HAPPY 2013 EVERYONE!
Its a new year so I have decided to post a new fic (corny I know, but, meh) this has been sitting on my hard drive for a while and I finally have the courage to post it, I really hope you like it!
Hope your 2013's are all sweetness and light.
Much love
MB xxxxxxxxxx
Always A Watson
Chapter One
England. 1896 and Queen Victoria sits proudly on the English throne, the longest reigning monarch the land has ever known. Now in the dying days of the nineteenth century her reign is also drawing to a close. Her age has been one of great knowledge and discovery, forever changing England and it's people. Her empire stretches to the furtherest corners of the globe, bringing with it wealth that the country had not seen before or since. Men marching out in her name to conquer new, unknown lands. The East India Company driving through Asia had heralded an age of culture and prosperity, and with the sun soaked island of the Caribbean to the west and Australia to the East the sun never sets of her colonies. Ships roll into England's harbours filled with spices and tea and other such wonders. Men walking in fine suits to a chorus of Elgar and change, scientists expanding the mind, solving complex puzzles, curing diseases and unlocking secrets, pointing their microscopes at the very small, and their telescopes at the very big. Inventors radically changing the landscape with their large, dark mechanisms, something called electricity crackled and fizzed in bulbs of light, ending the reign of darkness.
The Victorian mind seemed to be one of endless curiosity. Victorian values obsess over wealth and power. Where once a nation of people had been toiling in fields they now became one of intelligence and industry. Factories fill and dark smoke saturates the English air as the population rushes into the cities. For a hundred years the industrial revolution had gripped it's shores, changing production for ever. Though now over it's effects could still be felt. England changed into a free market, into a country of manufacturing and trade and men become richer then ever. It's capital, London,becomes the largest and most prosperous city in the entire world. Countries look to England as a driving force, as the most powerful nation on Earth, as admired as it was feared. This golden age seemingly had no end.
But this tale is not a tale of rich men, it is not one of empire or of industry, or scientists and inventors. It is not even about Queen Victoria herself. This tale is about a boy, a small, insignificant boy, by the name of John Watson.
Now John Watson may go down in the history books, in a hundred years time men will not speak his name in wonder or admiration, neither will school masters write his name in chalk on blackboards up and down the land, he will be entirely forgotten, like so many others in this world. Sure he may not have cured any diseases, he has not invented anything of note, discovered a new land or anything like that, but that does not mean his tale is not a remarkable one. It is a tale of bravery and sacrifice, and most importantly of all, it is one of love.
His appearance is rather common, handsome yes, but there is nothing in his features that distinguishes him from anyone else. He has sandy blonde hair and blue eyes, large eyes filled with all the innocence and wonder of a newborn foal. His mother once remarked that his eyes were like two large moons, wide and bright in the night sky. Lower down his face he has two rather rosy cheeks, his mouth small but his lips red and plump. He has a short but compact frame and is smaller then most boys his age.
He lives in London, but his London is not one of prosperity, the East End of London is which John Watson called his home was a cruel and unforgiving place, it had not benefited or prospered from men claiming foreign lands as their own. It was an area of extreme poverty, disease and death. The houses and streets crammed together till there was no space for anything else, fog and smoke a constant presence in the streets making it impossible to see over a long distance. The streets themselves had no order to them, winding about haphazardly. Dark alleyways and hidden corners were everywhere, making the whole structure appear much like a rabbit warren. To the uninitiated it would be so easy to get lost here, to enter the maze and never find one's way out. Lost forever amongst the toil and desperation.
The people of the East End tried to scratch out a measly living in its streets, trying desperately to keep their heads above water just enough not to drown, living hand to mouth was the only thing it's population had ever known.
People do not live very long here, children especially, John Watson knows this and is grateful. He had just turned five when our tale begins, no longer a baby. John knows he is now the man of the house. It was now his role to look after his mother and sister and he took his duties highly seriously. He was grown now, and as a man it was up to him to look after them all. He, his mother and his sister Harriet live in a shabby room just off George's street. Barely large enough for a bed. Five families crammed into the house itself, children running about all the time, babies being born and dying weeks later, men and women constantly cursing at each other, the noise sends John mad, he wishes constantly for peace and quiet.
His sister Harriet is exactly the same age as him, years ago his mother told him stories of how they were both inside of her at the same time. John does not know how this was possible, his mothers tummy was small and he alone could not fit in it, so how was it possible for him and Harry to squeeze in? Harry was short like him, though as a girl she did not feel the same embarrassment over her height that John did. She has the same blue eyes and the same sandy blonde hair, John was sometimes afraid of her as she has a vicious temper. His mother told him stories of them when they were still in their swaddling clothes, she said Harry cried constantly but John was always as good as gold. They take after their mother, she to has the same small button nose and fair features. He wonders if there is any of his father in him, but John cannot remember what he looks like, and he no picture to use as a reference.
