2. The Adventure of the Single Syllable
During my frequent visits to 221B Baker Street with either business or a social goal in mind I have often found myself fascinated by the youngest Holmes. Little Abigail certainly required no encouragement when it came to exploring as she was often found in the most surprising of places, one particularly memorable incident ended with Sophie finding Abigail in the cooking pot, but that is a story for another time.
For now the daughter of the infamous Sherlock Holmes was just learning to speak. This is itself was not particularly unusual, if it were about the notion however, Abigail had chosen the most amusing vocabulary.
If I recall correctly her first words had been the common ones, 'mama' and 'dada' along with the dreaded 'no' and the slightly more comforting 'yes'. It was to my great surprise that Abigail not only acted normally but was a very polite young child. Considering that Sherlock Holmes was her father I had suspected her to be rather quiet and grumpy, but she was kind and lively instead.
"Why?" Ah, the great tormentor of all parents. I glanced down and, sure enough, there was Abigail, having sneaked up on me (another thing she had gained from her father). I decided to interpret her question as 'Why do you have that funny bag Dr. Watson?' because my bag was the item at which she was pointing.
"I have something your father wants to see." I replied softly and slowly. It seemed that Abigail understood what I was saying but simply could not say it herself.
"Deduce my good fellow." Abigail said proudly and giggled quietly. It was clear that she had been listening to her father's conversations with either me or his other clients. It was rather strange hearing the words spoken by a three-year-old child and I could hardly stop a small chuckle escaping.
"What could your father possibly deduce?" I asked just to see what she would say.
"Bad men, for dada's investi- investig- investigation!" She replied proudly with a grin upon her face. For a moment she looked incredibly like her father, Sherlock Holmes, when he was putting his mind to good use following the clues and tracking down criminals. He got the same exited look that Abigail now showed.
"Indeed Abby, are you bothering the poor man?" Holmes himself had appeared at the top of the stairs and was smiling down at Abigail. Clearly the shortened version of her name had become the common one as she instantly turned her attention upon him.
"No dada, talking." Holmes raised an eyebrow at his little girl before walking down the stairs and scooping her up into his arms. She laughed delightedly as his long finger found the few places where she was ticklish.
"Just talking where we?" Holmes questioned sternly. Abigail writhed in his grip, struggling to break free.
"Yes dada! Stop! Please!" Finally he stopped tormenting his daughter and carefully set her down again. After sending her off to find Sophie, her mother, Holmes led me into his study and sat my down. We talking for some time about the various investigations Holmes had conducted in my absence, Holmes relaxing in his armchair, smoking his pipe whilst I leant forwards to catch every precious word.
Just as Holmes finished on a detailed account of his current case the involved some mysterious murders (or rather assassinations as he called them) and playing cards there was a knock on the front door. Rather than leaving Mrs. Hudson to answer Holmes leapt from his chair and told me to remain out of site.
Surprised I followed him to the stairs before ducking down behind on of the large posts. I watched as Holmes carefully pulled out his revolver, checking the bullets before placing it back in his pocket. This was the most bemusing behaviour, but I quickly understood. The murderers were killing anybody who got in their way, as Holmes had inferred, and my friend was most definitely in the way.
Just as I was about to warn Holmes he reached forward and pulled the door open. The silhouette of a man was stood on the doorstep and I saw a brief flash of metal as his sword came to rest against Holmes' throat.
Holmes instinctively (or maybe purposefully, one can never be sure with him), backing away into the building and the assassin was forced to follow. A swift gust of wind blew the door shut and there was an echoing bang and then silence. Holmes had not moved since the man had once again pressed the metal against his vulnerable neck.
"Where is it?" The man asked, his voice more of a hiss than anything else.
"I have no idea what you are talking about; even if I did I would hardly tell a man who was holding a blade to my throat." Holmes replied calmly, I could tell that he was searching for this man's weakness, ready to use it against him.
"Do not play with me Holmes. I know that you have it." The man snarled.
"Indeed I do." Holmes said simply, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. The man made a noise like a growl.
"Tell me where it is or I shall end your life and find it myself." Holmes looked vaguely surprised.
"Will you now? I hardly doubt your searching skills but do you really think that you will be able to find one item amongst thirty years of papers? Especially considering that I have considerable experience when it comes to hiding things." The man's hand was beginning to tremble and I feared that he would slip and injure my friend.
Instead the most shocking and unexpected thing happened as a small voice from the doorway spoke up. I saw Holmes stiffen and had myself stopped dead in shock. Surely an assassin would have no quarrel with killing everyone in the house?
"Why?" There stood Abigail, clearly scared and uncertain. She knew what was going on and she knew that her father was in danger. The man's gaze slid to her for the briefest of moments and quickly returned to Holmes as though he had expected him to attack.
"Why indeed? Why is there a child in this house? There are no other tenants after all." The assassin sounded confused and Holmes swiftly shook himself out of his stupor and responded.
"You may be a man with no heart, but can you kill in front of an innocent child? Could you kill a child in cold blood? I rather doubt it. I suspect that you would find it ever harder to kill the child's father in front of her." It seemed to click in the man's eyes and his gaze flicked from the child to Holmes and back again.
"Impossible." His whispered in shock, his hand steady again, but the blade was no longer pressed against Holmes' throat, merely held, as though his surprise had slackened his grip.
"If you eliminate the impossible whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." My friend said simply, not daring to move.
"You cannot have a child, every criminal in town would know."
"But they do not Mr. Thompson." The man's attention turned swiftly back to Holmes, shock evident in his eyes.
"How can you know that?" Once again I merely waited for my friend to explain how he had come to his conclusion and I was not disappointed.
"You believed that your wife, Mrs. Eliza Thompson had been cheating on you when you found her bloodstained handkerchief in another man's pocket. You believed that the man had killed her when he found out that she was married. What you did not know was that your wife had found the man in the middle of the street, injured after a fight with some muggers, and had offered her handkerchief to the man to clean a cut on his face, which he had graciously received.
Your wife then travelled around town in search of a doctor and arrived home mere minutes after you left to find her. You came across the man and recognised the handkerchief. Assuming the worst you proceeded to question and beat him, accidentally causing serious damage that later led to his death.
Shocked at what you had done you ran from the scene but you were pursued by someone who had seen the attack. To cover your tracks you grabbed a nearby hammer and killed him as well. By now there was no way you could escape prison or the hangman's noose and so sought to kill anyone that could trace the crimes to you, using your friend's sword as a weapon, thus placing him as a suspect. As I became involved you sought to remove me and here you are, preparing to do the deed." Mr. Thompson looked so terrified that I feared he would kill Holmes and run but his eyes alighted on Abigail and he had to look away as his eyes were swiftly filling with tears.
"What have I done?" He cried dropping his weapon. Holmes swiftly handcuffed him to the banister and seemed to sag in relief. I noticed that he was instantly heading towards the spot where Abigail stood, crying quietly. He picked her up and held her tightly, whispering soothing words into her ear. Although he would never admit it, he was crying too. Finally Abigail calmed down and Holmes said sternly to her,
"Don't you ever do that to me again, I feared that I would lose you." Holmes called me out from my hiding place and I slowly descended the stairs, careful to avoid the weeping man.
"He never meant to harm anyone." I said sadly, "He hadn't the heart."
"Indeed," my friend agreed, still holding Abigail closely as though he feared that she would vanish he let go, "but it took the tears of an innocent child to make him realise so."
