1
We arrived at an old building on Baker Street. A woman opened the door. She gasped at the sight of me.
"Mrs. Hudson, would you mind bringing up a pot of tea? Thank you," the man said as the woman called Mrs. Hudson nodded. He lifted me up the stairs with ease, as if he did this on a regular basis. He used his foot to rap on a door. A bleary-eyed man answered. He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes. He had clearly been asleep.
"Holmes, where the devil were you? When you asked me to watch your apartment, I didn't know you would be out 'till one o'clock in the morni-" He cut off when he noticed me, still crying, in the boxer's arms. He raised his eyebrows and held open the door wider so we could enter.
"What happened? Who is she?" the man asked while the boxer put me down in a chair.
"She is the bartender at the boxing ring I go to. A man has just very rudely confronted her on the boardwalk," he explained, giving the other man a look. The man closed his eyes.
"Good God..." he mumbled.
"She's in shock, as you can probably see," the boxer said lightly, still with a hand on my shoulder. I sniffed, dried my eyes, and tried to pull myself together. I spoke my first words since the incident shakily.
"I am s-so sorry, gentlemen, I just..." I started. The boxer put a finger to his lips.
"It's quite alright, Miss. You have just been through something no woman should." He was right. I shivered at the thought of that horrid man, trying to pull off my dress... The boxer noticed. He took off his coat and placed it over me. It was only when the warmth hit me that I noticed I was freezing. The drunk had thrown my wrap into the Thames.
"Watson, would you mind doing a little check over? To make sure she's alright," the boxer asked the man called Watson. He nodded and approached me.
"Now, don't be frightened, I am a doctor," he assured me, and I relaxed. He raised his index finger and moved it back and forth and in circles. I did my best to follow it with my eyes. He then checked my neck, legs and arm. When he got to my right arm, he lifted my sleeve to find five, circle bruises. Four fingers and a thumb. I stared at my arm like it wasn't attached to my body. Watson looked up at me.
"Is this where he grabbed you?"
I nodded. He frowned. He went and got a washcloth and soaked it in water. He then placed it on my neck. I winced at the cold.
"It helps calm the nerves," he told me. I definitely needed it. My nerves were pretty frayed at the moment.
The boxer sat in another chair by the window. He steepled his fingers.
"We are all at a loss here. You don't know our names, and we don't know yours," he said. I guessed this was his more polite way of asking who the heck I was.
"Oh, how rude of me. My name is Emily Black," I introduced myself. The boxer smiled.
"Pleased to meet you, Miss. Black. Detective Sherlock Holmes at your service."
Oh.
I had just made a complete fool of myself in front of the world's greatest detective. I felt like an idiot.
"And I'm Dr. John Watson," the doctor introduced himself. We shook hands. I turned back to Holmes.
"Thank you so much for...for what you did on the boardwalk. I don't want to think about what would have happened if you hadn't been there..." I trailed off. Holmes smiled.
"You are very welcome. Now, where do you live?" I looked at him sheepishly.
"Forty-Nine Lichen Street. Mr. and Mrs. Wellington's residence." I was ashamed to not have a place for myself. Then again, neither did the great Sherlock Holmes...
"Let's see if we can get you there, shall we?" he said, standing up. I tried to do the same, but my knees buckled I collapsed back into the chair. I tried once again, and again, failed miserably. I looked up to see Holmes holding back laughter. I looked back down, embarrassed. Watson swatted Holmes in the arm with his cane.
"I cannot seem to stand up." I said this with as much dignity as I possibly could, whist still looking down. Holmes clapped his hands together.
"Well, I guess it seems you won't be going anywhere tonight. You can sleep here. You live by yourself, yes?" he asked nonchalantly. I looked at him curiously.
"Yes. How did you know?"
"No wedding ring. You look tired. No alarm-clock-mother. Take no offense, but you seem a little young to have a child," he explained. I smiled.
"Oh right. Detective. I don't want to take your room, though. Where will you sleep?"
"It's no problem. I can sleep at Watson's house!" Watson groaned and looked at him. Holmes stared back.
"Do you have a problem with this, old boy? We've slept in the same room many a time before." Watson sighed, exasperated.
"Yes, but you just volunteered yourself to sleep at my house!" He paused, thought for a moment, and suddenly laughed out loud.
"Alright," he said, still chuckling, "but you have to explain to Mary." He grinned at Holmes, who had now turned an odd shade of grey, grabbed his hat and tipped it to me.
"Good night, Miss Black," he said cheerily and strode out the door. Holmes was stunned. He looked to me.
"Alright. Have a good night's rest. I'll be back here at about eight-thirty tomorrow morning," he said quickly, putting on another jacket. As he left, he called down the hall,
"But she's your wife!"
***
It was about three in the morning. I still couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I pictured that gruesome man on the boardwalk. I glanced over at the table beside me. There were a couple of books stacked on top of each other. I picked one up. It was titled A Study in Scarlet, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It looked interesting. I read the first few pages, and it suddenly dawned on me that this was about Holmes and Watson! The mystery was exciting, so I kept reading. I had read the first seven chapters before I finally fell asleep.