He had not lived in this place all his life, he vaguely remembers a large house with a large kitchen where mother would make the most delicious pies for them all. The kitchen itself had the most enormous fireplace, John could easily crawl inside quite comfortably. He spent many an evening warming himself in his mothers arms, watching the bright arms of orange dance around the room. John had such nice clothes back then, clothes that did not have holes or lice buried into the fabric. He had toys to, such wonderful, magical toys, he remembers clearly a wooden train set with it's tracks and carriages. That is where he lived when father was still with them, but after he left his mother said they had to move and they came here. Now mother no longer made pies and there was no fireplace. He had outgrown all his old clothes and Mother refused to tell him what she had done with his train set.
Sometimes he wonders where his father has gone or when he was going to come back, sometimes he asks his mother but she does not respond, instead she goes very quiet and stares out of the window, sometimes he would catch her crying and John would have to comfort her. John now knows better then to pry. All he knows is that one evening he was there and come morning he had gone and he had not seen him since. He does not know what else to do but wait for him to come back to them. He vows to look after mother and Harriet so that his father would be proud of him when he returns.
He worries that when father does return he will go back to their old house and wont know where they are. Maybe he was there right now, in that big house with the big fireplace and his train set, sitting there all alone wondering where they had gone. Maybe he was not at the old house at all. Maybe he was on the large ships John saw, bringing all those funny smelling things back, or maybe he was a solider fighting savages for the good of the empire. Mother said his father was a bastard, but John was not quite sure what a bastard was.
He once asked his mother if they could go back as he hated where they lived now, that one room with the raggedy curtains was always cold and damp, it didn't have a train set and always smelt of old chamber pots. His mother had given him a vicious slap for the remark, he refused to cry, he was far too old to cry. Later his mother found him huddled in the corner, she put an arm round him and said she was sorry, she said she would never do it again and John had to forgive her. John forgave her.
John worries over his mother, she used to be able to walk but now she spends all her day in bed, too weak to move, she coughs blood into a raggedy old handkerchief and when she does she makes the most appalling sound, a loud chesty sound that John was quiet scared of. They no longer had any money, using the last of the coins to pay for something called medicine that mother took, but it did not stop the blood from coming out of her mouth. In fact as the weeks went by Mother seemed to only get worse, and soon it had all run out. There were men who cured those that were sick, John knows that they are called doctors. He knows enough to know that they could not afford a doctor.
John wishes he knew how to help her, he has decided that when he is big enough he will become a doctor and cure Mother. Just like those men with their funny bags and thick moustaches. His father definitely would be proud of him if he could cure his Mother's horrid cough.
It is an early May morning in 1896 when we meet John, the weather was rather warm and quite mild. He likes to walk down the streets in the morning when the weather is fair and he knows no frost will have hardened the ground. It was a habit of his, to scavenge for food and maybe beg a few coins before midday and the streets became over run with people. Before mother was confined to the bed she used to often force him and Harry out the house, one time he returned to the sight of a man coming out of his house, he was in the process of doing up his shirt. John did not know why he had taken his shirt off to see his Mother, but that night Mother had bought them all buns for tea and again John did not pry. In fact whenever men knocked at the door she would force him or Harry out of the house, giving them menial and trivial tasks to complete. John was secretly very confused by it all. But now Mother was in bed the men no longer came, and they no longer had buns.
He walks along down the middle of the road near his house and he knows he must find food somehow. He can feel his bones under his skin and the skin itself is a horrible sunken yellow colour. Everywhere he looks there are people exactly like him, with rags for clothes and bones that stick out. Short, sharp hunger pains keep running through his system, he had not eaten in days and they kept getting worse and worse. He was desperate, he would eat a rat if he could catch one.
Suddenly he glimpsed a lady walking a slight distance away from him, her dress a dark purple colour, only the wealthy could afford purple. It was well made, and unlike so many others she did not fix a tatty bonnet to her head, instead it was a small hat he had seen more fashionable women wear. She must have been the wife of one of the shop owners nearby, or perhaps a local clerk. So obviously rich her dress sense was that John thought it nigh on impossible for her to be one of them, she stuck out like a sore thumb in this grubby street. Such a strange exotic creature was she that John wondered if she was local at all. He has seen a few rich women come to the area to engage in philanthropy, but they never came alone, and they never came for very long.
She held a basket and inside was a large loaf of bread. His mouth watered, he hadn't had bread in so long. He closed his eyes at the smell, the warmth and spice of the freshly baked dough. His stomach growled and the prospect of eating it sent him into a tizzy. He followed her, keeping a few steps behind, making sure he was quite out of sight. Then quite suddenly she stopped to talk to another women, John watched their chins wagging at an alarming rate. John decided now was his chance, his bare feet made no sound as he scurried along, making sure to keep a sizeable distance so he was not spotted, then when he was sure the lady was distracted enough by her friends that there was no chance she would notice him, he pounced, grabbing the loaf with both hands, clutching the brown treasure between his fingers, both hands on either end so as not to drop it. He lodged it underneath his arm and ran, ran to a chorus of shrieks and cries.
