Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes and the other characters related to him. All rights belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Marvel, and various authors and other screenplays. I will be using some of the plot in my story so that does not entirely belong to me either. I take credit for the character of Charlotte Watson and much of the romantic plot, but that is all.
Thank you and please enjoy!
Chapter 1: Wounded Wealth
The ocean air was crisp and smelled of salt as I climbed up to the top of the deck. Travelling alone as a woman was actually quite terrifying but I also found it to be rather invigorating. This is exactly what my mother had been worried about when I had lived with her back in America. I was a wild girl and I did not meet society's standards in the late nineteenth century. This is why she sent me off to London. My mother thought that maybe the old country would be able to instill old customs upon my modernized spirit.
I grasped the cold rail in my hands as I peered out across the Atlantic Ocean at my new home. The sky was filled with clouds, swollen and gray, ready to burst. I suppose I should have expected this, as I was headed towards London after all. Hopefully my cousin John would be a benevolent man. I also hoped that he would not be too boring. The weather was already dull enough.
Sailors were yelling and pulling on ropes. Their skilled hands manipulated the great, white, billowing sails as they brought us ashore. I went to grab my bags from my room only to realize that they had been fetched for me. Already my mother's plan to turn me into a proper lady was taking effect. I could carry my own bags thank you very much.
I followed the crowd out of the great vessel I had been living on and went in search of my cousin whom I had never met. I felt silly panic begin to grip my throat as I was pushed and shoved by the crowd around me. I could not see a thing because of my small stature. A tall man with dark curls was suddenly gripping my arm and he effortlessly pulled me from the chaos.
"No need to thank me," he said before I had even opened my mouth, "It doesn't take a genius to escape a sea of idiots like that."
I was not affronted by his disregard of formalities or by the fact that this man was unknown to me. I was more concerned with the blow he had just given to my intelligence.
"Excuse me sir, but I believe you are mistaken…"
"Oh I highly doubt that," he interjected, "I am never wrong."
"Well if one thing is true, it is that you are a complete arse," I mumbled under my breath.
Mother would have fainted upon hearing those words leave my lips, but the man only smiled at me in an amused fashion.
"Ah here we are," said the bright eyed stranger as we approached a shorter man. "This is my flat-mate Doctor John H. Watson, who, I presume, is also your cousin."
"How did you know that was her?" John spluttered.
"Oh Watson it was so very simple. It must be rather boring in your funny little brains."
Clearly this man had an aptitude for insulting the intelligence of others, including army doctors.
"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, cousin. It was so gracious of you to accept me into your home," I said.
"And you've come just in time, Charlotte, for I am to be wed soon and my fiancée and I would most certainly appreciate your assistance in the wedding plans."
John's flat-mate rolled his eyes at this statement. My cousin seemed overjoyed by the news he had just given me, but I could discern that his companion felt otherwise.
"Oh and I've nearly forgotten to give you a proper introduction. Charlotte, this man here is my best-man and best friend Sherlock Holmes."
I opened my mouth to properly greet the strange gentleman but he once again robbed me of my opportunity to speak.
"It's rather cold isn't it?" he said. "Don't answer that, I was not really asking either of you. Now let us get in the cab before we all catch a chill."
There were going to be some unavoidable fights between Mr. Holmes and I, with us in the same living arrangement and all. Putting two fiery spirits such as ours so near to one another could only burn down the entire city of London.
I peered out the cab window and watched my new city pulse with life around me. Men tipped their hats as they passed each other in the streets, and couples took a stroll together in the mid-autumn air. All of these things were so mundane, yet I found them comforting nonetheless. Suddenly my eye was caught by a commotion to our left. I leaned against the window in order to get a better look and I found myself peering at an old man lying in a crumpled heap upon the ground.
"Cousin! Cousin!" I cried.
"Please Charlotte you make take the liberty of calling me John," replied the former solider in a tired voice.
"Alright then John," I said, "Look out the window will you, this poor man is injured!"
John quickly had the cabbie pull over and I saw the flapping of coattails as he and Mr. Holmes both ran to the elderly man lying in the grass.
I opened my door and dashed across the road after them. In doing so, some of my wavy chestnut hair fell from my hat and dangled in front of my eyes.
When I reached my destination I saw that the man was lying in the most unnatural position. His arms were bent in ways I had not thought possible and one of his legs was pulled much to close to his head. His face was bloody and bruised, but the most prominent injury was most certainly on his neck. This skin there was mottled over with the deepest shades of violet and it was bent more crooked than an old hag's nose. The most curious quality of the injury was a red, bloody ring around the lower part of his neck.
"Miss Watson I think it would be best if you waited in the car," Holmes stated coolly.
I simply ignored the man and continued to look over my cousin's shoulder.
"This man was most likely walking home from the pastry shop as you can see from the parcel in his hand. Now is not the time for sweets so he must live alone or else someone would scold him for such a habit. The old man was wealthy as you can deduce from his clothing, but he had no one to bestow his fortune upon. He wore around his neck, a chain, which most likely held a valuable possession such as his late wife's wedding ring. Considering the gentleman's height and the current location of the sun, the light would have glinted off of the jewelry and could have been seen from a distance. At this location in London, it is not uncommon to come across a gang of young boys who are known for stealing from the more fortunate. These boys took note of the large jewelry around the man's neck and ambushed him, which can be seen by the different sized handprints along the body. The necklace was ripped from the throat afterwards with much difficulty as you can see by the jagged, bloody ring around his throat."
I stared at Mr. Holmes in awe as John went off to send a telegram to the police. The tall man gripped my arm and led me back to our cab. John soon joined us and we went off in the direction of my new home.