What can I say? Classes aren't particularly going well and I'm enjoying writing. Hope you enjoy reading it.


Anna Watson slightly reclined in her chair, glad that her companions now seemed to be ignoring her for the present, lost in their own rambling conversation, their senses too blurred to desire to question her farther or to even remember what had just been said.

As she reclined she exhaled a sigh of relief. For the past few years she had occasionally thought about this day and this announcement with dread. She had expected to burst into tears, to make one of her famous dramatic exits in front of everyone, only this time the drama would not be acting on her part. And so she was relieved that the short sensation of heartache had passed, that she was now thinking and remembering it all with a kind of dispassionate contemplation that the detective himself would have approved of.

But no, it wasn't quite dispassionate… more like a calm but mournful evaluation of a time period and of a man that had just died, like all time periods and people do. And like all dead things one simply could not bring it back.

She closed her eyes. She had not drank quite as much as Freddy or Georgy but the brandy together with the mellow tinkling of the piano produced a pleasingly drowsy effect. It seemed she could remember better this way…it was all so vivid now.

Physically her thoughts were not far away. She was a scarce two miles or so from her current position, in the heart of London , traveling on foot to a place called Baker Street.

Except that it was twenty years ago, and she was a little girl again.

***

Her hand was in what seemed to her the enormous hand of her father. She was staring up at him, craning her neck to do so, so that she could see all the way to the top of his tall black hat. He smiled cheerfully at the sight of her face ,his fine teeth appearing from underneath his dark moustache.

"Come on now, only a little a way to go" He cajoled as his strong arm guided her over the cobbled streets.

"What should I call him, Daddy?" she had asked with the all the gravity of her five year old mind. "Mummy said I should call him 'uncle''

John Watson let out a full and healthy laugh of pure amusement.

"Uncle Sherlock!! Haha…. ." His eyes twinkled with mirth and he stopped in his tracks.. "What devilishly mischievous humor your mother is capable of ! Haha…Uncle Sherlock, indeed,…I'll give a gold sovereign just to see his reaction…" He composed himself. "Yes, dear… Call him that if you like. But be respectful, mind you. "

She had nodded solemnly. It seemed he needn't have told her that; she was not predisposed to think of him as a figure one should be bold with. From snatches of her father's frequent references to him she imagined him much like Father Christmas, possessing the mysterious power of knowing what you had been doing and for how long, only much more stern and formidable, and decidedly lacking the excitingly cheerful connotation.

Soon they stopped at a rather undistinguished, ordinary door.

"Bless my soul, it's Dr. Watson!" The older lady's blue eyes danced with excitement and it seemed she must summon all her decorum to keep from throwing her arms around his neck as he stood in the doorway. "And where is Mrs. Watson?"

"At home with a slight cold, I'm afraid. She sends her warmest regards…. But how good it is to see you again, Mrs. Hudson!" He kissed the older lady's hand gallantly.

"Dr. Watson." She repeated fondly. "And this is Miss Anna, I presume…. I suppose you don't remember me, young lady?" She moved towards the said Miss Anna, and cupped her face in her hands. The girl couldn't help smiling shyly in return at the kindly countenance before her.

"Mostly likely not, I'm afraid. Two and a half years is an eternity to a mind as young as hers." Watson smiled faintly.

"That long then? I suppose your occasional letters helped me to forget somewhat…. As they helped another certain party who would have my head should he know I even hinted at the possibility."

"That certain party is at home, I hope."

The unrestrained, crashing grind of doublestops played on what must be a stringed instrument from upstairs made it unnecessary for Mrs. Hudson to answer the question.

Watson laughed again and, picking his daughter up in his arms, quietly proceeded up the 17 steps closer to that unnerving noise. Gently he put her down before entering the open door.

"Really, Holmes. How long do you plan to keep playing that awful thing?" He said loudly over the violin's tortured notes, as he stepped in with the ordinary air of one who is just entering his quarters.