'After him!' 'Someone catch him!' 'stop thief!'
he heard being bellowed out behind him, but he did not stop. He ran and ran, weaving in and out of onlookers and through the streets of his segment of the capital. He knew the area like the back of his hand, for once being grateful of his short stature as he could duck and dive better then anyone. He made sure no one was following him before he headed in the direction of home. When he made sure that he was out of danger and there wasn't a chance of being caught he made his way back to his mother and Harry and the shabby room.
The loaf was still hot under his arm. As much as he wanted to just stuff the entire thing into his mouth right there and then he knew he had to wait until he was home. He salivated at the very thought of the brown treasure he clutched to his chest. He hadn't had anything in so long. The last thing he remembered eating was a tiny bowl of porridge he had shared with Harry a few days back, they had no milk so had to use the murky water from the well, it was not enough to sustain him, it was not enough to keep hunger at bay for more the a handful of hours, but John was thankful, even if he did let Harry eat most of it.
He hurried home, knowing he was a target for bigger boys who would happily slash his throat to get hold of his prize, he clutched the bread yet tighter and ran up the stairs to his room.
'Mother' he yelled. 'Mother'
His yanked open the door into the gloom. The only light was what could creep through the rags that hang on the window. They could only afford one candle, so it was only ever lit in emergencies. The room was dark, too many buildings blocked their view of the sun, but it was just enough to see by.
His mother smiled at him as he leapt up onto the bed beside her.
'Are you all right?' he asked.
'Yes John, I'm quite, quite all right.' She smiled at him, her voice low and kind. Sometimes his mother was too unwell to speak, sometimes she only had the energy to nod or shake her head, though he was glad today was a speaking day, he wanted to hear her soft words congratulating him on the bread.
Harry was out selling matches, though the money she brought home immediately went on paying their landlord. Even then it was not enough, every day Mr Bridgely threatened to throw them out into the street, sometime John wondered if the only reason they were allowed to stay was because his Mother could not move. He despised Mr Bridgely. He was an old, fat man who wore a suit far too small for him, John hated seeing his rolls of fat peaking out from his collar.
He could no longer resist, he pulled at the bread and stuffed a large handful into his mouth, he had barely chewed at all before he swallowed, his stomach cramping from pain but he did not mind, that would go when he had a few more mouthfuls and the taste made any pain worthwhile, it was hot and delicious.
His mother smiled at him. 'You're a good boy for finding that.' she whispered. He knew stealing bread was not what what good Christian boys did and that his mother secretly disproved, but when one faced starvation sometimes the sin of stealing was ignored and you were simply glad you found a way to live to see the next day.
'Make sure you leave some for Harry.' His mother instructed. John tried to resist gobbling everything down, his stomach had finally settled and his mouth washed with saliva as he chewed, savouring each bite. He would leave half for Harry and have half for himself.
'Please eat some' His offered the loaf to his mother.
'I'm not very hungry right now.'
John shook his head, his mother barely ate anything now. 'Please.'
His mother tore of the tiniest chunk of break, 'Even a mouse wouldn't find that fulfilling' John thought. His mother screwed up her face in the most unsightly manner as she chewed it, John guessed her stomach was cramping to. He wanted her to eat more but she did not touch the loaf again.
When he had finished his half he made sure to place the bread out the way of the mice and rats, who were sure to chew on it before Harry returned home. Wiping his wet fingers on his old shirt he set about doing the household tasks his mother could not manage. He emptied the chamberpot, he cleaned up a puddle on the floor where his mother had not managed to get to the pot in time, he went to the well and filled up the buckets with water. He scrubbed his shirts and Harry's spare dress in the bucket and then hung them out to dry. He dusted the mantelpiece despite the only thing being there was their only candle and the bread. He did everything his mother did before she was confined to the bed.
When he was done he crawled into bed with Mother. He liked to cuddle her when he was sure to be awake, at night he would be too fast asleep to savour her touch or hear her words. He wanted her to tell him a story, she used to tell him a story about a young man who met a young woman, about how their parents had disapproved and so they had run away together, how they married and the young woman gave birth to twins just like him and Harry, but since father left she had not spoken a word of it. Again John did not ask. Instead she told him a story about an ugly duckling who grew up to be a swan, and then about a rose that grew on the side of a mountain, and then one about a solider who fought a dragon in a time long before John was born. John could not imagine this, he could not think of a world any different to the one he had known, he could only think of this room and his sick mother, or the large house with the large fireplace.
