Sam gasped and gaped at Holmes, and Watson looked puzzled.
"How'd- How di' choo-"
"It was simple, really." Said Holmes calmly. "More obviously, you have developed physically too much to disguise it anymore. However, more subtly, you mend all your clothes, and do your best to keep clean. You also have some distinctly feminine mannerisms, including being able to actually charm Mrs. Hudson into letting the boys into the house."
Sam was still gaping at Holmes. But suddenly, she simply burst into tears. Watson sprang up, and helped her onto the couch. Sam sniffed loudly and desperately scrubbed at her eyes. She tried to speak, but instead sobbed again. Holmes was remarkably sympathetic. "Take your time, my dear, you've had this in you for years."
After several uncomfortable minutes, the sobs quieted and Sam looked up. "Yor- Yor roight- I mean," She said, then suddenly coming out of her thieve's cant and cockney, "You're right, of course. I-" talking in a civilized fashion evidently proved too much for her, for she dropped back to a cockney. "Me rea' name is Samantha McLare. O'course, you recognize the name. Me dad was that banker `oo died in an `ouse fire a while ago."
"Ah, yes," interrupted Holmes. "I remember the papers making much of it. No one ever found a good reason for the fire starting."
Sam glared at Holmes. "Sir, i' might be`oove you to qui' interuptin' me story."
Holmes looked as contrite as he could. "My apologies, Samantha. Pray, continue."
Samantha wiped her face again and sniffed. "Well, I survived some'ow. A lotta me `air got burnt off, an' I was still little. So I got meself some a-pro-piate clothes, and I pretended to be a boy. `Ventually, I met Wiggins there. An' then I met you two. An I suppos' you granny the rest, since yor so bloomin' clever."
Holmes nodded sympathetically. "This is an intriguing story, Samantha-"
She interrupted, "Call me Sam, I'm more used to it."
"All right, then, Sam. Do you mind if I say one thing about your parents's death?"
Sam smiled grimly. "I've `ad about seven years to brood over it. I'm over it."
"Well then," continued Holmes, "I have long been of the state of mind that that fire was arson, and not a mere accident. However, as there seemed to be no real reason for the arsonry, and I was never consulted, I did not pursue it further."
Sam raised her eyebrows. "Arson? Y'mean, i' was inten-shunal? But- But why? Dad never had tha' many enemies...."
Holmes shook his head, already deep in thought. "Well, thank you, Sam, you've explained everythng admirably."
Sam stood up, then paused and said, "This is secret, righ'?"
Holmes evidently didn't hear, so Watson spoke up. "Of course, Sam."
She smiled. "Thanks. By th' way, what's the time?"
Watson glanced at his wrist. "About a quarter `til three."
"Cor, I better go. I'm a newsie, y'know."
And with a very masculine tip of the hat, she disappeared into the street.
A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Admittedly, this is kind of "another girl" story, but I'm glad you like it. I think the Baker Street Irregulars don't get enough attention.
Keep on reviewing! Mata- Adiva
"How'd- How di' choo-"
"It was simple, really." Said Holmes calmly. "More obviously, you have developed physically too much to disguise it anymore. However, more subtly, you mend all your clothes, and do your best to keep clean. You also have some distinctly feminine mannerisms, including being able to actually charm Mrs. Hudson into letting the boys into the house."
Sam was still gaping at Holmes. But suddenly, she simply burst into tears. Watson sprang up, and helped her onto the couch. Sam sniffed loudly and desperately scrubbed at her eyes. She tried to speak, but instead sobbed again. Holmes was remarkably sympathetic. "Take your time, my dear, you've had this in you for years."
After several uncomfortable minutes, the sobs quieted and Sam looked up. "Yor- Yor roight- I mean," She said, then suddenly coming out of her thieve's cant and cockney, "You're right, of course. I-" talking in a civilized fashion evidently proved too much for her, for she dropped back to a cockney. "Me rea' name is Samantha McLare. O'course, you recognize the name. Me dad was that banker `oo died in an `ouse fire a while ago."
"Ah, yes," interrupted Holmes. "I remember the papers making much of it. No one ever found a good reason for the fire starting."
Sam glared at Holmes. "Sir, i' might be`oove you to qui' interuptin' me story."
Holmes looked as contrite as he could. "My apologies, Samantha. Pray, continue."
Samantha wiped her face again and sniffed. "Well, I survived some'ow. A lotta me `air got burnt off, an' I was still little. So I got meself some a-pro-piate clothes, and I pretended to be a boy. `Ventually, I met Wiggins there. An' then I met you two. An I suppos' you granny the rest, since yor so bloomin' clever."
Holmes nodded sympathetically. "This is an intriguing story, Samantha-"
She interrupted, "Call me Sam, I'm more used to it."
"All right, then, Sam. Do you mind if I say one thing about your parents's death?"
Sam smiled grimly. "I've `ad about seven years to brood over it. I'm over it."
"Well then," continued Holmes, "I have long been of the state of mind that that fire was arson, and not a mere accident. However, as there seemed to be no real reason for the arsonry, and I was never consulted, I did not pursue it further."
Sam raised her eyebrows. "Arson? Y'mean, i' was inten-shunal? But- But why? Dad never had tha' many enemies...."
Holmes shook his head, already deep in thought. "Well, thank you, Sam, you've explained everythng admirably."
Sam stood up, then paused and said, "This is secret, righ'?"
Holmes evidently didn't hear, so Watson spoke up. "Of course, Sam."
She smiled. "Thanks. By th' way, what's the time?"
Watson glanced at his wrist. "About a quarter `til three."
"Cor, I better go. I'm a newsie, y'know."
And with a very masculine tip of the hat, she disappeared into the street.
A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Admittedly, this is kind of "another girl" story, but I'm glad you like it. I think the Baker Street Irregulars don't get enough attention.
Keep on reviewing! Mata- Adiva