Chapter One
Meeting An Angry Otter (And His Hedgehog)
Matilda stomped her boot-clad feet on the sidewalk and exhaled, watching the water vapor she had generated drift into the chilly winter air. Next to her, Miss Honey was busily inspecting a text on her phone. "Ah," Miss Honey said, and told Matilda, "Come along, 'Til."
Matilda followed Miss Honey up the doorstep of a modest-looking building with a black door. Miss Honey reached up and briskly tapped the door knocker precisely four times, after which the door flew open and a small woman with salt-and-pepper hair and round spectacles could be seen peering out at her visitors. It took a bit for recognition to set in, but soon, the lady's eyes lit up.
"Jennifer! Oh, Jenny, it's you, it is you, isn't it?" she cried happily.
"Yes, Aunt Martha, it's me," Miss Honey said simply, accepting the gracious hug bestowed upon her by the small woman.
"Oh, Jenny, you look so much like your mother," Aunt Martha sighed, "and you carry yourself exactly like Magnus did when he was your age! Both of you, do come in, I have soup ready."
Matilda gazed up at the imposing black door as she passed and read the brass numbers above the door knocker: 221B.
The door clicked shut behind her, and Matilda, standing near a set of stairs, blinking her eyes rapidly as she tried to adjust to the dark hallway, heard the sounds of a violin drifting from upstairs. Seeing Matilda stuck near the foot of the stairs, Miss Honey called, "Matilda," from the door at the end of the hallway, and Matilda quickly felt her way to 221A.
"Matilda," Miss Honey said, "this is Aunt Martha, my father's only sister. She met my mother a few times before she...died, but she was in the United States when I was born, so my father had no choice but to get Aunt Agatha to help out."
Matilda stuck out her hand to the woman, who shook it cordially. "I'm Matilda, pleased to meet you," she said. "My old parents went to Spain to escape...fraud issues, but Mum persuaded them to leave me in her custody, and I'm really thankful and happy for that."
"So, Matilda," Aunt Martha told her with a twinkle in her eye. "I suppose I'm your great-aunt, then! But please don't call me that," she dropped her voice conspiratorially, "it makes me feel old!" making Matilda grin.
Sitting around a small table sipping French onion soup, Miss Honey and Matilda took turns narrating their story of the last ten months, sensibly omitting the parts about Matilda's telekinetic powers and the issues with the Russian mafia.
"But," Miss Honey said, "we've been experiencing strange occurrences around our house recently. Vandalism would most probably be the best way to describe it."
Matilda nodded in agreement, recalling empty bottles of spray paint scattered in the vegetable garden and spray paint all over Miss Honey's shed. "There's literally no real motive I can gather from them," Matilda added, "but it's easy to see that there is a more sinister purpose behind the vandalism."
PAunt Martha cut in. "That sounds like something they'd love to handle," she replied, pointing up at her ceiling. As if on cue, a series of loud banging noises began issuing from above their heads. "Oh dear," Aunt Martha sighed, "he's at it again. I told him I'd be having visitors, but I guess he wasn't listening. Back in a mo." The small woman hurried out of her door and up the staircase, leaving 221A's door wide open. Him? Miss Honey mouthed to Matilda, confused. Matilda shrugged and took another sip of soup.
Muffled voices came through the ceiling. First Aunt Martha: "What's that-what are you doing to my wall!"
Then a man's: "Exactly, you prat! I'm trying to read here! And whose brolly is that, your brother's?"
Then a loud baritone: "Yes, it's Mycroft's, he left it here from an hour ago. I'm just putting it to good use."
The other man again: "Why are you stabbing and whacking it against the wall then, is that your idea of good use?"
"I'm BORED!" boomed Mr. Baritone, causing both Miss Honey and Matilda to jump.
Back to Aunt Martha: "Well, you don't need to take it out on my wall!"
"MRS. HUDSON, I NEED A CASE!" Shouting again, but this time Matilda and Miss Honey were ready.
Aunt Martha again: "Actually, Sherlock, I might have something. Back in a mo." Hurried footsteps, and then Aunt Martha pattered back into 221A. "As I was saying, they could help. The man whacking his brother's brolly against my wall-don't ask why-and his partner, the sane half, specialize in solving mysteries. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson, have you ever heard of them? Well, in any case, maybe they could help you. Would you like me to give you an introduction?"