His mother had told him once that when she was younger she wanted to sell stories to people, but apparently the people who made books did not accept stories from women. John was not sure why, his mothers stories were excellent.
When she was too exhausted to tell him any more she wrapped an arm round him and John nestled into her side.
'You're going to be very special when you grow up, you do know that John don't you?' she weezed, John was about to reply when she shook with deep coughs, clutching the dirty handkerchief to her mouth, John saw the bright red blood she coughed up.
'Listen John.' She smiled, leaning back down onto the pillow. 'I need you to promise me something.'
'What is it?' John asked, though he had already agreed to do it whatever it was, he would never say no to Mother.
'I need you to look after Harry. Promise me John, promise me you will take good care of her.'
John nodded feeling slightly scared, why wasn't Mother making him promise to look after her?
'I will, I promise.' he said anyway, not asking her for fear of upsetting her.
She smiled again, the sadness in her eyes seemed to evaporate, she looked entirely at peace, she looked happy like she did when they lived in the old house. 'You are a brave boy John Watson.' she whispered. His Mother couldn't seem to say anything above a whisper 'One day you are going to find someone and they will love you just as much as I do.'
John nodded, not entirely sure what his mother was going on about. He settled back down beside her. She hummed him a lullaby, something she used to sing when he was much smaller. John felt his eyelids become heavy, the bread had made him feel lethargic and sleepy. Now wrapped up in his mothers arms all he wanted to do was sleep. He wouldn't sleep for long, he would just rest his eyes. His mothers voice filled him with a rather unique kind of happiness. He felt nothing but bliss, now warm and full for the first time in weeks, he drifted off to sleep.
He awoke sharply as he heard a crying sound. His sister Harry staring at him in shock as tears ran down her cheeks. He put his finger over his lip trying to silence her, Mother was asleep next to her and he did not want Harry to wake her. She felt incredibly rigid as he crawled out of her arms, and cold to, he covered her with the blanket they had been sleeping under to try and warm her up.
'Oh thank god' Harry wailed. 'I thought you had gone to.'
'Will you just be quiet, you will wake mother.' he snapped back.
Harry continued to sniffle and wipe her eyes.
'There is some bread over there for you.' he nodded to the mantle above a large hole where there should have been a fireplace. He remembered on their first night here mother had lit a fire, but the chimney must have been clogged as as soon as the thing was lit the room filled with smoke. Mr Bridgely refused to pay for a chimney sweep and as they could not afford one they had to make do with the cold.
Harry continued to cry. 'For goodness sake what is the matter with you?' she wailed. Running over to the bed she stared at mother in the most appalling way. John gave his mother a closer look. Something was wrong with her as her face had turned a pale blue colour.
'Mother.' he shook her shoulder gently, there was no response. 'Mother come on, wake up, please mother wake up.' he tried shaking her a bit harder, but she stayed entirely still. She did not feel like his mother, she did not feel warm and welcoming, she felt cold and made of stone.
'She is dead John' Harry murmured. John felt a hot tear fall down his cheek. No, his mother could not be dead, she just couldn't be, any minute now she would wake and sing him a lullaby and tell him a story about a duck.
'No she isn't. She is just sleeping.' again he tried to wake her. Again she did not rouse.
Suddenly their was the sound of someone stamping up the stairs making an awful commotion. The door was flung open and in walked their horrid landlord Mr Bridgely.
'Rent!' he bellowed 'Where is my rent you useless woman? Already weeks behind I should throw you out into the gutter.'
John wanted to yell at the awful man, he wanted to tell him his mother was not useless, but then he remembered his mother was dead, and with that he began to cry.
Mr Bridgely gave a long huff and put his fat fingers on his hips. 'Well' he sneered at his mothers lifeless corpse 'Can't say I'm surprised. You two wait here, I will fetch someone to take care of you.'
He slammed the door behind him, John immediately breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he was gone. He hated how his heart always quickened and his skin pricked with fear whenever he was around the man. His thick grey moustache and cold dead eyes gave him nightmares.
'We need to get out of here.' Harry said quickly.
John snapped his neck so he was facing his sister 'We cannot leave.'
'We have to, Mr Bridgely is going to stick us in an orphanage.' she protested, her eyes wild in fear.
'What's an orphinglidge?' John asked, wiping his nose with his sleeve, he tried to sound grown up and brave, but he did not feel very brave at all.
'Orphanage.' Harry repeated 'It's this horrid place where they take children and they starve and beat them and they have these large sinks that they fill with water and they push your head under till you drown.'
John did not like the idea of drowning, but he would not leave Mother. 'We have to stay.' he sat by his mother, taking her cold, lifeless hand in his.
'Well I'm leaving.' Harry said defiantly, 'I'm not going into an orphanage'
He suddenly remembered what his mother told him, he had to look after Harry, he had to, he had promised.
'Where will we go?' he sniffed.
