Here's my third piece of Sherlock Holmes fanfiction. In this one, I wanted to emulate those wonderful original stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle - in other words, a straight crime mystery for Holmes to solve. Into that, I've added the humor and bromance of the Downey/Law movies. I've never tried writing any kind of crime or mystery story before, but my husband says I pulled it off pretty well. As always, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it!

The Case of the Cabochon Blue

Chapter One

Lord Gowan's home was on the outskirts of London, in one of the more affluent neighborhoods. Although not the wealthiest businessman in the city, he seemed to feel he was owed the respect due a monarch. John Watson found him an altogether insufferable man. Sherlock Holmes' opinion on the man was better left unspoken. However ...

"Shhh, Holmes." Watson leaned close to his friend's ear. "Hold it in. We need this job." Which was true. Work had been scarce of late and the rent was due. Still, that did not make Lord Gowan any less insufferable. Watson added in a whisper, "You're just mad because he had you woken up so early."

"No. I'm mad on general principal, Watson. I do not like the man. He's a boor. And a bilious one at that."

Watson frowned. "A bilious boor?"

"Just so. However, I'm not required to like him, only to solve his case."

"What's that you said?" Lestrade strode up beside them, trailed by two police constables. "You see something?"

"Only a squirrel desperately trying to steal nuts of wisdom from the smarter squirrel," Holmes replied.

Lestrade took on a put-upon expression. "We're not here to investigate the wild life, Mr. Holmes. A crime has been committed."

"Ah, yes. Of course." Holmes' smile was hugely contrived. "How foolish of me to become distracted that way."

"Holmes ..." Watson warned.

"There are footprints in the mud beneath the study window, Inspector. I guarantee you they do not belong to Lord Gowan's gardener, who is a diminutive fellow. The man crouched here was much taller and heavier. I've seen enough out here," Holmes said abruptly. He squinted up at the early morning sun, then took one last look at the grassy lawn, the fine old trees, and the line of dog roses surrounding the base of the house. "Shall we go inside?" Once indoors, Holmes demanded to see the safe. "And your sapphire was kept locked in here at all times?" he asked.

Lord Gowan nodded. He was a man of average height and above-average girth. His brown hair was balding, his chubby face red, and his small eyes held a gleam of selfishness in their depths. "That's right. The Cabochon Blue was placed in there by my grandfather when he retired from the military. It has come out on average only once yearly since, and then but briefly, for required insurance inspections."

"And you are the sole possessor of the combination to the safe?"

"Yes. However, the numbers are also written down on a sheet of paper locked in another safe in my barrister's office. I assure you, Mr. Holmes, the combination is quite secure."

"And still your bauble is missing." Holmes dropped down beside the safe to examine it more closely. "Stolen apparently, yet with no scratches or signs of disturbance to the locking mechanism."

Lord Gowan bristled. "Are you accusing me of stealing my own sapphire?"

"No," Holmes said lightly. "Why, are you confessing?"

"Holmes," Watson groaned, thinking of the rent.

"I am not," Lord Gowan retorted hotly. His face grew even more flushed. "And I refuse to stand here and be insulted by a -"

"My Lord," Watson said, moving smoothly into the fray, "perhaps you would like to sit down. You don't look well." Taking the man's arm, he steered him toward a nearby chair, which creaked alarmingly when Gowan lowered his bulk into it. "As you perhaps already know, I am a doctor. I would be happy to check for any ill effects the strain of this tragedy may have put upon you."

"As part of his services?" Lord Gowan jabbed an irate finger in Holmes' direction.

"Yes. Yes, of course. No separate charge."

"All right then. I've had a splitting headache since discovering the theft earlier this morning, and my stomach has never been strong ..." Watson continued to listen to the man's complaints, which were myriad, and did a brief examination of his heart, lungs, pulse and blood pressure. To one side, he was aware that Holmes interviewed Lord Gowan's blonde-haired maid, Marya; Asian gardener and his wife; and dour-faced coachman. Then later he questioned Lord Gowan's brother and his new bride, and the Lady Gowan herself. What Holmes gleaned from all those discussions, if anything, the doctor could not tell.


Reaching home again, Holmes beckoned to a boy he recognized. The lad came trotting down the street, a smile stretched across his thin face. Holmes sat down with him on the steps while Watson remained standing beside them. High in the sky above, storm clouds were gathering.

