Holmes was in one of his in-between-cases funks. He hadn't left his room in nearly two weeks and Watson was beginning to worry. Although not quite enough to disturb the man without good reason, considering the last time he did so Holmes responded quite heinously. Watson sighed as he read over the morning newspaper without really taking in a word. Holmes was his friend and he was concerned. There was a sharp knock at the front door followed shortly by Mrs. Hudson peaking over his paper.
"There is a visitor at the door for Mr. Holmes." Watson folded the paper and set it neatly down on the table.
"Who?" He asked, hoping it was something that could give Holmes some brain work.
"It's a young lad, won't give his name, but says it's urgent that he speak with Mr. Holmes."
"I'll get Holmes around if you ask the boy if he could spare a minute." Mrs. Hudson nodded and hurried back toward the front door. Watson headed up the stairs and opened the door to Holmes' room. It of course was very dark, the cluttered room looking even more disorganized than usual. He spotted the man lying limply on the overstuffed chair, eyes closed, undoubtedly strung-out. Watson didn't bother saying anything, he crossed the room and pulled the curtains back, early afternoon light flooded into the room. A roar of pain resounded through the enclosed space. Watson had grown accustomed to this reaction and thus ignored it. "You have a visitor, Holmes. Get yourself presentable, he will be waiting in the study."
"No thank you." He snapped bitterly.
"You haven't even met the boy." Watson reasoned patiently.
"I'll pass."
"You need something to occupy you. Now get up."
"I don't want to." Holmes protested and Watson rolled his eyes. It was amazing how this brilliant man could act so childish at times.
"Holmes, as your doctor…"
"I never listen to doctors."
"As your friend! He might bring you the most interesting case of your life and you're gonna miss it because you're too busy moping." Holmes' glazed over eyes became more focused as Watson's words took root in his mind.
"I suppose I could spare a moment." He said with an attempt at nonchalant-ness. Watson of course knew better, but he had won so he wouldn't call Holmes out on it.
"Good man. And clean yourself up before you come out. You look positively dreadful." Dried blood and dirt stained his clothes and face from a boxing match over two weeks prior. Watson left Holmes to prepare himself for company and checked the study. Mrs. Hudson hadn't shown the boy up yet, so he went downstairs. The landlady and visitor were in the foyer, a cup of untouched tea was in the boy's hand and silence settled upon them. The boy was dressed in common workman's clothing that was slightly too big for him and wore a hat that shrouded his eyes and gave him a most ominous appearance. Watson walked over and held out his hand, the boy returned with a firm grasp.
"Doctor John Watson at your service."
"As I told the lady, I will only speak to Mr. Holmes." His voice was a little high for his age, giving Watson the impression that he was younger than he appeared, but it also carried the gruffness of oncoming manhood. Most of Holmes clientele said the same, so it came as no surprise to Watson that this boy wouldn't even reveal him name.
"I'll show you upstairs, Mr. Holmes will join us momentarily." The boy followed him up the stairs, into the study. Watson offered him something to drink and a seat on the couch that sat directly across from two chairs. He declined the drink but took a seat on the edge of the couch. Legs apart, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers touching, the stance of a man in thought. Holmes entered the room, causing the young man to stand, wiping his hands on his pants before holding his right out to Holmes. He shook the client's hand before taking a seat on the chair closest to him, Watson and the boy followed suit.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice, Mr. Holmes."
"And what is it that I can help you with, Mr.…"
"If you don't mind sir, my predicament is that of a sensitive nature and I need to know that you are as good as I have heard before I tell you anymore." Holmes nodded and tilted his head.
"And how would you like me to demonstrate this?"
"I have heard that you can tell remarkable things at just a single glance of a person. What have you discovered about me?" A glint in Holmes' eyes portrayed a small amount of mischief.
"I typically don't start with offending the client, it's bad for business."
"You have observed something offensive about me?" The boy inquired.
"People don't like being confronted with the truth, especially when it regards their own person." The mischievous glint grew.
"I assure you I can handle the truth, sir. This is my offer." Holmes considered simply dropping the case, but his interest had been piqued. He studied the lad, from the hat the covered his eyes to the mud splattered boots. Holmes leaned back in his chair. Small details turning into observations, leading to deductions. He stood and began pacing. When he stopped, he stood facing the client.