Harry ran forward over the damp floorboards 'We will think of something.' grabbing his hand firmly she yanked him off the bed. 'Come on', she ran, beckoning him over to the door. Grabbing the bread she shoved it into her pocket and charged down the stairs.
John faced his mother once more.
'I love you.' he whispered, kissing her cold cheek then he followed Harry down the stairs.
They slept that night in front of a shop door, the little alcove providing just enough shelter from the cold, John huddled into Harry as he tried to stay warm. He wished so badly that he was back with Mother, he wished he was back in the old bed with her nice and warm next to him. He felt angry at himself for all the times he complained about the shabby room, at least it was dry, at least his mother was still alive and there to hug him and keep him warm. He felt hot tears once again prick behind his eyelids. 'It just was not fair' he thought bitterly to himself. He had lost so much, he had lost his father, his home and his train set, he had even lost his one room with the one candle and now he had lost Mother to. What cruel merciless fate had befallen him? He wiped his eyes knowing that men did not cry, only babies cried and he was no longer a baby.
The fog in London was thick, yet through a small gap in the clouds he could see a patch of clear night sky. A bright star was shooting itself over the pitch black canvas. He could see the bright trail it left behind before it was entirely obscured by the thick fog. He decided to make a wish, he was still a man but no one was around so only he would know he had done something as childish as wishing on a shooting star. He thought for a few moments, knowing he only got one wish and it could not be wasted. He couldn't wish for something trivial, it had to be special.
'I want a friend.' he whispered into the dark. 'I want a best friend who will love me and I will love them and I will never ever lose them. Ever.'
He was pleased. That was a good wish. And as everyone knew a wish made on a shooting star had to come true. Right now he was cold, hungry, homeless, but maybe, just maybe, the star had heard him.
The next morning was a bitter one, the cold seeped into John's bones making his teeth chatter insensately, he wrapped his arms around his chest, trying in vein to catch a glimpse of the warmth that seemed so determined to evade him. The shop keep had shooed them out of his doorway as soon as the sun marked its arrival in the sky. They walked along the streets, no particular destination in mind, just the hope that motion would make them feel proactive. Two small, lonely figures set amongst the hustle and bustle of the capitals streets.
'I'm hungry' Harry moaned, they had eaten the last of the stolen bread earlier that morning. John to felt the returning pains in his stomach. He decided to risk stealing again. Like yesterday he would choose someone with obvious wealth, someone who's life did not depend on a loaf of bread or small pie. Yes it was a sin, but hunger lasted much longer then shame did. It hurt more to. He wondered down the street, only noticing Harry had stopped till he was a few strides ahead of her.
'Oh John look' Harry pointed a thin finger to the middle of the road. John briefly wondered what she was pointing at, he was about to ask why they had stopped but then he saw the thing. A grey kitten sitting right in the centre of the road. Its wide green eyes looking round at everyone. It looked quite content, it seemed to be well fed despite having no collar round its neck. John guessed it was a good rat catcher.
'Oh isn't it pretty?' Harry squealed, John was happy to see a smile on her face, he hadn't seen her smile like that in a long time. The last time he had seen her look truly happy was when Father was with them, they were walking down the street on the way to a fair and his Father had picked her up and placed her on his shoulders, she had laughed all the way there.
A few seconds later he saw a horse drawn carriage come down the road. The beast was huge, chestnut brown and with a glimmering mane, it had two big black eyes like two pieces of large coal. Not a speck on it, no dirt or cuts, not like the overworked ponies John saw, it was twice the size of any other horse John had ever seen, its thighs the size of tree trunks, its legs long and powerful. It whinnied slightly, a sound deep and low John was immediately quite frightened. Its skin looked so glossy the suns rays seemed to bounce of it.
The carriage it pulled was dark black, with gold detailing on the doors, the mahogany wood must have concealed someone incredibly important. John didn't know why someone like that would be travelling through here.
The horses hooves clipped menacingly over the road, the kitten however had yet to move out of it's way. The thing crouched down low, its eyes wide open in fear yet it did not move. John wished for it to just run, but it stayed entirely still. It was going to be killed, the horse was bearing down on right on it.
'Harry No!' John screamed at his sister as she ran in front of the carriage and made a grab for the cat.
The driver pulled harshly on the reigns causing the horse to stop suddenly, it rose up and kicked its hooves out into the air. John could not see his sister so tangled was she in the legs of the large beast. It whinnied again, chomping at the bit that was clamped in its mouth.
'Harry!' John screamed 'Harry!'
He ran into the road, running towards the small figure that lay underneath the horse.
'John.' Harry whispered as he crouched down at the body of his sister. 'John I fell, my wrist it hurts.'
She whimpered.
Harry clutched the wrist in her other hand, it did look awfully swollen, John hoped she would be all right.
Behind him he heard the sound of a door slamming.