"Hello, m'lord. Doctor." The boy was about thirteen, with shaggy brown hair and freckles. His clothing, Holmes knew, were hand-me-downs from his older brother.

"Wiggins," Holmes said without preamble, "a gemstone is on the loose. A sapphire the approximate size and shape of a hen's egg. About this big," he indicated the size with his fingers, "and of a particularly lovely shade of dark blue."

"Sounds pretty."

"Pretty enough for someone to steal it. I want you and the other boys to scour all the jewelers in town. Pawn brokers as well. The richer places, if you please - only the wealthiest establishments could afford to buy this beauty. Keep your ears open; the stone might or might not be referred to as the Cabochon Blue. Here," he added, slipping a shilling into Wiggins' grubby hand, followed by another. "And here's a second for your expenses." He quirked an eyebrow. "Let me know if you boys cost me more."

"I will, m'lord." The Baker Street Irregulars always ate like kings when on a mission for Sherlock Holmes, and what they couldn't afford was put on Holmes' expense account. It was the least he could do for them. Wiggins grinned. "With a guinea prize for a vital clue?"

"As per usual," Holmes smiled.

The boy took off like a streak. Before he had even reached the street corner, four more lads joined him. Soon there would be a dozen or more of them scouting London for clues to the stolen gemstone.

"They are a treasure," Watson said, watching the street urchins scatter at a dead run. He grinned down at Holmes. "And what would Inspector Lestrade think if he knew how many of your cases were solved by information those little lads dig up?"

Holmes shrugged one shoulder. "We all have our ways, Watson. Besides, I have told Lestrade. He doesn't believe me. Snobbish man."

"So what now?"

Holmes rose from the steps. "Lunch," he said lightly.

"Lunch? Now?"

"Well, it is almost noon, and I didn't have breakfast."

"I ate breakfast," Watson pointed out. "You slept - until Lestrade showed up."

"Unconscionable behavior for a professional man. He should have sent a constable with a note first." Holmes entered the house. "After lunch, we will go to St. George's gemology department and do a little research."

"On what?" Watson asked.

At the base of the stairs, Holmes turned. "Why, on the Cabochon Blue of course. In particular, on Lord Gowan's family, and how they found themselves owners of such a fabulous gem in the first place."

"I can't see how something that happened thirty or more years ago could possibly help discover who stole it now."

"You never know, Watson. Sometimes the most arcane bit of knowledge might be just the clue needed."

Outside, they heard a boy shouting. It was enough to cause them to turn and wait. An instant later a little lad of about six years burst through the entry door and skidded to a panting halt before them.

"Mr. - Mr. Holmes."

"Yes, Billy?" Holmes stepped back down from the stairs to the floor level and squatted in front of the little boy. Billy's face beneath the freckles was bright pink from his run.

"I have - I have -"

"Deep, even breaths, Billy. Nice and slow." Holmes began breathing slowly and deeply in an exaggerated fashion, willing the young street urchin to imitate him. The two breathed together in perfect synchronization for a full two minutes before the boy swallowed and nodded.

"I got somethin, m'lord. Maybe."

"All right. Let's hear it."

"Burnson an' his gang. They's eatin' lunch at the Savoy."

"Really?"

"Yessir. I seen 'em earlier, just a bit ago. The minute Wiggins told us what you said, I said to m'self, this'n could be important! They's even ordered wine an' stuff."

"Indeed."

"I raced all the way here after Wiggins said it, m'lord. So's I could be the first to tells you." His eyes were eager. "Think it'll earn me a guinea, Mr. Holmes?"

"Quite possibly." Holmes rose, his hand going in his pocket. "Here's a shilling for all the breath you spent racing here. You're a good lad, Billy."

"Yessir, thank you, sir," the boy grinned, gazing in admiration at his treasure. Holmes opened the door for him, and little Billy skipped happily back out onto the street.

Watson asked, "Who is Burnson and why do we care that he is eating at the Savoy?"

"Because Burnson and his minions are petty thieves of the lowest ilk. For them to be eating at the Savoy means that some nefarious little job they just pulled was incredibly lucrative."

