Hello again. Summer Skye here again with Chapter 2 of A Diamond in the Rough entitled 'A Lesson in Humility.' Since I like to get on with stories and read author's notes later, this will be quick. Thank you reviewers and please review. Thank you. (I made a rhyme!)

WATSON-

Miss Emma Callaway moved into the vacant room upstairs on Friday as arranged. She arrived that afternoon about an hour after lunch and Holmes left immediately after exchanging a quick greeting with her. I thought Holmes was being rather rude, but Miss Callaway told me to pay it no mind. Mrs. Hudson came out from the kitchen and introduced herself to Miss Callaway. The landlady took charge and showed the tenant up to her room. Two burly movers brought up Miss Callaway's trunks.

For a young woman of the time, she had few possessions; only two trunks had been brought up to her room. I knew the contents of them when I came up to welcome her to Baker Street. She was in the middle of unpacking when she admitted me to her room. She greeted me with a smile and continued her task. Aside from the usual garments that were to be expected from a woman, she had an assortment of clothes that would be worn by men and women from different classes of society. They were torn and ragged as could be. When she noticed that I had seen them, she quickly tucked them into the wardrobe in her room.

I left her to settling in shortly after that. I could see that she was completely occupied in her unpacking. I went downstairs and opened the covers of a medical journal. I could hear Miss Callaway's footsteps as she moved about her room. I also heard a beautiful voice singing from an Italian opera that had played in London, some time ago, but I have forgotten the name. I was lulled to sleep by the musical voice that wafted down from upstairs.

"Watson," Holmes' voice said, as I was shaken awake. My eyes opened and stared Holmes in the face. "Wake up, old man. It's time for tea."

I rose from my chair and realized that Miss Callaway was seated at the table. Holmes sat on her right side and she poured him a cup of tea. I took the remaining seat on her left and she handed me a cup of tea. "So Emma, I assume that you are all settled?" Holmes asked as he took a sip of tea.

"More or less. A few things to put away, but the majority of my womanly clutter, as you so charmingly put it this morning, is put away."

"Very good, very good."

Those were the first and only civil words I heard between them for those first few weeks. From then on, I heard only constant shouting and arguing. Miss Callaway had become rather irritated with Holmes' habit of staying up all night, scratching random notes on his violin, smoking without letting in any fresh air, and failure to eat at mealtime. Holmes in turn had become very annoyed with her nagging about his habits. I watched this tongue lashing, not wanting to intercede for fear of getting an earful full from the both of them. But the harsh words exchanged by the two of them was nothing to compared to the events that surrounded The King of Bohemia and Irene Adler.

It was the evening of May 20th 1887, when Miss Callaway came down to the sitting room. Holmes didn't even make a sign of noticing her presence. I gave her a simple good evening and continued with organizing my notes of the Reigate Squires. Miss Callaway simply sat on the couch and opened a book she had brought down from her room. She had barely started to read when she said, "So who is your client this evening, Holmes?"

Both Holmes and I looked at her. Her eyes didn't even look up from the pages of the book in her hands. I saw Holmes' eyes bend into a frown. From the pocket of his dressing gown, he took a piece of paper. He tossed it to her and it landed on the pages of her book. She took it and read it aloud for my benefit:

There will call upon you tonight at a quarter to eight, a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the very deepest moment. Your recent services to one of the royal houses of Europe have shown that you are own who may safely be trusted with matters which are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated. This account of you from all quarters received. Be in your chamber then at the hour and do not take it amiss if your visitor wears a mask.

In reading the letter, Miss Callaway frowned with disgust as if she knew who's hand had written it. She returned the letter to Holmes. As she did so she said, "The author if the note is a man of about thirty years of age. He is a German from Bohemia with the very best education has to offer."

"How did you deduce that?" I asked.

"The gender of the author can be inferred from the writing as well as his age," Holmes began to explain. "That fact the he is from Bohemia can be deduced from the paper. It is not English paper. Hold it up to the light and tell me what you see."

I did so. "There's a large E with a small g, a P and a large G with a small t woven into the text."

"Which is?"

"Maker's monogram."

"Not at all. The G with the small t stands for Gesellschaft, which is the German for Company. The P of course stands for Papier. Now for the Eg." He took down his Continental Gazetteer and flipped through the pages. "Ah! Egria. It is a German speaking country in Bohemia, famous for its numerous glass factories and paper mills."

"The fact that the writer is a German?"