Miss Honey looked to Matilda and slowly nodded. "It's worth a go," she replied.
Matilda gave Aunt Martha a grin. "And maybe your wall won't suffer too much abuse."
Aunt Martha led them up the stairs, and motioned for them to stop. She poked her head into the flat, where violin music had restarted. "Clients," she called softly.
"Show them in," the baritone voice commanded.
Matilda entered the room first. Standing at the window, playing a violin with his back turned to them, was a tall, thin man with a mop of curly black hair and a suit. Another man in a jumper was already seated. "Have a seat on the couch," the man in the jumper told them with a friendly smile. Matilda turned her head. Sure enough, a couch was pushed against the wall between a spray-painted smiley face riddled with holes and signs of abuse and a poster depicting a skull. The pair took a seat, and the violinist put his instrument away in a case and flung himself into a black chair, crossing his legs and steepling his fingers.
"Er," Aunt Martha began, "this is my brother Magnus's only daughter Jennifer Honey," indicating Miss Honey, "and this is Matilda, her daughter."
Mr. Baritone spoke again. "I'm Sherlock Holmes, and this," he indicated the other man, "is my partner Dr. John Watson." He took one long look at Miss Honey and began.
"Mid- to late twenties, most likely a teacher, been nearsighted since childhood. Lost mother at a very early age, lost father too, but at a much later age. Raised by an incredibly strict family member, may also have been physically abused. Gained freedom from said upbringer and temporarily lived in small quarters: probably a very small room, most likely a shed. Got most of your food from faculty lunches. Spends lots of free time at a library. Grading? No, reading. You must teach a very low form then. Met the child in your class, decided to adopt her. Pity? No, it was most definitely an emergency or at least some drastic circumstance. Now," he said, "to you. Matilda, wasn't it?"
Matilda nodded, amazed at the man's rapid-fire observations.
"All right. Six years old, could be younger if I judge by size. Very interested in observation methods but your first love is reading. Storyteller. Imaginative. Fascinated with books, any kind. Only child in your biological family. Had very neglectful parents until around ten months ago. They didn't die, they just left. Maybe that's the occurrence that spurred your teacher to adopt you right after they left. You must have bonded very easily with her then. But why? Ah, I see. Both of you were lonely, both of you felt like there was virtually no one to go to. In short, you related to each other. And may I say that it was a very good choice on your part to take custody," he added, referring to Miss Honey. "So," he finished, settling back. "What did I get wrong?"
"Brother," Matilda shot at him.
"Pardon?" The man's eyebrows migrated towards each other.
"I had a brother in my biological family," Matilda expounded. "Ten years my senior, the favorite. Probably not that important of a description, though."
"Every small detail is of importance, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to see your biological mother's ego problem. So, tell me what the problem is."
Miss Honey did most of the talking, describing the ongoing attacks of vandalism on the property. The police had waved it off as childhood mischief, but the two both knew that there was something more.
"But the real thing to worry about," Miss Honey said after all of this as she pulled out her phone, "just happened early this very morning." She showed the two men the picture. Matilda could see the image in her head: Miss Honey's garden shed, two knives buried deep into its wall, words scrawled in red: 'I'll be back and you had better be ready or else!"
"How did you know the time?" Sherlock asked.
"I was out with Miss Honey at around six this morning. I saw the vandals' calling card and I actually touched the paint. It was wet, but not too much...just damp. There wasn't any dewfall or precipitation in our area, so it couldn't have been done late at night and then wet by a sudden bout of precipitation. It must have been done, then, around four to five in the morning," Matilda theorized.
Sherlock's eyebrows went up. "Age?"
"I'm six," Matilda replied, confused. "I turned six last Friday."
"Grade?"
"Secondary school."
"Are you lying?"
Both Matilda and Miss Honey told him, "No!"
"Sherlock!" Dr. Watson chastised indignantly. "Be nice!" He turned to the pair. "I'm so sorry about him, he can be very rude at times."
"I need to know your personal history. Why you two ended up as mother and daughter, where you came from. Who did you meet? Any enemies, people who are only too happy to harm you in any way out of bitterness in some past event? Miss Honey, you first," Sherlock poured out in one breath.
