Chapter One: Missing
The Time Machine lay in pieces at the bottom of the Thames.
Christine Andrews had moved back into her old rooms at Baker Street, and an agreement was formed between she, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.
Firstly, it was understood that Christine could not fairly exist. She wasn't supposed to be born for another eighty five years; there could be no record of her in any of Watson's accounts - at least the published ones. The doctor assured her that any records would be locked in his box at Cox & Co., and the relationship between her and Holmes would be kept more or less a secret from all media.
Secondly, due to the fact that Holmes and Christine from very different worlds so to speak, and neither wished to push the other, they decided to take their relationship at a slow pace.
This was reinforced by the fact that Mrs. Hudson took it upon herself to act as chaperone to Christine, since she had no living relatives. It was a role that Mrs. Hudson took very seriously - Christine and Holmes could barely be alone together for five minutes without the landlady popping in to make sure there were "no patty-fingers, if you please."
In the few months she had been in 1896, Christine had secured a job as a typist - at Scotland Yard of all places - and worked several hours a week. She enjoyed it, although she was appalled at the difference in pay, and not having an "undo" or "delete" key on her typewriter irked her at times.
When she'd first been hired, things had been extremely busy and Scotland Yard had needed a second typist to pick up some of the slack, but now, in the month of May, things were slowing down, and she didn't have to work as many hours.
Presently, she sat in the consulting room at 221B, drinking a cup of tea and reading the paper.
"I can't believe I haven't heard any talk about this at the station," she said aloud.
"What's that, Miss Andrews?" Dr. Watson said through his pipe.
Holmes didn't say anything; he was engrossed in a monologue he'd written a few years prior, making notes and scratching things out with an ink pen.
"These children that have gone missing." She held up the paper. "I doubt you can read the article from there, it's so tiny." She got up from her chair and handed the paper to the doctor. "This would have been front page news in the future, and I haven't heard a word from the police about it."
Watson took his pipe out of his mouth and read, "Two more children, a Brandon and Thomas Kirk have been reported missing. These boys live in…" He fell silent and scanned the rest of the article, after which he handed it back to her. "They're street urchins."
She put a hand on her hip. "So?"
"The police don't concern themselves with disappearance of a few missing street boys, Miss Andrews," Holmes said, raising his grey eyes to hers.
She turned to him, appalled. "Well they should! I can't believe this! They're children."
"I'm sure they'll turn up," Watson said encouragingly. "Lots of children go missing and it turns out they ran away from home for a few days. I'm sure they're fine."
- - -
Sam Wiggins awoke and rubbed his grubby hands into his eyelids. Scratching his touseled head, he rolled off of the bundle of blankets piled atop a mat that served as his bed. "Mornin' mum," he yawned to the woman bending over the small fireplace. He nudged the three sleeping forms next to him - his three sisters.
The woman turned, bouncing a baby on her hip. She was young, but worn with work and family care. "Wash your face, Sam."
"Alright, mum." Wiggins trotted out the back door the rain bucket and splashed his face with the cold water, wiping his face dry with his sleeves.
"There's not much to go around this morning, Sam," his mother said quietly, setting the bowls of porridge on the table. "We didn't sell many flowers yesterday."
Wiggins took a look at his sleepy sisters and his mother and the baby. "You know mum, I'm not really hungry. You can have mine!" Before she could protest, he kissed her cheek and ran out the door.
He didn't slow until he was out of yelling range, just in case his mother tried to call him back. Truth was, he was very hungry. But his mum and the baby needed that food more than he did - he had other means of getting nourishment. Let's see, he thought. Today is…Wednesday. I went to the O'Briens yesterday for some corned beef. Maybe the Schultz's will have some bread for me this morning. He ran down the next street, turned a couple of corners and knocked on the green-painted door of a building that housed a German couple.
The plump, rosy-faced Frau Schultz answered. "Ah, Wiggins!" she cried in her heavy German accent, clapping her hands. "How glad I am to be seeing you! Stairs are schmutzig!" She said, gesturing to her porch in agitation. "You sweep and I give breakfast?" She inquired.
"Yes, ma'am!" Wiggins nodded eagerly.
"Gut!" She smiled widely and handed Wiggins a wicker broom.
He immediately began working, smiling. Not just bread, but a full-blown breakfast!
In no time at all, the stairs and surrounding walk leading up to the green door were spotless, and he knocked again on the entrance.