'What is the meaning of this? Why the devil have we stopped?' he demanded.
'Child sir, 'an 'ut in fron o' Bess.' The driver explained.
For a man to own a horse and carriage like this John knew they must indeed be absurdly well off, and the man that climbed out of the carriage did not disappoint.
He was tall, with a large top hat and slick black hair peeking out from underneath the rim, he had a pair of grey eyes that to John looked slightly cruel. His suit was grey, his right hand clutched a long cane and he wore a large woollen overcoat, the same shade of black as his dark hair. Shoes, soft leather, had been polished till they shone. A pair of leather gloves adorned each hand. His facial features were sharp with prominent cheekbones and a sharp nose. To John, with his ratty clothes and bare feet, he looked like a king.
'You' he pointed at John. Who was still crouched down in the middle of the road. 'What is your name?'
'John.' he stuttered 'John Watson.'
He pinched his lips together, leaning on his cane and looking at John as if he were a savage or barbarian.
Suddenly he turned to look at Harry. A strange look came across his face. 'Vera' her whispered. John did not know why, Harry's name was not Vera. A queer expression fell on his face as soon as he looked at Harry, he gazed at her like she was a pearl he had found inside an oyster, his eyes seemed to soften into two muddy puddles. A hint of a smile even appeared on his lips.
'Are you hurt?' He asked softly. Bending down over her so he was the same level as John.
'Just my hand' Harry smiled back.
The man nodded. 'And you are?'
'My name is Harriet.'
'Well Harriet, let me take a look at your hand.' He delicately took Harry's wrist into his gloves, turning the wrist over slightly.
'You have a sprain, it will heal but you will need to go to a doctor. Where are your parents?' He smiled at Harry and ran a hand through her hair. His father had done something incredibly similar whenever Harry had hurt herself.
'My mother is dead, I do not know where my father is.' They continued to talk, low and quiet, out of earshot of John who could only make out the odd word. They talked for what felt like an age, till John's legs felt stiff.
The man seemed to be lost in thought for a few moments, then he got up and took off his overcoat, wrapping it around Harry then lifting her gently off the ground.
'Sir' the driver called 'She is just a street child. They are not destined to live long.'
'This girl urgently needs to see a doctor, have you seen how thin she is?' The man snapped back 'A few more days and she will be dead.'
'And Lord Montague?'
'He can wait, take me back to Sherringford at once.'
'But Sir...'
'Don't forget your place Brown, take me home immediately.'
The man sighed, admitting defeat. 'Very well Sir.'
John watched the man walk towards the carriage, it appeared he had been quickly forgotten, he stood there in shock as he watched the stranger take his sister, but then he remembered the promise he had made to his mother, he could not lose Harry.
'Harry!' he called out loudly to the lump in the man's arms 'Harry!'
'John.' she screamed back, holding out her good arm and reaching over in his direction. 'Please can my brother come to? Please he is all I have left.'
The man gave John a dismissive look then sighed 'very well.'
John ran forward till he was at the door of the carriage. He let the man and Harry climb in first then he followed quickly behind. He was too small to get in on his own so the man had to lift him inside.
The interior of the carriage was opulently decorated. Two red leather seats on each side, so bright against the dark wood, with a small table attached to the windowsill. The man closed the door behind him and John felt himself jerk forwards as the carriage pulled away.
Harry was still safely tucked up inside the overcoat, the man holding her in his lap so she was resting against his chest, she was very quiet, John guessed maybe she had fallen asleep.
'You are not from here are you?' The man asked him quite suddenly, taking off his top hat and gloves.
'No. How did you know?' John asked puzzled, how did the man know that?
'Your accent, you two are very well spoken for these parts.' he spoke quickly, as if entertaining John was deeply beneath him.
'We used to live somewhere else' John stammered, once again feeling quite intimidated 'Then father left and mother brought us here, now she is gone.' John felt his eyes prick again, and before he could stop them he began to sob. Whacking great tears rolling down his dirty cheeks.
He was handed a white handkerchief by the man, who awkwardly put a hand on his shoulder and tried to comfort him.
'My wife is dead.' he explained 'I know what it is to lose someone you love.'
John wiped his sleeve over his nose and sniffed 'Did she cough to?'
The man smiled at him, for the first time that day. 'No. She was giving birth to my son. I could tell from the bump he would be a large baby and I hoped and prayed she would be strong enough but' he looked down at the floor, his face suddenly contorted in sorrow 'There was so much blood.' he paused. 'He is your age now. I wanted a daughter so desperately, always have done.' he looked down at Harry 'Maybe this is god finally granting my wish.' he smiled at her again, showing a row of white teeth.
There was a long pause as John watched London speed past the window. 'Where are we going?'
'My home, Sherringford Hall, it's in the country, not too far though,we should be there by dusk. I will get Harriet the best doctor money can buy.'