"But this theft wasn't little, Holmes. It would take a professional to pull something like this off."

"Or," Holmes thoughtfully pointed out, "a small group of idiots who only have to follow someone else's orders. What better way to throw suspicion off oneself than to use those of less fortunate ability as the actual perpetrators."

"So if anyone does get arrested ..."

"... It will be the tools and not the actual thief."

Watson rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. "It's a good possibility."

"More than a possibility, Watson. I think little Billy may just have earned his guinea."

"So what's our next move?"

"Lunch of course," Holmes smiled. "But at the Savoy."


Later that same afternoon, after a relaxing lunch at the Savoy and a pleasant stroll through the streets of London while trailing after Burnson and his three compatriots, Watson unexpectedly found himself in a violent altercation in a grimy little box of a house in one of the poorer parts of London. And to think it all started because Holmes tapped Burnson on the shoulder and asked ever so politely as to the current whereabouts of the Cabochon Blue. Naturally enough, Burnson had taken exception to the question.

Some days, Holmes' lack of tact could be most annoying.

The brute came at Watson with a wild haymaker. Watson ducked the blow, then used his cane as a bludgeon, crashing it into the back of the man's knees. Already off-balance from the crazed swing, with his legs scooped out from under him, the man went down hard. Watson used the cane again, this time knocking the man unconscious.

That was the second villain he had fought. The first lay in a heap on the other side of the small room, no longer a threat. Catching his breath, rubbing at his always sore leg, the doctor turned to watch Holmes finish the last of the other two street thugs.

One had already been vanquished by Sherlock Holmes' unique fighting style, a martial art which Holmes called bartitsu. It was something he had learned when, as a callow youth, he had toured the Orient. Now the second and most stubborn brute, Burnson himself, was succumbing to those lightning quick jabs, slashes, and punches. With one last startled cry, this man went down too.

"Well, it took you long enough," Watson chided lightly.

"Picky, picky," Holmes replied in a stilted, sing-song rhythm, brushing dust from the fight off his black coat. His eyes searched the tumbled mess of the room, peering into shadows and corners, seeing everything, missing nothing. He strolled the length of the small area, kicking obstacles and garbage out of the way, overturning boxes and crates and looking inside of them, yet never once losing track of their conversation. "Really, Watson. You fought two. I also fought two, but Burnson is as big as your two put together. One might assume you would take the logistics of the situation into account before chastising me." Kneeling, he rolled one man out of the way so he could look underneath him, and then searched the man's clothing for good measure. A wad of bank notes was found in one pocket. Holmes estimated the amount, then put it back. Noting the angry knot on the man's head, he made a tsking sound and murmured, "That bump's near as big as a our missing sapphire. And here I thought you were a responsible physician."

"He did attack me first."

"My exact words regarding Nanny. Yet you never allow me to give her a knock on the head."

"Your altercations with her are mostly of your own doing, Holmes. Besides, a gentleman never strikes a lady."

"No?" Holmes shot Watson a glance, his lips pressed in a quick, crooked grin.

Watson grinned back. "I think if you tried anything like that, Mrs. Hudson would teach you a firm lesson."

"She is a brawny, brutish creature." He rose. His eyes darted, taking in everything.

"It isn't here," Watson offered.

"So it would seem. Still, it never hurts to be thorough. If nothing else, we might find a clue as to where to proceed from here." He moved to check another man's clothing and found another thick wad of bank notes.

"I doubt it's still even in London." Something as priceless as a sapphire cabochon the size of a hen's egg was too dangerous for the thief to keep in the same city in which he had stolen it, especially with Scotland Yard roving the streets and storefronts looking for it. It was probably on its way to France or Germany by now. Watson added, "It might even be cut by now into several smaller gems."

"Which would be a terrible pity," Holmes remarked, searching through a third man's clothing and finding more bank notes, "for it is reputed to be a remarkable stone. Truly unique."

"According to Lord Gowan."

"Yes. According to him."

Since sapphires were nearly as expensive as diamonds, Watson could only agree. He cast a wary glance at the four men lying unconscious on the floor. Their clothing was old and worn, their personal hygiene questionable. In fact, Watson could see tiny white nits in Burnson's dark hair. He would have to remind Holmes to wash his own hair quite thoroughly that night.