"There is a slight callous on the inside of your right middle finger which tells me that write, quite often. You prefer handwriting over typewriting, but the ink stains on your thumb and forefinger suggest that you're familiar with the instrument. You're well traveled around London. You are no stranger to manual labor and spend a lot of time in the sun. You have an older brother who you are every close in age and relationship to. Although much of your work is manual, you are well educated. However, over half these observations make little sense considering you are in fact a woman." Watson was the most shocked by the last sentence, he half expected the young man to spring to his feet in outrage. Instead he reached up and pulled off the hat, black wavy hair tumbled down past her shoulders, revealing that instead of an adolescent boy, she was a woman in her mid to late twenties. If the brim of her cap hadn't been covering her eyes it would've been obvious even to Watson. Her prominent cheekbones, narrow nose, and full lips could be mistaken as youthful boyishness, but coupled with her arching eyebrows and almond-shaped green eyes it was unmistakable.
"How did you know?" Her voice lost the gruffness of a man and turned to her natural feminine tone.
"I must say your acting skills are superb. It took me a good minute to figure it out, mostly because the facts collided with this odd conclusion.
"You didn't answer my question." He smirked wryly.
"I think it's my turn to ask a question."
"Alright, a question for a question then."
"Were all my observations correct?" Holmes asked. This was odd to Watson, Holmes was very confident in his power of deduction and for good reason.
"Yes." She answered.
"Then how…?"
"Uh-uh. Did you forget the rules already, Holmes? How did you know I am a woman?"
"The most obvious? You had your ears pierced at some point in your life, they've since grown shut, but there are still scars." She involuntarily touched her earlobes. "Also, while your grasp was firm and your hands calloused, they're quite small for a man. Though the deciding factor would be your figure. I'm sure you went to great lengths to hide your… feminine curves, the oversized clothes were a nice touch, but you can't hide everything, love." He was smirking humorously. This earned Holmes a slap across the face from the woman, as he was unashamedly staring at her barely visible chest.
"Cheeky arse." The two men stared at her, women did not speak like that. "Well I'm not going to apologize if that's what you're waiting for." Holmes rubbed the side of his face, he wasn't sure what to think of this woman.
"How can all my observations be true, and you be a woman?"
"I've worked in this disguise for the last three years. I studied the mannerisms of boys and men and taught myself to be one. Not once have I been even suspected of being anything than what you see on the surface. For three years and you figure it out in all of a few minutes."
"Why?" She almost didn't answer, it was her turn to ask a question, but she was there for help and she already slapped the man.
"My older brother died. Someone has to support my mum and little sister." There was a proud, indignant set to her jaw. She was a woman who did what she had to, she would not be a victim of her circumstances. "Which also brings me to the reason I am here. As I said, three years ago my brother died. He was murdered. There was an investigation, but I am sure you know firsthand of the incompetence of London's police. I would like you to find his killer." Watson looked troubled.
"I am deeply sorry, miss, but three years is an awful long time. Any trail is bound to be cold by now, if you had come forward sooner…"
"My dear Watson, you speak prematurely." Holmes gaze moved to the young woman. "What is your name?"
"Isabel Jones."
"Ms. Jones, why is it that you waited so long to seek assistance?"
"I didn't have the money, I have been saving all I can." She pulled out a change purse that was hidden in the folds of her clothing and dropped it on the table that day off to the side of the couch. "It isn't much, but it's all I have." Holmes and Watson shared a look, Watson's was of pity, Holmes' of intrigue.
"Tell me, what of his murder? Where? How?" Isabel pulled a yellowed worn folder from the folds of her clothes. She smiled at the incredulous look on Watson's face.
"I thought you might prefer seeing some of the facts for yourself and I couldn't very well bring a purse." She handed the folder to Holmes. He opened it, pouring over the sheets of parchment, newspaper clippings, and photographs. Holmes looked at her. "From what I've heard you like to see things for yourself, this was the best I could do. You can't imagine the looks I got when I requested Andrew's dead body be photographed before he was moved. There are documents in there with the police findings, although I'm not sure how much use they will be. Also, newspaper articles pertaining to Andrew or anyone else involved."
