This is my first story so please bear with me. It was inspired by the works of the magnificent Sir Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle, and the spin off television show by the BBC network. I own all the character names and the plot, but not the assimilation to the Sherlock Holmes Series. Please enjoy and comment.
She sat by the window drawing a small cartoon in the condensation, waiting for the plane to pull in off the tar. It had been over an hour but she didn't mind much. She was too tired to care. She could see her reflection in the window. Her faint image was filled with the sluggish lull of Sunday workers. Each one was a tiny ant from her perspective. The glass was cold to the touch and outside was dark with a foggy mist coating the runway, obscuring the blinking lights that lined it. She had wished she could have gotten a more reasonable flight. She knew the financial situation was tight, but she was still exhausted.
" Ye, must be from Spain if ya think the weather is gonna be all sunny, miss!", cackled the man next to her as he gestured at her window drawing of a smiling sun. He had just finished slipping a scarf on when he noticed her drawing. His intention was not to be rude and she could tell from his warm smile and twinkling eyes. She smiled at him and nodded her head as if she understood, but turned back to the window anyway. While she found that things normally did go wrong, being a pessimist was simply hurting the situation.
"Thank you all for your patience. You all may now retrieve your things from the overhead compartments. And thank you for flying Delta!" came the stewardess at the front with a flourish of her hands.
Everyone moved to get up and quickly cleared the plane. The girl waited until most everyone was gone then got her own bag from overhead. As she was about to leave the plane the girl heard some whining coming from several rows behind her. There she saw a mother struggling with a baby and two kids. Sighing a sympathetic smile the girl went over to help the struggling mother of three get her carry-ons down. She then offered to carry the youngest out. When they got into the terminal she handed the infant to the grateful father with the frazzled hair and was waved goodbye. The girl meandered to the luggage pick up marveling at everything around her as if she was in another world. The terminal was huge, almost as large as the Denver airport, maybe it was. There were many, many glass windows. Each one was as clear as if they had been cleaned just last night.
Luckily her suitcase was just coming out of the reclaim. She heaved it off the line and blew a strand of hair out of her face. She shook her head at the reflection in the metal on the reclaim walls and thought about how messy she looked to others. She shifted her carry-on bag on her shoulder and looked at the address on her wrist. While she was looking down at the words a man in a blue cap slammed into her, knocking her down, and sending her carry-on and bag skittering away.
"I am so sorry miss." said the man as he walked to her case.
She headed after the still sliding carry-on. Once she had caught it she turned back to the man. He handed her the handle of her suit case, not ever making eye contact. The girl looked at the man and studied what she could see of his face. Normally she would have kept walking, but this man was limping and his left sock was dark red. His eyes were a melty-chocolate brown and he was a little pale in the face. He looked like he had just been in a fight; his cheeks were flushed an alarming shade of red that strangely complimented his purple and blue black eye. Despite his bruised face, bleeding lip, sordid old suit, and single shoe the girl didn't take him for a vagrant so much as one of those 'lost-soul-people' that H.M. always talked about with her nose turned up.
"No worry." she came as she offered him a warm smile. She wanted to ask if he needed help, but saw how eager he was to move along. She hoped whoever was after him wouldn't catch him.
Then he was off, shuffle-tripping past her capsized carry-on as clumsily and quickly as he came. The girl shook her head and watched his blue cap bob through the crowd as he power-walked away. He made a swift right turn at the green bench with the sleeping commuter and vanished into the crowd. The girl turned away and bent to pick up her carry-on only to be bowled over, yet again, by a group of maybe five men in nondescript black suits. All the men were about the same tall, broad, athletic build and their suits matched to a tee. One however, was clearly in charge, the Number One man. He was the only one wearing a bona fide Rolex watch. She only knew the brand, because there was one in the glass case in the H.M.'s office. The other four men fanned out, two on either side of him making a 'V' like geese do whenever they fly. The Number Two man was probably the first one on his right with the brown crew-cut and cold eyes. He stood with his body turned in towards Number One, unlike the first on the left who was turned out - obviously Number Three. Number Three was the only blonde. He had a black leather man-purse with a shiny silver clasp over his left shoulder. Yes, an actual man-purse. Number Four was right next to him and had one over those old school Bluetooth ear pieces peeking out from behind his long black hair in his right ear. The last one, Number Five, was the second on One's right side and could not have been any more than 18 years old. As the group collected themselves he did his very best not to look her in the eye.
