. I shall take your advice and spend the evening at the theatre."
I was amazed by this turn around in his manner, but I gave little thought to it because I had achieved what I had set out to do. So that night, after a bit of dinner, Holmes and I went to the Savoy for a night at the theatre. The performance was among the best I had ever seen. Miss Carmichael gave a very energetic and convincing performance of the impish Puck. I only saw her at a distance, but I could see that she was a woman of exceptional beauty and talent. She must have made an impression on Holmes as well. Throughout the performance, he sat mesmerized. It was as if he somehow he knew who she was, but couldn't place her.
After the performance, we went backstage in search of some of Holmes' acquaintances that managed the theatre. As we walked, something caught my eye. It must have caught Holmes' eye as well. He stooped and picked it up. It was a woman's earring, a pearl set in solid gold.
"Typical of a woman," Holmes said as he pocketed the earring. "Always losing such things, then buying new ones. Then after a period of time, they find the lost pair and discard them. It is a wonder that more men aren't bankrupt from their wives outlandish buying habits."
"Now Holmes, that is unfair. Some men have outlandish buying habits and their wives are the ones who are going bankrupt."
He simply shrugged and continued walking. I gave a sigh of despair and followed him. We were about to round a corner, when a woman came hurrying from other side of the corner. She slammed right into Holmes's body with such force she almost lost her balance. Holmes took her arms and helped her to regain stability.
"Thank you, sir. You must forgive me, but I'm a bit preoccupied."
She was a beauty of a woman. Her hair looked like a sunset, gently flowing down her back in a mass of corkscrew curls, stopping just above her waist. A light dusting of freckles ran across her nose and cheeks. She regarded us through sea fog gray eyes. In them, I could see a hint of playful mischief. Strangest of all she was missing an earring.
"Think nothing of it, madam," Holmes said, politely tipping his hat to her. "Losing an earring can cause one to be a bit preoccupied.
The woman's eyes grew wide with surprise. Her hand flew to the ear that had been deprived of its ornament. "How did you know I was missing on earring?"
"A piece of very simple deduction. You come rushing around a corner your head bowed towards the floor, obliviously in search of something. When you looked up, I observed that you had one pearl earring in your ear. The other ear had been missing such a decoration. Therefore I deduced that you have lost this piece of jewelry."
He removed the earring from his pocket and presented it to her. Her once grim face broke into a smile. Her eyes beamed with wonder and surprise. She took the earring from Holmes and placed it back in its place. "Oh thank you, sir! I don't know what I would have done without it. It does not do for one to have one earring missing."
"No, it does not. They have a sentimental value to you, I take it."
"They do indeed. My mother gave them to me when I came home from boarding school when I was eighteen." She smiled and turned to leave.
"Madam," I said. She stopped and turned back to us. "May I inquire as to your name?"
"Adeline Carmichael," she replied.
"Miss Carmichael, may I compliment you on your performance tonight. It was extraordinarily well done."
"Thank you, Mister..." It then occurred to me that I hadn't introduced myself.
"Dr. John Watson," I politely kissed her hand. "And this is my friend and colleague Sherlock Holmes."
Her eyes widened in shock and surprise. Her jaw dropped and she took a step or two backwards. Her hand went to her breast as she breathed. For a moment, I feared she might faint, until she spoke. "My God. Holmes? Is that you?"
"I beg your pardon, Miss Carmichael. But I do not seem to recognize your name or your face."
Her eyes showed disappointment and sadness. "You don't know me? We spent our childhood together. You don't remember running through the meadows of Willow Grove? Or sitting by the fire in the winter, discussing how showy Dupin was in Poe's The Purloined Letter?"
Holmes stared at the woman for many long moments. Then something dawned on him. "Emma?" he whispered.
She nodded and smiled. She embraced Holmes, and he returned the embrace. When they parted, both wore beaming smiles. "Look at you," she said. "I'm glad to see that you are still living by your wits."
"You read Watson's little adventures?"
"Yes. I must say, however, he portrays you older than you are. You should know Dr. Watson, that he is only twenty-seven."
"But how could you know that?" I asked, in shock.
She simply smiled and looked at Holmes. Holmes turned to me and to my surprise he said, "Watson, this is Miss Emma Callaway. She and I grew up together in Yorkshire. She was the closest friend I had."
"Emma Callaway?" I was a bit puzzled. She called herself 'Adeline Carmichael', but her name was Emma Callaway?
Miss Callaway obviously saw my confusion, because she smiled understandingly. "Adeline Carmichael is my stage name."