Frau Schultz clapped her hands again when she saw the work he'd done, and bustled him inside, where she gave him a two whole sausages and three biscuits. After eating, he saved one of the sausages and two of the biscuits in his only clean handkerchief and headed out the door.
"Danke!" Frau Schultz said, patting him on the head.
"You're welcome! Good-bye, Mrs. Schultz! Thanks for the breakfast!"
"Auf wiedersehen, Wiggins! Be good boy!"
Before heading to the alley behind the manufacturer's on King Edward's Street where he usually met the rest of what Mr. Holmes called "the Irregulars," Wiggins stopped at home and gave his sisters the rest of his sausage and biscuits with stern instructions to be share them with the baby and mother.
Wiggins ran the blocks past Baker Street, towards the spires of St. Pauls, and at last he reached the alley. Five of his usual seven comrades were there, plus Charlie Simmons' sister, Maddie, who liked to tag along.
"Ello, lads!" He called, waving. They all looked up, smiling.
"Wiggins!"
"Hullo Wiggins!"
"Mornin'!"
"Wiggins," sandy-haired Miles Pilgrim laughed, "Patrick ate a bug!"
The seven-year-old Patrick pouted. "I did not! Billy, tell him I didn't."
"Don't be such a ninny, Patrick," Billy Gibson, his older brother said.
"I'm not!" Patrick said, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
"Where's Bidder and Kelly?" Wiggins asked pudgy Timothy Holt, seating himself on an upturned barrel.
"Haven't seen 'em for a few days."
"Where've they gone to?"
Holt shrugged. "Don't know. Haven't seen 'em."
"I heard some boys down in Bethnal Green went missing," Maddie Simmons said, brushing her dirty blond hair out of her eyes.
"Ah, that's just talk," Pilgrim said, waving his hand.
"No it's not. My mum saw it in the paper."
"Ha, your mum can't read!"
"Can too!" Charlie snapped. "She's a lady, not like your mum-"
"That's enough. Remember wot I said, we don't talk about our mums," Wiggins said, jumping down from his barrel and making a fist. "Next guy wot talks about his or any other bloke's mum gets knocked down."
"Sorry, Wiggins."
"Hey Wiggins! Want to go to the beach and skip rocks?" Gibson asked suddenly.
"Yeah!" The argument already forgotten, Wiggins started running down the street in the direction of the docks.
"I want to go!" Maddie Simmons said.
"No girls!" Holt sneered over his shoulder, following Wiggins.
"But-"
"You can come, Maddie," her brother Charlie said. "But you gotta keep up! I'm not waiting behind for ya!"
In ten minutes they had reached a particular spot of beach along the Thames where they liked to skip stones. Each of them immediately began to seek out the smoothest and flattest stones they could find. Charlie Simmons reluctantly showed his sister how to skip, and everyone ducked as Patrick started unintentionally winging rocks in all directions.
"Watch what you're doing, Patrick!"
"Sorry, Billy."
Wiggins stifled a laugh and flung a rock into the surf. It bounced twice on the waves and disappeared below. He tossed out another, and another, until his supply was expended. Then he went and looked for more.
They'd have to find a new beach soon, he thought. This one was running out of good stones. The only ones left where the big ones that made a nice choof sound when you threw it in.
There, he spied one. A nice, perfectly smooth rock, flat, perfect for skipping. He reached down and pried it out of the bank and almost had it when he heard scuffling noises behind him. He turned, only to see three men grabbing Pilgrim, Holt and Billy Gibson.
"Oi!" Wiggins shouted. "Leave us alone, we didn't do nothin'!"
He ran up to one man to kick him in the shins, but Gibson cried out, "Look out, Wiggins!" Before he could do anything, he felt himself grabbed from behind and a cloth pressed to his face. He inhaled sharply, rapidly, trying to get away, but he suddenly felt sleepy, his legs going out from under him. His vision started to go dark, and before it faded away completely, he saw the rest of his lads getting grabbed, some of them already limp on the beach.
Faintly he heard Gibson yelling.
A/N
I've returned!
The O'Briens and the Schultz Family - For those of you who really know their Disney movies, this is in reference to Lady in the Tramp. These families are mentioned when the Tramp tells Lady about all his different "homes", right before they go to Tony's to eat spaghetti.
Schmutzig - means "dirty". I think you can figure out the other words. ;)
"No Patty Fingers if You Please" - classic line from one my favourite movies, The Quiet Man.