"Airport security.", said Number One as her stared down at her sitting on the floor, " Sorry miss. A drunkard got in and we can't seem to catch him. You seen a bumblin' fellow about yay high wearin' a dark blue cap with tweedy scarf? He'll be all bruised up like 'cause he got in a fight wit 'un a my men."
The girl nodded, annoyed and pointed them in the direction of the "lost-soul" man. Curious, she thought, he didn't smell like alcohol and if he had got in a fight with them shouldn't at least one of them have blood on their fist from when they split his lip. She was very good at picking up on things like this that no one else would notice. H.M. called it OV for overdrive, because the girl always became extremely focused as her brain worked out a solution at a mile a minute. She had become quite well known for it back home. She also noted the bulging space for a side arm in each of the men's jackets. In the end she figured that if airport security thought he was drunk then he had to have done something to get in trouble. The men then ran right past without even helping her up. What an impression England was making.
Before catching a ride to the address she went to a counter outside out the boarding area and asked for a package under the name of her H.M. The man behind the counter went off into the room behind him. This airport had post boxes in it and the girl had sent herself a pack with some items that weren't allowed on the plane. He took twenty minutes to find the package and come back. He was absent mindlessly drinking a strange soda as well. Where he got that from in the storage room she didn't know.
"Sorry miss we get a lot of trafficking in and about o' London."
The girl smiled sweetly at him in understanding as she took her package, but then proceeded to turned around heave a quiet sigh of exasperation. Finally put together she headed out of the terminal and into the street to hail a cab. When one finally pulled over she unclipped the safety bracelet around her wrist and showed the cabbie the address. The whole trip here had been arranged rather slapdashedly, as she wasn't supposed to be here for another month. The H.M. had simply said that something had come up and that she need to leave immediately.
"I 'member this place," the cabbie chuckled to himself as he knocked his hat, "Why ever is she goin' here."
The girl hadn't heard his comment though, for her full attention was again out the window. She intently watch the scenery go by as if in an alien world. She watched the people with their black umbrellas rush to and fro each in their own reality where they were the center of the universe. She watched the pattern the rain made on the window. The drops raced each other down the pane in a Darwinian competition for size and speed. After what seemed like an hour the cab came to a halt and the man handed her the bracelet.
"'Dis is it mis, 'ave lovely stay in Lond'n!"
The girl looked at the building quizzically. She was supposed to be boarding in a spare room with two girls, their parents, their grandma, and a landlord. This apartment, however, looked only big enough for possibly three bedrooms, and maybe a basement. Her brain got to working in full OV. 'So', she thought, 'The girls said they had separate rooms in the letter they wrote to her, so did the grandma. Plus one for the parents and the one for herself would make five bedrooms. Add another for the landlord, and that made six. Six minus four equals two rooms short'.
"Are you sure this is it?", she asked the cabbie.
"Sure as I am of my own name! I myself was wonderin' what business you had doin' at this of all places."
The girl skeptically got out of the cab and looked up at the looming building. She paid the cabbie and got her luggage out all the same. Then just as the cab was about to leave two men came rushing out of the apartment shouting something she couldn't pick up. They then proceeded to knock her over and hop in the cab speeding away as suddenly as they came. Her butt was starting to hurt from being bowled over. Not to mention that her pants were soaked through as well.
"Good morning to you too.", she mumbled shaking her head. The rain had slowed to a drizzle so she took off her jacket and tied around her waist in order to hide the wet spot. People here were even more hurried than NYC. The girl adjusted her bracelet and double checked the address. They matched.