I was still confused. "But why would you not use your given name? Emma is such a beautiful name. It suits you much better than Adeline."
Miss Callaway blushed at my compliment. But she quickly looked up at Holmes as if to ask him a question in silence. He shook his head. She nodded and sighed. "I thank you for your compliment, Dr. Watson. However, my reasons for using a pseudonym shall remain my own concern for the time being."
"Very well, Miss Callaway. Please forgive any intrusion I may have made."
"That's quite all right, my good doctor, it is you who must forgive me. I have kept you in this cold and drafty hallway. If we are to continued this conversation, I propose we do it in a more comfortable environment."
"I agree," Holmes said. "It would not do to have one of us catch our deaths in cold. Emma, I am surprised that you can work in such a freezing atmosphere."
She smiled as she turned to lead us down the hallway she had come rushing down. I observed that she shivered a little. "It isn't so different from the winters in Yorkshire. I just think of it as I've been outside too long and I need to go inside, wrap myself in a warm blanket with a cup of tea and a good book."
"Yes, but remember when you got sick because you were out too long," Holmes said gravely.
She nodded grimly. The look on their faces gave me the impression that Miss Callaway may have almost died when they were younger. Her next words confirmed my suspicions.
"It is difficult to forget having pneumonia, no matter how many years have gone by."
She and Holmes were silent the rest of the way to wherever it was Miss Callaway was leading us. In this prolonged silence, I decided to make a few more deductions about Miss Callaway using the methods that Holmes frequently begged me to use.
Miss Callaway, as I mentioned before, was a beautiful woman. She didn't look to be more than twenty-six. She seemed to be well-bred young woman, for her accent had a hint of authority in it and she spoke of a boarding school when we first met her. Her earring also spoke of wealth, because they were made of solid gold and the pearl was flawless. Her hair was down; therefore she left her dressing room to find the earring before she was finished dressing her hair. She and Holmes spoke on familiar terms, which meant Holmes thought highly of her and respected her.
But this was all I could deduce, for Miss Callaway stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall. She took a key from her dress pocket and unlocked the door. She entered and Holmes and I followed. It was a dressing room, very sparsely furnished. The dressing table was littered with theatrical make-up and costume jewelry. In the center of the table lay a sterling silver jewelry box with a coat of arms engraved on the lid, left slightly opened. I couldn't see the characteristics of the coat of arms, but I could tell it meant there was more to Miss Callaway than met the eye. My eye wondered to the wardrobe was slightly open. In it were numerous dresses, theatrical costumes, and other forms of clothing, hats, gloves, and shoes. There was a couch by the small window. It was covered with blankets and pillows. It was made neat and tidily as one would make a bed. A nightdress lay on top of it, folded neatly.
Miss Callaway sat in the chair in front of the dressing table. She took some hairpins from the table and began to pin up her hair. As she did this Holmes and I sat on the couch. Holmes removed his hat and sighed in contentment.
"How have you been, Holmes?" Miss Callaway asked, looking at us in her mirror.
"Very well. I've kept busy with cases that are trivial, so I won't bore you with them. How have you been faring, my dear Emma?"
"Not well. My father has all but disowned me."
"Really?" Holmes asked in an alarmed tone.
"Quite. He was not happy with me and my choice of careers." She thrust the final pin into her hair. She turned to us and smiled. "But I try not to think of it. I still write to my mother in Yorkshire. She comes to town ever now and again, but that is all that I see of her. Perhaps now that I am retiring, I should return to Yorkshire, since I have no where else to go."
"But surely," I said, "you can remain in London, and live on the money you have made."
"I believe, Dr. Watson, you and Holmes are sitting on my bed."
Holmes looked just as surprised and concerned as I was. It was plain to us that as soon as Miss Callaway retired from the theatrical world, she would be homeless and forced to return to a home she obviously did not want to be. But what could we do?
It was then I remembered that Mrs. Hudson had a vacant room on the upper floor of 221B. I was sure that Mrs. Hudson would not object to having Miss Callaway take up residence there. But whether or not Holmes would agree was another matter entirely. But it was worth asking.
"Miss Callaway," I said.
"Yes, Doctor Watson?"
"I believe that I know of a place for you to stay. Our landlady, Mrs. Hudson, has a vacant room in the upper regions of 221B. I'm sure that she'd allow you to take up lodgings there." I looked over at Holmes and he gave me a look saying that he did not approve of this. "Come, come, Holmes. She has nowhere else to go."
"I am aware of that Watson," he said, sharply.