Holmes opened his mouth to say something, but Miss Callaway spoke first. "Look at the construction of the words," Miss Callaway said, her eyes still on the book. "'This account of you we have from all quarters received.' A Frenchman or a Russian could not have written that. It is the German who is so uncourteous to his verbs. Would you not agree, Holmes?"

"You took the words right out of my mouth."

As he finished speaking the sharp sound of horseshoes reached our ears. We all went to the window and looked out it.

"Driven by a pair," Holmes whispered. "A nice little brougham. There's money in this case if nothing else." Miss Callaway gave an unladylike snort of disapproval and returned to her book. "Is something wrong, Emma?"

"You shall see," was all she said as footsteps were heard on the stairs.

The sitting room door opened and our visitor stepped in. "You had my note?" he asked in a heavy, deep, harsh German accent.

"Yes, pray take a seat," Holmes said. "This is my friend and colleague Dr. Watson and our neighbor Miss Emma Callaway. Both are gracious enough to help me with my cases from time to time."

"You may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman. I understand that the gentleman and the lady are your friends, but are they discrete."

"They are."

"Then I must begin by binding all three of you to silence for a period of two years; at the end of that time the matter will be of no importance. At present it is not too much to say that it is of such weight it may have an influence upon European history."

"I promise," Holmes said.

"And I."

Miss Callaway didn't say anything. She simply continued to read as if there was no one else in the room.

"Emma, did you hear the gentleman?" Holmes asked.

"I did, but I can't promise."

"And why not?"

"Because I don't wish to be a part of the case." She closed her book and stood. "Holmes, Dr. Watson, I bid you good night. And I bid good night to you Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstien and hereditary King of Bohemia." She curtsied and left the room, leaving all of us perplexed about how she knew.

EMMA-

The moment I entered my room, I rushed to my wardrobe. Shifting through it I found an oversized shirt and jacket, trousers worn at the knees and frayed at the seams, well-worn boots, and a patched cap. Removing my dress, corset and underskirts, I put these other items on. Twisting my hair up and pinning it in place, I secured the cap to my head. Taking some greasepaint, I smeared my face, neck, and hands with it to make me look sooty. I had transformed from being a respectable lady to a common chimneysweeper.

I descended the stairs quietly. I could hear the voices of the men in the sitting room. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I turned into the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson had retired for the night, so I slipped through the kitchen door and into the street. I walked down the street apiece, before hailing a cab.

"Where to?" the cabman asked when I showed him the sovereign in my hand.

"Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John's Wood," I said.

The cab took off down the street. As I rode, I thought of the affair. I had known Irene Adler for several years and I knew all about the affair with Holmes' client. I remembered when the photograph was taken, as well as the contents. I remember how the King had treated Irene. He had wronged her severely, and I had no doubt that he was telling Holmes a version, which made Irene look like a blackmailer. But I wasn't going to tell Holmes the truth of it. I felt that he should solve the case on the information he was given and afterwards I would give him a truer version of the facts. He had grown rather cocky since I last saw him and he needed a reminder of how smart women really were.

I recalled one incident when we were young; I believe I was nine, where Holmes had made an offensive remark about the intelligence of women. He seemed to think that being a year my senior gave him the right to make whatever remarks he liked about women. Even at the age of nine, I knew it was an insult to what I would someday become and I set myself up to the task of teaching him a lesson.

My opportunity came when my parents decided to take a long holiday to the Continent. My brother and I were sent to stay with the Holmes family. Holmes was the only one of four children at home. His two brothers and sister were away at school. I decided to wait a few days before making my first attempt to revenge. It was on my fourth day at North Riding, I began my business.

Holmes was untidy then as he was now. So while he was out of the manor, I tidied up his bedroom. I waited nearby until I heard the sweet shrieks that Holmes made when he discovered my work of the morning. But that was the beginning. I played very subtle tricks on him. Passing him sugar instead of salt, retuning his violin so it was badly out of tune, and other such things. But my crowning achievement was relieving him of his journal while he slept with it under his pillow. In exchange for it back, he agreed not to sneer at the ignorance of women and not to take actions against me for the tricks I played on him.

A smile came to my face as the cab pulled up to the house where Irene lived. I paid the cabbie and walked up to the door. I tugged on the bell and waited. A maid answered the door. She was about to slam the door in my face, but I stuck my foot out.

"Tell your mistress, I wish to see her," I said to her.

She did as I asked. A moment later, the figure of Irene Adler was at the door. Her eyes lit up with amusement and mirth at the sight of me. She ushered me in and directed me to the sitting room.

"I must say, Emma, that I almost didn't recognize you," she said as I sat and removed my hat. "What brings you here at such a late hour?"