John nodded. 'Will you bring us back when she's better?'
The man laughed. 'Do you know who I am John Watson?'
John shook his head.
'My name is Lord Holmes. I'm from one of the oldest and most powerful families in all England, I have decided to raise Harriet as my own, I will give her everything, good clothes, a governess, everything, just like I always dreamed of doing. Do you understand what I am telling you John? I could give her a life beyond her wildest dreams, no hunger, no disease, though I do not want her to resent me for taking her away from you, she seems quite attached, so you can stay with us in my house if you like. I already have two sons so you will not be out of place.'
John doubted very much if he had a choice in the matter, he wanted to go back to the one room, he wanted Mother to be there to hug him and cuddle him, he didn't want to go to Sherringford, he didn't want this strange man to take Harry away.
He looked out of the window, till the streets turned into fields. He saw horses, then something that looked like a horse, but it was shorted and fatter, he was quite confused by it.
'What is that?' he asked.
'Oh that?' Lord Holmes replied 'That is a cow.'
John felt his eyes get heavier and heavier, he allowed himself to fall asleep to the sounds of the carriage moving slowly forwards.
When he awoke they had stopped, and Lord Holmes was shaking him softly.
'We have arrived.'
Sherringford Hall was the biggest house John had ever seen. It was much bigger then even his old house. It was five stories high, a rich golden colour and rows upon rows of large windows. It stood in the centre of a perfectly trimmed field, with large bunches of trees in the distance behind it. The large road leading up to its front was entirely flat. John swallowed nervously, only the very rich lived in places like this, it was rather like the large palace he had seen with his father, the one he was told the queen lived in.
There was a group of footmen there to greet them, with their dark blue jackets and stiff white colours.
'Someone telegram Dr Jones, get him here immediately' Lord Holmes barked his orders at them. He still held Harry close to him, wrapped in the expensive overcoat. 'Someone take him down to the kitchens, get one of the cooks to make him something.' he waved his hand at John dismissively.
John felt himself being led inside, Harry and Lord Holmes disappearing from view. He kept asking where his sister went, but no one answered him.
He was led inside to a large kitchen.
'Hello.' A large women with short red hair approached him. 'I'm Patty, who are you?'
'John.' he murmured, gazing at the woman, she was rather short and round, but had a warm smile that immediately put John at ease.
John immediately decided he rather liked this women. The kitchen was rather crowded with people peeling and chopping and talking, but no one else seemed to pay any attention to him.
'Annie?' Patty looked round.
'Yes Miss?' a wiry looking girl appeared, her hair a dark brown was pulled into a neat bun with a few stray strands of hair covered her pretty yet rather unremarkable face, her dress was a soft peach colour with a white apron.
'This is John' Patty introduced him. 'One of the orphans Lord Holmes brought back from London, can you get him some hot soup and a few of the rolls I baked this morning?'
'Yes miss.'
John was not entirely certain what the soup was made out of, but he ate greedily, he devoured soup and the rolls within minutes of it all being put in front of him.
'My, you were hungry weren't you?' Patty laughed.
After he was done eating he was told to follow Annie and another maid, they led him into yet another room opposite the kitchen.
John did not know what was happening until he saw the large sink which had been filled with water. Staring at the large sink he felt his blood run entirely cold. Harry was right, they did drown orphans, they had ended up in an orphanage after all and now John was going to die without saving his sister. He became to cry, and scream. One of the maids tried to undo his shirt but he kicked her away.
'I don't want to be drowned' he sobbed.
'What in god's name is going on?' Patty stormed into the room. 'What is that ungodly racket?'
'It's John miss' Annie replied 'he says we are going to drown him'
Patty sighed 'Oh give him here.' Patty quietly explained to John that they wanted to give him a bath, apparently he had to sit in a large pool of water for this to happen. John was not entirely sure whether or not to believe her, but he liked Patty and so he let her help him undress. She handed his clothes to Annie.
'What should I do with them miss?'
'What do you think? Burn them! Make sure the lice don't get on you. Get John some of master Sherlock's old clothes, they should fit him.'
John wondered what a Sherlock was, the strange word sounded incredibly exotic as he repeated it in his mind.
The water was rather warm as John was lifted up into the sink. This bathing business was actually remarkably pleasant, Patty rubbed a bar of soap all over his body and face. When they were done the water had turned a black colour.
He was taken out of the sink and dried, John had never felt quite so clean in all his life. By this time Annie had returned and he was dressed in breeches, long socks, a soft white shirt and black waistcoat. It was a little on the large side, but John did not mind, the fabric was so soft against him, and there was no lice or any holes whatsoever. He was also given new shoes which pinched slightly at the toes, but again John did not complain as he enjoyed the clapping sound they made against the kitchen tiles.