He frowned, "Are these truly the thieves, Holmes?"

"I said so, did I not? Really Watson, you must keep up."

"They just don't look smart enough to steal such a rare prize."

"Each one of these men is holding an average of one hundred pounds apiece, and I guarantee you, Watson, that one hundred pounds is more than all of them put together have earned in the past five years. Besides, as I specified before, I'm sure the plan was not of their own devising. However, there can be no doubt that these men are indeed our culprits. If the payment alone is not enough proof - observe." He knelt beside one of the men he had knocked unconscious. "See his shoes?"

"Yes."

Holmes indicated the thick accumulation of reddish-brown soil around the sides of Burnson's footwear. "Heavy clay soil, in which rosa canina grows quite abundantly. And as you know, Lord Gowan has dog roses growing all around the perimeter of his house. Remember the prints we found by the study window?" At Watson's nod, he went on. "This man entered the bed of the roses and stood in one place for several moments, during which time his feet sank down somewhat in the moist soil. Hence the thick line all along the sides of his shoes." He turned slightly and pointed to another man. "That one has only a light crusting of the dried soil upon his shoes. He no doubt served as the look-out."

Watson nodded his understanding. "With the other two supplying the diversion."

"Precisely. Ahhh." Holmes' brows lifted, and he reached in his tool kit to retrieve a pair of small forceps. With them, he plucked something from the man's collar which was invisible to Watson's eyes. He held the forceps in front of his face, studying it closely.

"What is it?" the doctor asked.

"One blonde hair of a pale flaxen shade."

"Lord Gowan's maid!"

"Just so. Thus we have solved the basic mystery of the theft itself." Holmes rose to his feet. "Burnson and the maid are lovers. Somehow he convinced the woman to aid in the theft. Last night, when Lord Gowan made his nightly trip to the safe to place in it his gold watch and his wife's jewelry, this brave fellow here was waiting by the study's window, standing still among the dog roses. When he saw Lord Gowan open the safe, he signaled to his look-out at the corner of the house. The look-out in turn signaled for the other two to begin their distraction."

Watson said, "Lord Gowan told us the maid was in a panic because two drunks had burst through their front gate and were fighting on the lawn."

"Also verified by the maid herself. It was those two there." Holmes nodded toward the two men Watson had felled. "Note the grass stains on their clothing. And during those few brief moments in which Lord Gowan exited the front of the house to shout the brutes away, the maid removed the Cabochon Blue from its case, put the empty case back in its precise location inside the safe, and pocketed the gem. Lord Gowan was only gone for a matter of two or three moments, not long enough for anyone to have stolen it in any more complex fashion. After the Lord retired for the night, the maid opened the window, gave her lover the stone, and locked the window again. The whole affair took no more than five minutes."

"It might easily have been weeks, even months before the theft was discovered."

"And would have been had Lord Gowan's brother and new sister-in-law not chosen to visit on this precise day. As Lord Gowan told us himself, and as verified by the lady in question, the sister-in-law wished to see the famous family gemstone. Sheer good fortune for Lord Gowan, pure bad luck for the thieves. And thus Lestrade came knocking on our door at the crack of dawn this morning."

"Eight a.m. is hardly the crack of dawn, Holmes. But either way, the Cabochon Blue itself is still missing. These men have already sold it."

"Or, more accurately, been paid for their efforts after turning the gem over to the real thief. Had they sold it themselves, they wouldn't have enough pockets to hold all their newfound wealth. And as you yourself pointed out, Watson, these men aren't smart enough to have planned a theft this successful."

"And now?"

"We allow Lestrade to question them. Perhaps these brutes will succumb to the sheer weight of the ineptitude thrown at them by Scotland Yard. If not, therein lies our most difficult task - finding the gem before it disappears forever."


Inspector Lestrade and his men took the thieves back to Scotland Yard with instructions from Holmes to notify Lord Gowan of his maid's treachery. Whether she would be arrested or not was entirely dependent upon Lord Gowan's ability to forgive transgressions perpetrated against him. Based on what he had seen of the man, Holmes was fairly certain the woman would be imprisoned before the day was out. He tried to make a wager with Watson over the matter, but for once the doctor practiced discretion and declined the wager. After all, Watson had also met the enraged Lord Gowan.