I gave Irene an account of my very brief run in with the King of Bohemia. She listened carefully and sat quietly after I finished.

"I had been warned that he might hire Mr. Holmes some months ago. But I'm curious as to why you are telling me this, Emma. I remember you talk of your friend when we used to travel together. Isn't this betrayal?"

"No, it is not betrayal. This is a swift kick in the ego for Holmes. Besides, when I was first starting out as an actress, you took me under your wing. If not for you, I am convinced that I would have been dead some years ago. You helped me get over my addiction. You as well as Dr. Freud saved my life and I am indebted to you for that."

"I see. But just what do you suggest we do. Mr. Holmes is cunning."

"He is indeed." We sat for a moment in silence, trying to come up with a way to do this so that no one would get hurt.

"Ah ha!" Irene cried. "I've got it."

"What? Irene what is it?"

"Emma, I'll give you the photograph. You can hide it at Baker Street."

"While you keep up the pretense that you still have it. After this affair is over, I'll get rid of it. Throw it in the river or into the fire, perhaps I'll use some of Holmes's chemicals and destroy it that way."

"I'll write to you when we're safely away."

"We're?"

"My fiancée, Godfrey Norton and I."

"I was beginning to wonder if the two of you would ever be wed."

"Yes. We shall marry at once and get away to the continent. Will you come to the wedding?"

"It's better that I don't. Holmes will no doubt watch you and find a time that he will seize to retrieve the photograph from you."

"You are right and if he knew that you were helping me..."

"Oh don't you worry about me. He won't hurt me. He'll no doubt be quite upset at me, but he wouldn't dare strike me."

"All right. Will you stay and have some tea? We can workout details while we do so."

"Very well. Some tea would be most welcome."

I stayed for an hour or so. We discussed when I should destroy the photograph, how I should do it, and when to tell Holmes. It was determined that the day that Holmes' come to take the photograph from Irene's home should be the day that it should be destroyed. I was to burn it and make sure it was burned thoroughly. I would tell Holmes when I felt the time was right.

Before I left, Irene went to the wall panel where she kept the photograph. She handed it to me and I tucked it down my shirt. I exited through the tradesmen's entrance and made my way home.

I quietly entered 221b through the kitchen door. I removed my boots before mounting the stairs. Knowing that Holmes might still be up, I walked quietly past the sitting room door, careful to avoid the squeaking floorboard. I entered my room and closed the door carefully behind me.

I removed my disguise and changed into my nightdress. I washed the greasepaint from my face, neck, and hands. When I was clean and felt like me again, I took the photograph from its frame. I placed it behind a family photograph; my mother insisted on having done when I was twelve. When I had done so, I looked at the photograph.

I was not the prettiest girl when I was twelve. I had pockets of baby fat in my cheeks, my skin was blotchy, and my body wasn't quite sure what to do with itself. I was what my mother referred to as a late bloomer. My breasts hadn't started to grow until I was fifteen, my menstrual cycles didn't come until age fourteen, and my body was disproportionate. My legs were too long, my arms were too short, my cheeks were too puffy, and my hips were too big. I remember writing many letters to my mother about how cruel the other girls at boarding school were to me. She wrote back telling me the story of the Ugly Duckling. Reflecting on it, I had indeed become a swan. When I left boarding school, the other girls had finally accepted me into their circle.

I put the frame back in its place on my desk and made my way to bed. I crawled underneath my blankets. I rested my head against the pillows and fell deep into the arms of Morpheus.

Holmes wasn't at breakfast the next morning and Dr. Watson hounded me about what I knew of the matter. I evaded the questions and inquired about his writing instead. Dr. Watson left for his surgery directly after breakfast and I decided to help Mrs. Hudson with some of the housework.

Both men didn't return until dinner. I wasn't surprised to see Holmes dressed as a common loafer, though it shocked Dr. Watson. Holmes gave Dr. Watson and me a detailed account of his day of observing Irene Adler. As we ate dinner, Holmes and Dr. Watson made preparations to recover the photograph. I listened carefully and I knew that my time was coming. Both men left after dinner and they both returned after I had gone to bed.

The next morning, Holmes and Dr. Watson left early. After I ate my breakfast I took the photograph from it's hiding place. I looked at it, and thought of where Irene was now. Probably in safer, better, and happier place than I am about to be in, I thought to myself. I placed the photograph into the fire and sat down to read, have a cup of tea, and wait.

An hour later, I heard the door open downstairs and angry footsteps on the stairs. The door of the sitting room opened like a fury.

"Where is it?!" Holmes' voice asked angrily.