"Dr. Watson, will you excuse us for a moment or two?" Miss Callaway said. I got up and she walked me to the door. "I'll talk to him," she whispered as I walked out.
She closed the door. I found a chair down the hall and sat down, wondering what they could possibly be talking about.
EMMA-
As soon as Dr. Watson left, I returned my attention on Holmes. He returned my gaze with his piercing gray eyes. I had to play this carefully. I knew after years of experience that if argued with Holmes outright we would be at a stand still. He and I were extremely stubborn and we both knew it.
I sat on my makeshift bed next to him. "How are your parents?" I asked.
"Both well. I'm not on speaking terms with my father, but I still hear from my mother a few times a year," he answered quietly.
"Your brothers and sister?"
"Mycroft lives here in London. Calantha still lives with my parents at North Riding. Sherrinford is married and has two children. A boy of two called Thomas and they just had a daughter who they named Diana."
"That's good to hear." We were both silent for long moments, when Holmes finally broke the tense silence.
"I suppose you are wondering why I object to you living at Baker Street?" He asked with his head bowed.
"I am. Holmes, we haven't seen each other in ten years. Last time I saw you, you were a boy of seventeen and I was only a girl of sixteen. You were on your way to university and I was returning to boarding school. I wrote you many letters but you never wrote back. Now I find you as a man and a changed one too. What happened to you, old friend?"
"People grow, people change," he said. "We are both different people now. You grew into an attractive young woman. I was surprised to find you here. A daughter of country squires among the salt of the earth. You say that I didn't write to you. I tell you that is not true. I wrote you many letters, but you never replied to them."
"That is very peculiar. You wrote to me and somehow I never received them. I sent you letters, but you didn't get them," I muttered very perplexed.
"Yes, that is odd. I sent them to Willow Grove. Your father said he would forward them to you."
"Your father said the same when I sent mine to North Riding. Why do I suspect that our fathers are behind this?"
"I agree. But why did they not send them on to us?"
"Perhaps we shall never know. Father was never the same after Nicholas..."
"Emma, please. Let's not discuss it. It will only upset us both."
"Yes, you are right. But the way I see it is fate has, for one reason or another, caused us to find each other again. How can you throw that away?"
"Emma." He stood and paced for a moment. "You've read Watson's stories of my cases?"
"I have. I don't agree some of the statements he makes at times, but I have read them."
"Then you know that I am distrustful of women."
"And you have come to distrust me? What have I done to deserve such treatment by you, Holmes?" He didn't answer. I knew I was gaining ground and getting closer to the heart of the problem. I stood and went to him. I placed a hand on his thin shoulder. "Holmes, I know our friendship will never be the same as it was all those years ago. Like you said, we've both changed too much. But this reunion between us has given us a chance to make our friendship better and stronger than before. But it can't happen unless we trust each other. I trust you. Can you trust me?"
He didn't answer me at first. I knew he was silently debating with himself, weighing the pros and cons of this proposal. After a length of time, he turned and said, "I do trust you, Emma. And you are right. I shouldn't let you slip through my fingers, not after we have found each other. You do understand it will be difficult for us to adapt to this."
"I know. But we can help each other through it, because that is what friends are for. To help each other and I'm sure your friend Dr. Watson will help us when we can't help each other."
"Then we should expect you at Baker Street soon?' He had said it with a smile.
"Am I correct in assuming you want me to come?"
"Yes. If I said it front of Watson, he might have jumped to the conclusion that there used to be romance that was between us."
"I see. Well, we can't have that now can we. It shall take a few days for me to pack and send my things there. But it shouldn't take much more than that. Today is Tuesday. I think Friday is when things will be in order. Until Friday, Holmes?"
"Until Friday, Emma. Good night." He took my hand and brought his lips to it.
"Good night, old friend," I said. I saw him to the door.
Dr. Watson rose from his chair and looked at Holmes. Holmes put on his hat and gloves. "Miss Emma Callaway will be joining us at Baker Street on Friday, Watson," Holmes replied nonchalantly. "We must go and inform Mrs. Hudson of her arrival." He started down the hall.
I have never seen such a look of surprise and shock. Dr. Watson seemed that he might fall over at this sudden turn about of our mutual friend. He looked at me and I waved it away. "Come along Watson!" Holmes called from the other end of the hall. Dr. Watson hurried after him. I watched them until they disappeared into the darkness.
This should be an interesting experience to say the least I thought to myself. I didn't realize it then, but it was to be a more interesting experience than I anticipated.
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