AN: Before i start, i do apologize about this being short. I will try my best for future chapters. This is my first fic, dont be harsh. .
Lets get this over with...
The Case of the Murdered Mother: Chapter One
She sat there, emotionless with her knees bent close to her chest and her left arm slung around her legs while her right arm laid aside from her as if it were lifeless. She stared at the carriage that arrived in front of her villa where it was surrounded by police men and was penetrated by them. She shivered as a cold air breezed against her pale skin. Her tongue flicked at her dry lips as she gripped her legs with her right hand. All she had on was a cotton blue dress with her feet bear and her hair down.
London was cold that day, about below 40 degrees, she concluded but she didn't care as she sat there helplessly, ignoring anyone who wanted to help her. She stared at nothing with her eyes, but paying attention closely in her mind as the scene played in her mind over and over trying to find reasoning to the killers intentions over her own mother.
The breeze paused momentarily as she felt a very warm hand against her pale, cold shoulder which caused her to wince slightly. She instinctively looked at the man beside her as he kneeled down next to her. She began observing him as he gave her a smile out of pure daringness. She noticed that he had a cane but not only that, there was a white line surrounded nearly at the knob of the cane, giving her a conclusion that there must be a fancy hidden blade, such a peculiar weapon for a fancy dressed man like him. Not only that but she noticed that he was a bit of a gambler as she saw boxing tickets barely sticking out of his side pocket from his waistcoat. It was tucked in away but she could see the number he played. He was a consistent man as he played the same number, giving his money away for the same person which gave the number '13'. Her eyes glanced at his shoes and noticed nothing peculiar but the way he knots his lacing, with a double knot, describing him as a neat man. The most oddest is that she found a medical bag laying behind the kneeling man which judging by the looks of it, a medical man was his main profession.
"Relax," his voice was soft to the ear as she listened carefully for anything describing him as an unhealthy man but she found none. "I am a-"
"A doctor," she finished his thought for him, saving him the trouble of explaining. "I'm well aware with the medical bag." she did not glance, nor even point to the bag but just mentioned was all she did. "That is not all you do. You can see by the boxing tickets with all of them numbered '13', you are a man of consistency and a bit of a gambler. Also, the white line I am familiar with on your cane, that tells me that you must have a either a dagger or a small but sturdy sword concealed inside. Should I continue?" she asked, mostly with a cold voice, colder than her skin itself. The man looked with surprise as he saw the woman in front of her who, for a minute, thought she was a detective the way she came to her conclusion about him. He couldn't stand to hear less, instead, he turned his head to his companion, Sherlock Holmes himself and signaled him to greet the both of them.
"Do continue, you have great deductive skills. Apply it once more about me." he suddenly became interested on how far she would go.
She scanned him once more before continuing. The detective paused on his work to see why was Watson taking time away. Watson held out a hand to Holmes's wrist before he decided to meet Watson on his knee.
"You are a married man for you are not an engaged one. I can see you have a mark from your engagement ring on your left and your actual marriage ring on your right. Not only a married man but you are also a strong, intelligent man who used to be in the Army. No wonder it explains the concealed blade."
"Well done." Holmes clapped his hands and held them near his mouth. It was only the second times since he saw a woman who was able to judge a man by his looks and become precise.
"Not to be rude," she looked at her right arm that seemed to be lifeless. "But..."
"Its obviously disjointed." Watson said as he softly placed his hand over the bruised which responded over a sharp hiss from Veronica. "For that it would have had some swelling if it had been fractured."
"The matter is, you weren't on the first floor at the time the murderer entered the house, nor killed your mother. How did you disjoint your arm, exactly?" Holmes asked as a detective would. She shook her head softly as she remembered the face of her dead mother who was, none the less, lifeless.
A long breeze came by which made her shiver involuntary and pulled her legs closer. Watson seemed to notice but Holmes was too preoccupied on observing the crime scene. Watson was quick to remove his waistcoat and threw it behind her, opening it and covering her. He stood slowly and offered a hand. "May I?" he asked before grabbing her hand. When she nodded gently, he pulled up. After a trance, Holmes winced and took notice at was happening and decided to help the doctor lift her.
"Thank you Doctor. Why were you so still, Detective?" Veronica asked as he still kept an eye on her mother.
"Hmm... Peculiar..." he didn't mind her as he walked inside the villa and only him alone while Watson stood outside the steps with Veronica. He searched around the woman who was laid across the floor with a nasty gash on her head. She was hit with a metal stick and stabbed by the same object, judging by how large the wound is. Without passing over with any blood, he took a close look of the foot steps. A large man, who apparently is a size 8 but maybe 8 and a half by Holmes's deduction and were certainly men feet. The man was very large judging by the thickness from his feet. The exact weight and height is to be unknown for now but because the woman he just met never described the man from the start, he knew that this man had a mask to disguise him. He then hummed as he dropped to his knees next to the woman's wrist and saw the murderer's handprints against her wrist of where he held her down and there was something missing and then he reached her fingers. There was a pale halo around her middle finger of the missing ring he saw where telling by light color, she proudly wore recently.
