The first time she met him, Adelaide was seventeen years old, and on the arm of his brother Mycroft. He was twenty-three, had a prematurely receding hairline and was a fierce gentleman. However, Adelaide was fully aware that their relationship was only functional in so much that both their images profited, despite the age gap. If there were one person who could give Mycroft Holmes for his money, it was the woman he was escorting to his mother's annual summer Luncheon.
"I am aware that you have never been to one of our parties, my Lady," Mycroft charmingly uttered, and rested his admittedly pleasant on her own, that was folded in the crook of his elbow.
Adelaide smiled as prettily as she dared, and noticed her companion's shocked blink. "You presume correct, Master Holmes. And what a tragedy such a situation was, until now at least."
Mycroft hummed in apparent agreement, and they gracefully descended the stone steps of the Holmes' country manor house onto the lush grass below. Adelaide immediately wished she had chosen more substantial heels than the nude court shoes she was currently wearing.
Smiling graciously at the polite nods shown her way, Mycroft led her around the garden, the glorious sunshine making the champagne and fresh strawberries all the more palatable, and introduced her to their fellow aristocracy.
Just as they entered a conversation with a middle-aged, ginger fellow that Mycroft happenstanced to make, she heard a delighted squeal from behind her, but recognised it as her younger sister Evelyn's. Undoubtedly making making herself a nuisance with the waiting staff. Where Adelaide had inherited her mother's outward elegance, Evie seemed to possess an admirable curiosity.
Continuing to concentrate upon Lord Hatherby, whose precariously sozzled state was causing Mycroft slight embarrassment, Adelaide felt slightly happier as the infallible gentleman's reddening cheeks.
Leaning over to her whilst Hatherby prattled absently on, Mycroft whispered, "I do apologise, my Lady."
"Mycroft, you have no need to call me 'my Lady', how many more times?", she somewhat flirted, and laughed slightly into his ear. Why have a plate when you can have the whole feast.
"And besides," she continued whispering, in an inconspicuous manner, "you did promise me entertainment."
Mycroft Holmes drew back, slightly scandalised but with an amused light in his eyes, and Adelaide congratulated herself silently, until her name was heard and she return to the present.
"I am so sorry about your mother, my dear Lady Sharpe," Hatherby slurred, his portly stomach trembling with emotion. He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped the top of his balding head. "Such a terrible accident, I must say."
"Yes," Adelaide hesistantly replied, "terrible indeed. I thank you for your condolences. She will be terribly missed in the Sharpe household, I am sure." I'm so sorry Mama, but what else can I possibly say?
But Hatherby didn't seem to want to let the topic lie. "And your father, we haven't seen much of his face at the club! And that is a strange occurrence, considering his penchant for a flutter, if you don't mind my saying so..."
Mycroft squeezed her arm in what she took to be sympathy- though from their steady companionship of three months, she knew that Mycroft Holmes never did sympathy- and she thought on her reply before answering guardedly.
"My father is... somewhat indisposed at present, Lord Hatherby. With the passing of my mother, how can any man blame him?"
Hatherby immediately flushed upon realising his mistake, and Mycroft chuckled loud enough that only Adelaide could hear. Glad to see we are both playing this game.
"I didn't mean to ca-"
"Of course you didn't, Frederick," came a low yet young voice from over Adelaide's left shoulder, "how could you cause any offence to the Lady Adelaide when all you did was highlight the Earl's gambling habits?"
Adelaide and Mycroft both turned to confront the speaker; Mycroft more reluctantly than herself. He sighed.
"Adelaide, my dear, may I introduce you to my younger brother, Master Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, you find yourself in the company of the illustrious Lady Adelaide Sharpe," he warned, and to break the tension, I raised my hand. Not that I expect you to kiss it, Mas-
Sherlock immediately surprised her by lowering his shock of black, wild curls to her hand, and she felt a slight pressure where his lips made contact with her skin. A outward gentleman, but a scoundrel within. Much like his brother, Adelaide thought.
She was under no qualms that Mycroft felt nothing but respect for her, and treated her habitually with such indifference. It seemed that today, under the scrutiny of the infamous Mrs Holmes, he adapted his ways.