Tentatively the girl knocked on the dark stained door by heaving its old golden knocker twice. After about a minute an old woman came to the door. She had a sweet face and kind eyes, wrinkled in the corners from many years of countless smiles. She was wearing an old fashioned apron with a classic, but faded red rose pattern and mint green fringe and ties. On one hand she still wore an oven mitt that matched her cute baking ensemble. Her silvery hair was pinned up nicely, twisting like a snowy mountain path up her head until secured on the side with a beautifully encrusted clip.
"Hello. Are you Sara Eldings' grandmother?" the girl asked.
"What? Am I who?"
"Umm, well I was supposed to be staying with a girl named Sara Eldings. I was told this was her address."
"No, I am sorry dear. There is most certainly no one by that name here."
"Oh well thank you. I guess if you see a girl that looks like this," the girl pulled out a creased postcard picture and showed it to the woman, "would you mind telling her that her boarding student was here?"
"Sorry, is this Ms. Sara Eldings?"
"Yes mam."
"Oh hon, you must be her."
"Who?"
"Our exchange ward. Conall has told me all about you. Come inside dear, come inside."
Curious as to what had happened with the Eldings, yet wary of what could happen, the girl entered the apartment with the woman. If it came to be an unsafe environment she had seen a shop next door that she could run to for help. Plus she could definitely take on the frail old woman. H.M. had required that she start matching her physique and intellect equally at about 8 years old. So she had a few martial arts classes under her belt, her black belt.
When she stepped inside she was in awe of the apartment. It was so much larger than it had appeared on the outside, and so tastefully decorated with a perfect mixture of traditional and contemporary home design. The entryway had a vaulted ceiling covered in stained wood paneling with three light fixtures suspend above. They weren't gaudy chandeliers though, they were stylish fixtures with a broad black rings hung parallel to the floor supporting four small Edisonian bulbs on top. Each one was hung a little further down the hall. The walls were a nice cream color and contrasted nicely with the dark stained ceiling and floors. As her eyes followed the base boards she came to see a gorgeous staircase. It was stained a shade lighter than the other wood and hugged the left wall until it swerved right at its apex creating a gorgeous arch as well as a space for an industrial style spiral staircase. This staircase went who knows where. It sat atop a landing where she could see the top of a few chairs and a door way labeled 'B.' She was lead further down the hall to where the stairway arched over. Back underneath it was a small little kitchen. She could hear a man singing and pots clashing.
"La, Da, Da, Di, Da, Dum, Da. I AM COOKING! For my wife!"
An old man turned around when he heard the old lady's heels click on the tile floor. He beamed the biggest smile that the girl couldn't help giggling at. It went perfectly with his apron and mitt that matched the old lady's ensemble. When he noticed the girl behind the woman he jumped up and clicked his heels together.
"A guest! Finally, a judge for my cannoli. It is made with love and excellence. You won't find a better one. Not even the miss's." The old man smiled mischievously and plated a selection for the girl.
"Giorgio! What are you doing in my apron! I was gone for, but second!"
"It just goes so lovely with my skin!"
The old woman sighed, placing one hand on her hip and the other on her forehead. The old man just beamed at the lady and winked at the girl gesturing at the dish. She promptly proceeded to taste the cannoli. It was the most delicious thing she had ever eaten. Against her own will, the girl sighed aloud.
"I am Mrs. Bickerstaff, I will be your landlady for a while. I apologize for my husband's behavior. Apartment D will be yours. Right there to the left."
Coming out of her haze the girl remembered why she was here. She shook her head clearing the cannoli induced stupor.
"Did something happen to the Eldings?"
"Unfortunately, yes. Oh, I am so sorry. I can't believe you don't know. We thought you were told."
"H.M. said that an opportunity had come up out of the blue. What happened?"
"Sara Eldings, dear, is dead."