"Very peculiar..." he hummed again as moved the woman's blonde hair away from her bright face. He frowned and let out an exhausted sigh as he removed a handkerchief from his top pocket and cleaned his hands. Looking around, he slowly stood and began leaving the living room, emerging from the house with more data. Watson had just guided Veronica into the carriage and looked at her before climbing in. While Holmes began walking to the carriage, he looked up and the dark sky with a hint of purple and thought about the list of suspects but he couldn't without HER list of suspects. He still needed to gather more facts before coming into a quick inference but without even the slightest doubt that this assignment would be different from the rest. He thought that this assignment will be an brief one just like the others but no assignment easy to accomplish and he knew there would be uneasy drops but he has to make the best of those.
He reached the bar from the hood of the carriage and gripped it before climbing in with Watson and Veronica.
"I have not come to a conclusion yet but I still need data from you, Veronica." he suggested as he told her. Holmes already knew her name as it were stated on the pile of papers he had in his room. He chose her for a reason and she just needed to know why.
"I will give you as much information as you need to find my mother's murderer, Sherlock." and she already knew him by the description given to her in the past about the infamous Sherlock Holmes. He found it coincidental that he had found a woman who had the same skills as him and he needed to found out how is it possible.
"All for later as patients comes to us. I must relocate your arm to its regular position. Before that, care to explain?"
"Well Doctor, just ten minutes after the murderer had a nasty brawl with my mother, I already came to a decision that she was dead, thus, there were no noises so I decided to head down myself. Before I can explain, I can only say that the reason that I couldn't run down immediately is that, truth be told, I was frightened that I would be next. Just when I thought the murderer had already left the house, he was there, standing over my deceased mother and staring coldly into my eyes, hidden cowardly behind a black mask. I couldn't tell he was a robber but none the less I attacked him all the same. He was a fighter, I could tell by his great Jujitsu. He demonstrated his prowess as he took my arm in the most uncomfortable position before flexing his hand and popping my shoulder. Of course I had to take something from him, giving him a nasty gash of his neck, hence the blood on the floor and my hands, before he ran away, just as I suspected, cowardly."
"Thank you."
"Now my turn," Holmes grabbed her attention and nodded at her. "You lured me in to the point that you thought he was a robber. Why was that and if you thought he wasn't."
"The man in the mask couldn't be a robber whatsoever. Like I said, he was a great fighter and robbers usually don't have a substantial amount of pounds for someone to educate them about fighting. So I've come to a conclusion by this man's white hairs upon his arms and fingers that he was around his 50's give-or-take." she began rubbing her temples as thinking roughly began to take its toll. The detective leaned back and rested his head at the head of the chair as he sighed deeply.
"That's enough for today, Ms. Williams."
"I can tell you more if you'd like."
"Alright..." Holmes clapped his hands together and leaned close to her face. "Where is your brother, Michael Williams?" his voice suddenly went low.
"I'll tell you what you need to know, Holmes. All I can tell you is that he wanted to become a detective. I have been writing small letters to him because he lives so far."
"How far?"
"Dublin, Ireland."
"Far, indeed. Has he ever visited this past few days?"
"No... But I bet he will after I tell him what happened this night." Suddenly, grief began to wash over he once again as she cupped her hands over her face. "He should... I need a family member to embrace me. I greatly missed it ever since."
Holmes sighed as he hit a dead end from one direction he was hoping that would lead him. He knew he must reverse and choose a different path.
She had a weakness, Holmes thought. He knew that if the murder figured it out what it was, she would not be able to survive.
"Write to your brother. Tell him that he must visit and that I said he must." Said Holmes. She nodded slightly but she couldn't ask why it was so urgent that he needed her brother. "And about your father?"
"I haven't seen him for well about a year."
"Hmm." Holmes sat in an upright position as they arrived to their destination. The driver had opened the door for them as Watson was the first to step out of the carriage before helping out Veronica by taking her left hand and gently luring her out of the carriage.
Almost immediately, she was familiar with the street she was in and felt a large amount of comfort as she snuggled herself under Watson's coat. "This is Baker Street..." she breathed as she gave out a comforting smile.
"It is," Holmes let out a sigh as he stepped out of the carriage and enjoying the view of the apartment building with Veronica. "Do you know this area?"
"I do. I was raised here when I was 5."
"Your mother owned a section of an apartment around here?"
"Across the street from here actually." she pointed blindly behind her as her eyes wandered on the steps and towards the door frame. Holmes had begun to lead her up the steps while Watson removed his keys to unlock the door. Holmes lured her in their home before Watson shut the door behind him, locking it with an audible click. Not only that, but the two men heard her sneeze and groan simultaneously before her head bowed. Before Watson can ask what the matter was, Veronica's knees buckled as she moaned softly before falling forward. Watson was fast though, fast enough to notice and catch her and hold her into his arms. He brought his hand to her forehead and then her cheek, groaning at the result.
"Holmes," he looked at him, eyes filled with worry as he hardly said, "She's burning..."