Chapter 3
Sad Truth
As fast as he could go, Holmes arrived at the mansion of his brother, Mycroft. Police were swarming like ants. Numb with shock, Holmes pushed his way right through the crowd gathering from the nearby neighborhood.
"Sherlock Holmes!" one of the police officers called, rushing to the detective's side. There was a low murmuring in the crowd.
"Inspector Gregson! What is going on? Where's my brother?" Holmes asked urgently. The inspector shook his head sadly.
"You mean he's….?" Holmes asked, thoroughly shocked.
The inspector nodded.
"He was….?"
Another nod
"Someone broke into his house and…?"
Another nod
"Holmes!" inspector Gregson exclaimed all of a sudden as Holmes sank onto the ground, covering his face with his hands.
"Holmes, I am so sorry," Watson said, squatting down and patting his friend on the shoulders. The detective shook his head, heedless of the muttering and gossiping going on around the crowd.
"Dr. Watson, could you escort Mr. Holmes back to his lounging in Baker Street?" Inspector Gregson asked.
Watson nodded, helped the distraught detective up and hired a hansom.
"It's Sherlock Holmes, the brother of Mycroft…."
"Poor man, the only Holmes left now…."
The comments met his ears clearly even after he board the hansom. Holmes felt every muscle in his body screaming with pain and the agony of lost. They were right, he was the only Holmes left now.
Dr. Watson tried his best to comfort his friend, looking no more than a walking dead.
"Holmes, I know it is hard to loose a family member, but you have to continue with life," Watson said as gently as he could. Holmes shook his head, his grey eyes somehow sparkling with tears.
"Watson, you don't know how it feels," Holmes snapped. Watson turned away, feeling dejected.
They traveled in silence, Holmes looking out of the window at the low-laying houses, thinking. He had always feared loosing Mycroft. Ever since a man tried to kill him by throwing a rock the size of a pail down at him from the third storey of a building and spiking his drink with poison in a bar, he knew that sooner of later the villians would take revenge on his brother. It was all my fault, I should have warned him, thought Holmes, his eyes shut tightly and his hands on his hair.
He was the only Holmes left now.
Him alone.
No one with him.
Maybe I...
"I have a sister," Holmes said all of a sudden. Watson looked up.
"A what?"
"A sister, I know, I have one, I can't remember her name, but I know her initial was also S.H." Holmes said excitedly. Watson could only gap at him.
"But how on earth…."
"Listen, I was reading my mails last month when I came over a letter with the initial S.H. written on it. It was delivered to me by me by mistake; there was someone else with the surname Holmes, a girl, by the look of the handwriting," Holmes said quickly.
Watson was at a lost.
"Could it be someone else with a different surname but by coincident her initial was also S.H., but it does not necessary has to be Holmes, could it?" Watson suggested. Holmes glared at him angrily.
"The letter was signed 'Holmes', Watson, and how many people have the surname Holmes?" Sherlock Holmes snarled. He wrenched open the carriage door and before Watson could stop him, leaped out and disappeared.