A tall figure stood facing the window, his back to the door. Traces of a suppressed smile of delight could be observed on his lean face when he calmly and slowly turned around.

"I see two years of overseas travel have only served to strengthen your vein of pawky humor."

"Which I can no longer maintain for the present, I'm afraid. " He walked towards him and grasped his sinewy arm. "It's good to see you, Holmes!"

"The sentiment is mutual, my dear fellow. Two years of cases gone by…" His eyes ran over him and briefly glanced at the little girl. "Mrs. Watson is indisposed with a cold, I see."

"Unfortunately, yes. Which I am sure you deduced partly by the fact that she would have came here with me under nearly any circumstance besides ill health, and that I would have not came here if that illness was a serious one."

"And that you have a slight sniffle yourself." He remarked with a smile. "And this is young Anna, I take it." He said, his gaze fized on the little girl who was trying to hide herself behind her father's trouser legs.

"Indeed it is." Watson steered her gently in front of him. "She's grown up quite a bit then when you last saw her…. Come now, Anna. What do you say?"

The girl's blue eyes looked up at this unusual creature, taller even than her father, his eyes and features much like a certain bird of prey she had been frightened of while watching a hunt.

"Hello…. Uncle Sherlock." She murmured, afterwards quickly staring down at her toes.

Holmes' reaction was perhaps not quite as satisfactory a one as his friend had been expecting., but still telling. The signs of blushing embarrassment and awkwardness were the most prominent emotions that were fleetingly displayed on his face as he averted his eyes to the window for some time. He composed himsel f with an abrupt clearing of the throat.

"Well, I must congratulate you Watson… she looks remarkably healthy… and her air of alertness shows she will have an above average capacity of observation if developed properly. " He blurted out as though he were reciting a scientific report. "But she seems quite timid…"

"Timid? Far from it,my dear fellow. She is, in fact, one of the least timid children I have yet encountered."

The two friends talked for a while longer, and unconsciously moved to seat themselves. Anna Watson stood watching them, directly in the middle of the sitting room rug.

"A gentleman always offers a lady a chair." Her small, petulant voice intoned with grave solemnity as her light blue eyes fixed firmly on the detective's gray ones. She stood with remarkable poise for one so young, so much that that the two men stared at her with some wonder before Watson broke the silence with his laughter.

"Now Anna…"

"But she is right, you know." Holmes solemnly rose to his feet with a slight bow. "I hope you forgive my lack of courtesy, Miss Watson. You are entirely correct in your observation. Won't you sit down?" He offered her the other armchair.

When she was seated Holmes had sat down with a faint smile and resumed the conversation. Anna quietly sat through to the end.

"I must apologize to you, Watson." He said later, when they were about to leave.

"Whatever for?"

"For underestimating the astuteness of your offspring." He said, nodding to Anna who stood outside near the bannister. "She is not merely a healthy, normal child, but I believe an extraordinary one, with exceptional talent. Undoubtedly her talent will lead to great things…Perhaps the stage…"

"Thank you for your compliment, my dear fellow….And I've no doubt you're right. But it is rather early to be predicting the future. She is so young, still a little child."

"It is not necessary to give thanks for an observation of fact, my dear Watson. And it is a proven fact that good qualities and virtues in youth will grow into a solid, well-rounded character if cultivated properly, as I am sure you and Mrs. Watson will provide."

***

"Anna?... Anna!" Georgy fairly yelled in her ear, and she inhaled the odor of gin.

"They're closing in a few minutes. We'd better get Freddy a taxi… they might throw him out " She looked at the young man who lay slumped unconsciously over the table, a ridiculous smile of irony on his face.

"All right." She sighed. Briefly she thought back to her interrupted reverie. Sherlock Holmes, the great mind of the century, had told her she was extraordinary, that she would grow into a well-rounded British citizen of no small intelligence.

Well, she thought. His prediction that she would be an actress had been correct, anyway. She sighed again and hiccoughed.