He was led upstairs, the grand staircase full of portraits of people he did not recognise. The carpet throughout the house was a thick red, the same shade as the carriage seats. John wondered if Lord Holmes had a taste for it. Annie led him inside another room.
'This is the play room, you will stay here while Polly and I make a room for you.' Annie smiled brightly at him. John decided he rather liked Annie to.
'You are very handsome now, in your new clothes Master John.'
John blushed with embarrassment. 'Thank you' he murmured.
When Annie left John decided to have a good look round. The room was full to the brim with toys. A large wooden train set just like the one John used to have lay in the centre, at the window a strange circular tube on stilts was pointing up at the sky, then there were army men, John was fascinated by the figures on the shelves. Different soldiers, some with muskets, some with swords, all with different uniforms. John wanted so badly to play with them, but he was unsure if he could touch them.
While he was staring at them he heard to the door open. He thought maybe Annie had returned to show him his new room, but the stranger that greeted him was a another boy. He was the most extraordinary boy John had even seen. Gazing at the strange figure he felt everything around him fade away, suddenly incredibly unimportant, the tall boy just eclipsed everything else, till it faded into dust. He had thick, untamed black hair with curls pointing out in all directions, his eyes were the same shade of grey as Lord Holmes but they did not look cruel, they looked wild and mischievous. His cheekbones sharp and his top lip rose and fell in a way John had never quite seen before.
'I'm Sherlock Holmes.' the boy told him 'What's your name?'
'John Watson' John replied shyly as he felt strangely intimidated by the taller boy.
'Father tells me you are to be my new brother.' he tilted his head 'You do not look very much like my brother.'
John felt his hair rise at the remark 'Well what should your brother look like?' he answered haughtily.
Sherlock smiled 'Well like the one I have got I suppose.'
'And what does he look like?'
'Fat.'
Sherlock descended into giggles, and John joined him. When they were so out of breath from laughing they couldn't make another sound Sherlock ran over to the corner of the room and grabbed two wooden swords.
'Would you like to play pirates with me?'
John nodded 'What is a pirate?' he asked taking the sword in his left hand.
'Oh they are these men who sail the seven seas robbing other ships and looking for buried treasure.'
'What is treasure?'
'Oh you know, rubies and gold coins and things like that. I'll tell you what, I will be the pirate and you can be the royal navy trying to catch me.'
John decided he really liked the sound of this game, and for the next few hours he chased Sherlock round the room. Screaming and yelling and laughing and making all sorts of noise as they leapt around. Sherlock was lots of fun, far more fun then Harry was.
Far too soon Annie came back and showed John to his new room, it was large, like every other room in the house.
It was bigger then the room he used to share with his Mother and Harry. There was an armchair and big chest of drawers, a bookshelf, writing desk and fireplace.
Annie helped him get changed into a nightshirt and tucked him into bed. She turned off the oil lamp and left leaving John quite alone. He suddenly felt very lonely, unused to spending the night by himself. He didn't like this strange alien feeling at all, being in bed with no one beside him, he wanted to hear someone else breathing, he wanted his Mother beside him, hugging him as he slept. He wanted her to read him a story or sing him a lullaby.
He crawled out of bed, opening the door he looked around and made sure no one was around. He crept along the carpet to the room opposite his. It took him both hands to open the big, heavy door, the door was pitch black and it took him a few seconds to adjust to the lack of light.
'Sherlock' he whispered quietly.
'Yes John?' the small voice answered. Creeping towards the direction of the voice John found Sherlock's bed easily. Pulling back the coves he climbed inside, immediately feeling Sherlock's warm body.
'You're cold.' Sherlock giggled, but wrapped his arms round John regardless, hugging him tightly, just like his mother had once done. John felt warmth and happiness flood through him, as if those emotions came directly from Sherlock's fingers.
'Sherlock I've been thinking.' John mused.
'What about?' Sherlock asked sounding awfully intrigued.
'Well, we are not really brothers at all are we? I mean, I am short and you are tall, I have blonde hair and yours is black, my eyes are blue and, well, I'm not entirely sure what colour your eyes are, they seem to change.'
'I think you are quite right.'
'Really?' John was pleased he had impressed Sherlock, who must be awfully clever if he knew what things like pirates and treasure were.
'Yes, I think we are something else entirely, perhaps we should be friends instead?'
John beamed. 'Yes we should, the very best of friends.'
'I have never had a friend before.' Sherlock said sadly 'I have been awfully lonely, all my brother does all day is read books and it's very boring, now I have you I will never be alone ever again'
John felt his heart swell, he was so proud to be Sherlock's first friend.
He turned around so his back was against Sherlock's chest, the boys arms were still wrapped around him and he felt incredibly safe and secure. He giggled as Sherlock wriggled and fidgeted behind him. Though soon he stopped and John could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest and hear the soft snores coming from his mouth.
He shut his eyes, and soon he to went to sleep.
End Of Chapter One.