And for the second time that day, Miss Honey was forced to recapitulate her life story to someone else. Matilda half-listened and picked at her left thumbnail and stared at Sherlock's bookcase in a corner, longing to ask the man to borrow a book but apprehensive of his aggressive nature. He looked like he'd done drugs before too. Dr. Watson on the other hand, probably wasn't the mind powerhouse Sherlock was but was probably the nice guy. He looks like a hedgehog, Matilda thought. And his friend looks like an angry otter. Itching with boredom, Matilda discreetly slipped her boots off and wiggled her toes in her striped socks. She looked over at the bookcase again. Probably a quarter of those books were about bees and beekeeping, another quarter was about crime, and the last half was filled with different reference books and other tomes.
"...And so, I inherited the house and moved in straightaway. One day, I was at the library. Matilda was there too, we were discussing some books. Suddenly, her parents, her brother, and her mum's ballroom dancing partner-part Italian, incredible upper-body strength, et cetera-burst in and tried to force Matilda to leave everything and go with them to Spain. She refused, and I stepped in and offered to take custody of her. They accepted, and the rest is basically history." Miss Honey finished.
"And you don't know where this Agatha Trunchbull ever went?" Dr. Watson inquired.
"Nobody ever did," replied Miss Honey.
"Okay, just wondering." Dr. Watson nodded once and turned his gaze to his companion on his left.
Sherlock was staring off into space as Dr. Watson asked Miss Honey his question. He shook his head slightly, as if dismissing an idea. "Matilda, you next."
Matilda wasn't paying attention, and Miss Honey ended up nudging her, whispering "Oi, it's your turn," with a hint of amusement in her tone.
"Oh. Okay," Matilda responded and prepared to tell the story of her life.
"I was born into a family of a father infatuated with cheating people out of their money through the selling of used cars, a mother obsessed with ballroom dancing, and a brother who could barely extend his vocabulary farther than his name, Michael, and the words "telly" and "backwards". My mother never wanted me: she always treated me like some disgusting bug. My father always called me a liar, and a cheat, and a nasty little creep. I ended up teaching myself a lot of things, like reading and mathematics. I was having a particularly rough time with reading, as the rest of the family chose to watch telly day in and day out and we had no reading material in the house but ballroom dancing magazines. One day, when I was about three years old, I was left alone in the house-"
"Excuse me, repeat the age," Sherlock interrupted abruptly.
"Three," Matilda repeated, puzzled.
"Repeat."
"Three," Matilda repeated, growing slightly annoyed. "And I'm not lying!"
"Continue," Sherlock waved her on.
"One day, when I was about three years old, I was left alone in the house. I got bored, so after opening a can of soup and thinking about what I should do for the day, I decided to pack a few snacks and go exploring around town. We live in a pretty small town anyway, so I just thought I'd walk around, look into the shop windows for a couple of hours, and then come straight home. I ended up finishing all of my snacks in the town square and wondering what to do next. It was then that I found a public library. I went in and found a benevolent woman by the name of Mrs. Phelps. I could tell she was a little bit suspicious as to why a girl so young would have any business wandering around town on her own, without any accompanying parent. She kept an eye on me for thirty minutes while I was wandering around the children's book section. Just before my fourth birthday, I finished the last book in the children's section and asked Mrs. Phelps about other books that I could enjoy. She immediately directed me over to the adult section and showed me the classics: Dickens, Kipling, Hugo...It was like a dream. Then, she made an exception and let me apply for a library card. That's when I began taking books home and reading to my heart's content."
Matilda took a deep breath and continued. "That's also around the time that I began making up stories and telling them to Mrs. Phelps. By that time, Mrs. Phelps was already an instrumental part of my life. She was like an aunt to me: the greatest aunt a girl like me could have. Right after my fifth birthday, my parents decided to throw me into school and have it over with. The day before the first day of school, I went to the library. There, I saw a kind-looking woman checking out a book. Little did I know that she would be both my teacher and my closest companion."
"After Miss Honey left, I began telling Mrs. Phelps a tragic tale about an acrobat and an escapologist and their greatest wish-"
Sherlock interrupted again. "Repeat the subject matter."
"An acrobat and an escapologist. The acrobat was a woman, the escapologist was a man."