Further showing this by placing his right arm around her waist, Adelaide started, and Sherlock dropped her hand. She cleared her throat.
"May I ask, Master Holmes, how you came to know of my father's pasttimes?" she cuttingly asked, ever polite and ladylike. She sensed movement behind her, knowing that Lord Hatherby had cautiously retreated.
A flurry of pink caught her eye over the tall, younger Holmes' shoulder. Evie was currently chasing a cat, and a maid was chasing her.
Mycroft spotted this, and made his apologies. He headed over to the trio to rectify the situation. Adelaide wished she cared, but was primarily concentrated on Sherlock admission of a knowledge she and her mother had spent years jealously guarding, lest it cause them difficulty and isolation for Evelyn.
"Wasn't very difficult to deduce, Adelaide," Sherlock replied in a tone of ennui, and before she could call out his familiar tone, he continued.
"You only look to your sister when you fear she is up to mischief- either a need to protect her that you evidently feel, considering you practically brought her up yourself, or a need to keep her from embarrassing you. Probably the latter- she screamed a moment ago and instead of investigating to check her welfare you continued to lord on the arm of my brother. You obviously decided she was fine, and that your social standing was more important.
"But why the need for this? Your mother died recently, which is only highlighted by the state of your dress and shoes. Staff of calibre left your household and only the younger kitchen maids remained. Your dress is neat and prim but there are slightly lines around the seams where they have been ironed improperly. Your shoes have been worn before because there are slight marks on the heel. Probably where they have caught on steps, stone steps. Can't been our own; the marks are made of red brick and ours are grey. If there were dedicated staff, they would have cleaned or replaced them.
"But why have the staff left? There must be little money and little loyalty to the remaining family since your mother died- but why? Deduction: your father is a serial gambler and frequents the cities' casinos regularly, hence his absence today and your need to keep up appearances, and use the Countess's death as an excuse. You have little attachment to Evie, even though you are close; obviously you see her as the blame for something. Possibly she was an unplanned child and a nuisance, causing the evident abusive relationship your father inflicted upon you and your mother. An accident, falling down the stairs? Please, your father had his hand in it, and you still have bruises around your wrists. It's too hot to cover them with gloves, hence your hiding them in my brother's elbow.
"Conclusion? Your mother was murdered, your father is a gambler and you want to escape your home as soon as possible, probably the army or secret service. I'd encourage the latter- your skills in languages are fairly renowned and I hear you are quite the marksman yourself. Now, my Lady, if you'll excuse me, I have a chapter of my book on Russian Forensic History to finish. I daresay you won't see me again this evening, but thank you for being an interesting study."
And with a flurry of his jacket, blue eyes and dark hair, Sherlock Holmes bowed slightly to Adelaide, turned and jauntily strode up the steps towards the French doors of his home.
Once again, Adelaide sensed a more ominous presence, and whipped around to confront the return of Mycroft Holmes. His cheeks were flushed and he was panting slightly, but seemed triumphant at the blonde toddler currently sulking as she perched on his hip. Evie looked at Adelaide and immediately reached for her.
Taking her somewhat reluctantly, Adelaide couldn't help but feel proud and strangely euphoric as Evie's hands instantly clutched at her, and cuddled her hip.
Mycroft smiled at Adelaide, in quite a cold manner she remarked, as he asked, "My brother is, you could say, tempestuous. I trust he did not cause you too much trouble? He is barely older than you and less than half as reserved."
Adelaide smiled at the ground, and replied, "Not at all. He was quite extraordinary."
Unbeknownst to her, said brother peered out of his window, clutching his aforementioned book, and spotted immediately the Lady Adelaide on the glass below. His windows were open, and even though the hubble of chatter from other guests were audible, they were dispersed on the lawn and quieter than they appeared below.
But he heard Adelaide's words, and felt dirtied by them. Such a person had never admitted a reaction such as hers before- they were usually filled with hurt and disgust, and replied with remarks of 'freak' and 'nosy bastard'.
Quite extraordinary, she had said.
Quite extraordinary.
