All who knew Mr Siegerson Holmes considered him to be a very fine fellow. A traditional country squire; he was staid, solemn and eminently respectable. He was erudite, scholarly and a perfect gentleman, and all who knew him admired him; considering to be a man of very high intellect and sound judgement.
This general good opinion of him was strengthened by his having married Miss Elizabeth Wentworth; a beautiful young woman of very good family who had also the agreeable qualities of being amiable, kind, caring and exquisitely mannered. In time, she came to bear her husband three healthy children – a son, a second son and a daughter.
And that was when Mr Holmes began to fear for his sanity!
"Good morning, my dear," Mr Holmes remarked genially, as he took his seat at the breakfast table opposite his wife. While they waited for Catherine, the maid, to serve the coffee; he picked up his copy of The Times from the table and began to peruse it closely – always his custom in the morning.
He had reached the agony column by the time that shuffling footsteps in the corridor announced the arrival of his eldest son, Mycroft. The tall and portly fourteen year old greeted his parents with a good-humoured, lazy smile before taking his seat at the table and reaching for the copy of the The Daily Telegraph, which his father had not yet opened.
Mr Holmes smiled to himself, returning his attention to The Times once again. Mycroft was never one for much conversation. He was a quiet and solemn boy – far more solemn than his young years necessitated; a sharp contrast to his younger two siblings. Speaking of whom, where on earth were they this morning? Neither of them was prone to being late!
Mr Holmes' silent question was immediately answered as the door to the family dining room burst open and his youngest child, Georgiana, rushed inside in floods of tears; causing her parents to look round in shock. Even Mycroft deigned to look up from the leading article of the paper!
The five year old girl ran straight to her mother, clutching something tightly to her chest, and buried her teary face in her mother's shoulder.
"Georgie?" Mrs Holmes' gentle voice was surprised. "Whatever is the matter, darling?" Her only answer was another tumult of distressed sobs, so she lifted the child up onto her lap and wiped some of the tears from her face. "Come now, tell Mamma what is wrong."
"L-l-look at M-M-Mavis!" Georgiana sobbed loudly, holding out the object she had been clutching to her chest. It was a very fine doll, with a porcelain face showing sweet, pretty feature and, up until yesterday, it had had a fine head of flowing chestnut hair. Now however, all that remained of the doll's locks was a shock of uneven brown stubble; a hairstyle which would not have looked out of place on a convict. "He....he has c-c-cut all her hai-hair off!" Mrs Holmes had absolutely no need to ask who the culprit was.
"Sherlock!" called her husband sternly, and two minutes later, the middle child of the family strolled nonchalantly into the room.
"Good morning, Papa," he said brightly, taking his seat next to Mycroft, who was watching the exchange diffidently.
"Sherlock, why did you cut the hair off your sister's doll?" said Mr Holmes, frowning darkly.
"It was only an experiment, Papa!" said Sherlock brightly, watching his sister continue to weep with a slight bewilderment, as though he could not understand what she was crying about. "I did it to prove my point – Mycroft and I had a debate last night on whether the a person's hairstyle could significantly alter their appearance. I said it could do so significantly, but Mycroft disagreed. However, he must concede I am correct – as you can see the doll looks quite different!"
"An experiment?" Mr Holmes fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Inwardly, he slowly counted to ten.
"Yes, sir," said Sherlock breezily, reaching for one of the dishes on the table, before looking over to where Georgiana sat on their mother's lap and attempting to comfort her. "Don't cry, Georgie, she looks infinitely better without all that hair!"
"I hate you! I hate you!" Georgiana shrieked, leaping off her mother's knee to pummel her brother as hard as she could before she ran out of the room.
'That boy,' thought Mr Holmes in exasperation. 'Is either going to be a genius...or a criminal!'