"Seems like you are well on your way to solving it on your own." Holmes stated, a small amount of humor in his voice as he continued to examine the organized compilation of documents on his hands.
"I think I might be blind by subjectivity, I simply cannot fathom who would have taken his life." Her voice was solemn, her eyes flitted to the clock on the other side of the room. She rushed to her feet. "I'm sorry, but I must leave." Isabel tucked her hair back into her hat, her eyes blocked from view once again. "I'll leave that with you and return midday tomorrow to see if you have decided to take on my brother's case." Truth was Holmes had already decided, but he would tell her when she returned the following day. Isabel left and Holmes closed the folder.
"Most interesting, Watson, most interesting."
"The case of the girl?" The doctor smiled knowingly.
"Both!" Holmes exclaimed. "I've never seen anything like either. Three year old murder? Solving something like that is nearly unheard of unless the doer suddenly gains a conscious and confesses. And a working woman? She called me an arse, Watson. Have you ever heard a woman say arse?" Watson laughed with his companion.
"I believe she said 'cheeky arse', and no I can't say that I have."
"And take a look at this." Holmes handed him the folder. "She took photographs, who would've thought to do that? Documented her own observations and collected others. She's a better detective than half the employed ones in London I dare say."
"Do you fancy this woman, Holmes?" Watson asked. Holmes waved his hand dismissively.
"Of course not, my dear Watson. Just a little occupational appreciation is all. Look at the detail, the woman has a head on her shoulders, which unfortunately is more than I can say for most of those in my occupation."
"I suppose you plan to take the case then?"
"Of course! It is most intriguing and may bring a challenge after all." Watson made an approving noise.
"Most certainly, but you must give her back the money."
"And why would that be?" Watson looked as if he had been personally offended.
"It took her three years to save that, she obviously needs it more than we."
"You return her money if you with, but I should warn you, it will only prove to offend her."
"Offend? Why?"
"The woman did not come here for our sympathies. She came here for answers. In fact I'm fairly certain that she would rather us treat her like a young man than a woman. Would you return a man's money?"
"But she is not a man and as I said, she needs the money more than we do."
"And as I said, you may return it to her if you wish, it makes no difference to me." Holmes stood from his chair, grabbing his coat and hat from the hanger in the corner of the room. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to. Hold onto that folder though, Watson, I should like to see it when I return." Watson knew better that to ask where Holmes was going, he had undoubtedly found something in the file that needed a covert touch. After Holmes had left, Watson took his walking stick and the curious folder downstairs to the eating table. He spread the papers out on its surface, searching through the large amount of information. At some point Mrs. Hudson brought him a pot of tea, mumbling something to the effect of, 'becoming more and more like that rotting detective every day.' Watson made a mental note to be extra nice to their Landlady and picked up a sheet of typewriter paper. It was the police report, the first thing he had examined. Watson had come full circle then, read every clipping and document in the folder.
The front door swung open, a gust of wind and smattering of rain following the cloaked figure into the house. Holmes pushed the hood off his head and proceeded to hang his coat on the hanger next to the door. "Dreadful weather." He remarked, crossing to where Watson sat with the contents of the folder. "And what of it, old boy? Find anything of use?"
"I'm not sure. The police report was rather… unhelpful. It seems the only the pertinent information according to the police was the name of the victim and that he was shot twice in the chest." Holmes sat opposite of Watson at the table.
"Odd isn't it? Even the most incompetent of investigators put more detail into their reports."
"Are you suggesting that it was deliberate? It appears the investigation was very short."
"Well the lead detective on the case is not above taking bribes. You may be wondering where I have been. I went to the house of Straus. I broke in and made a poor and quite obvious attempt to rob the man. Now don't fret Watson, I was very well disguised. Anyway, I convinced the man not to arrest me and in turn I paid him quite a sum and he would never see me again. Most men would've been insulted by such a suggestion, but Straus nearly began to salivate. His greed is definitely great. With that said, I don't believe he would've committed murder himself for any amount. Although he could probably be persuaded to close the case without proper attention. He is a small piece of a much larger puzzle."