Sherlock turned to Miss Honey. "What were your parents' professions again?"
"An acrobat and an escapologist, my mum was an acrobat and my dad was an escapologist." Miss Honey replied.
"I must tell you both that if you are lying, it will be much harder for me to solve your case!" Sherlock exclaimed in annoyance.
"I'm not lying!" Matilda exclaimed indignantly. "And don't you dare accuse my mum too, because Jennifer Honey would never lie! Why are you accusing us of lying to you when we've clearly turned up on your doorstep to seek your help?!"
"Because, Matilda," Sherlock nearly yelled, "it's impossible for a five-year-old to tell someone else the life story of a woman that the child had merely glimpsed moments before!"
Matilda's line of vision began to be tinged at the edges with deep red, and she exploded.
"Well, I'm a child who can tell that you, Mr. Holmes, were a drug addict who is now solving the problems London gives him to take the place of the drugs he used to alleviate his ennui. You felt really insecure as a child because nobody really understood you and your mind, and the only one who understood you was your dog! But that's absolutely no excuse for you to bring your bitterness into adulthood and unleash it on the people around you when you have no cases to solve!"
Suddenly, a glass beaker shattered in the kitchen, startling everyone. The red erased itself from Matilda's line of vision and she threw herself backwards into the couch.
"Matilda!" Miss Honey exclaimed reproachfully. "That's not nice. Say you're sorry."
"No," Sherlock told her, leaning forwards with an air of interest. "What I want to know is...how did you do that?"
"Do what?" asked Matilda, still seething slightly.
"Find all of that out?"
"I just saw it," Matilda replied.
"Continue with your story."
"The next day, I went to school and was warned about the headmistress, Miss Trunchbull, by the older students. She performed many acts of terror in the class, once forcing one of my classmates to eat a whole cake and then throwing him into a torture device of sorts. Eventually, someone in my class decided to slip a newt into Miss Trunchbull's drink during phys ed. She thought I had done it, but I hadn't and it felt horrible. The newt actually got out and went into Miss Trunchbull's knickers, and she fled. That afternoon, Miss Honey took me to her house, which was really a shed, and that is when I realized that I'd been telling her parents' story all along. The next day, we as a class decided to revolt against Miss Trunchbull. We succeeded, and she fled the town. That afternoon, I went to the library, where my parents, brother, and my mother's dancing partner tried to drag me off to Spain to escape from victims of used-car fraud. Miss Honey offered to take custody of me, which they gladly accepted, and the rest is history." Matilda felt like she was pounding out every single word with a hammer.
"Who were the victims?" Sherlock asked.
Matilda didn't feel like holding it in any longer. "A Russian mafia group."
Dr. Watson gave a start and told her, "Good heavens, really?"
Matilda turned to Dr. Watson. "Yes, Dr. Watson. My father was so obsessed with the money, he didn't bother to check who his customers were. I convinced them to leave my father alone, though."
"How?" Sherlock asked.
"I...talked with them." Matilda felt this was obvious, but she tried not to add an "obviously" to the end.
"In Russian?"
"No, sir, in Tagalog," Matilda said sarcastically. "Of course in Russian, otherwise they wouldn't understand!"
"How did you learn Russian?"
"Taught myself."
"Matilda, I'm going to ask you a question, because to be honest, I'm curious, and I want it answered frankly." Sherlock's voice had suddenly become friendly, almost like one talking to an equal.
"Okay," Matilda responded, slightly confused.
"Do you organize your mind, and if so, how?"
Matilda gave some thought to the question before proceeding. "I just have all the information in my mind in sections and when I need something, it just appears."
"Thank you, both of you. This has been a most singular case. An eight, as a matter of fact. If John and I could accompany you both to your house, that would be fantastic."
"It's not a problem," Miss Honey replied, getting up and stretching. Matilda did the same as Dr. Watson and Sherlock stood and offered their right hands to shake.
"Don't forget your boots," Sherlock told Matilda as he grabbed a coat and scarf.
Okay...so what do you think? This is just a small idea I had wiggling at the back of my head and my first crossover. So, please comment and tell me what you think about what's going on! Thanks very much for reading this long chapter. We'll see how the story progresses very soon. Always, Rielle