A/N: I'm so happy that my story is getting so many views. Although I would really love to hear from my readers. Anyway, thanks for the reads, reviews, faves, and followers. I hope you guys will continue looking forward to the story and character development.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes, him or any of the series' characters.
Chapter 3 The Midnight Visitors
Identity? Eurasian. Well educated. Definitely upper class. Nobility? Probable. Is it enough cause for abduction, detention and possibly attempted murder? Abduction and detention quite possible. Murder? Very little information and so many unknown.
John listened to the sad music his friend was playing as he lay down beside his wife on his small bed in Baker Street. He tried to apply what he learned from Sherlock to determine the identity of their client, but all that he can deduce is the apparent upper class status and her well verse of German. His mind then wandered into the lady's health condition, and his face turned grim. He knew that Sherlock is aware that they can't just keep her in the apartment. The client needs medical attention far more than he can give and John is aware that another cardiac arrest would do her in. The doctor frowned as he thought of the best way to convince Sherlock to bring the lady to the hospital.
When he finally decided on the approach he plans to use, he noticed the dead silence in the apartment. John shifted and got up slowly, keeping from waking up his pregnant wife. He kissed her gently by the temple before he left the room and went to the kitchen where he found Sherlock intensely staring at the laptop screen. John, knowing better than to interrupt his friend's train of thought he strode towards the other bedroom. Just as he lay his hand on the knob, the bell rang again for half a second.
Sherlock was instantly up on his feet and towards the door.
White thinned hair. Very wrinkled face and hands. By the state of his stooped figure and the necessity of a cane, I'd say seventy at most. His face is very familiar though... Ah, yes! Former Prime Minister Sir Howard Roth! Quiet wheezing and dark bags under his eyes. He hasn't been sleeping well for some time. Ah! Here comes Mr. Charles Roth, I see he isn't as tall as Janine said. With the same dark eye bags and bloodshot eyes. Hmm... so he prefers whisky. Must be a family affair, something very private.
"Watson, get a chair from the kitchen," he called.
John, who was curious as to the identity of their midnight visitors did as he was asked. He carried the chair to the sitting room and found their visitors to be an old man and a younger man, both impeccably dressed in dark suits. He offered the chair to the younger of the two, for the older already sat on the client's chair. John sat on his worn out seat and watched his friend's face as he sat across the sleuth.
"Watson, you may be familiar with Mr. Charles Roth, a colleague of Mycroft's and his father, Sir Howard Roth, our great country's former Prime Minister of nine terms past," Sherlock introduced. "Gentlemen, my dear friend and colleague, Dr. John Watson."
John nodded at the two men.
The younger Roth looked at his father and sighed. "I'm sorry for the lateness of the hour, Mr. Holmes, but you must understand that we would like to keep the nature of our visit in discretion."
The older Roth cried out. "Mr. Holmes, please help us find my daughter." He took out a picture from his breast pocket and handed it to his son, who then gave it to Sherlock.
John watched as Sherlock's eyes glittered in excitement, yet he kept his lips pursed. The sleuth handed the picture to his friend and the doctor recognized the reason for his friend's behavior. John looked up at the two men and then back at the picture, "I'm afraid I can't see the resemblance, sir."
The older Roth gave them a wan smile. "You are wondering how somebody so young and so much unlike me happened to be my daughter." His eyes misted. "I was on the last year of my term when I met a beautiful Japanese interpreter. She was only a few years younger than me, but her Asian ancestry and genetics made her look much younger than her real age. After my retirement, we started to go out on dates. That time, it had been two years since I became a widower and I found no harm in finding another person to be my partner in life. After a year, we got married. We didn't expect that she'd still be able to get pregnant at her age, but we warmly and lovingly welcomed our child into the world. Charlie here had been ten years old then, and his relationship with Keiko was going well. He too looked forward to having a younger sibling. Keiko had a difficult pregnancy but she said it was all worth it when Addy was born. She was her mother's spitting image but she bore the slender lanky build of the Roths. We lived as a happy family for another seven years and then Keiko was taken away from us by cancer." The old man was already weeping when he finished his tale.
Caring is a disadvantage.
The younger Roth cleared his throat and wiped the tears from his eyes. "We pampered Addy, sent her to the best schools, let her do as she pleased. She grew up to be very beautiful and intelligent despite our spoiling, yet she remained very loving and kind. She does a lot of charity and volunteer work and she travels a lot, yet despite her apparent busy schedule she manages to call us every night. She never failed to call to bid our father a good night's rest," he related.
"That had been true until the start of this week," the older Roth said.
Sherlock handed a note to John and then the doctor excused himself. "Pray continue," the sleuth told the former Prime Minister.
The younger Roth took out a piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to Holmes. "We received this note, two nights ago. It read: We have Adele. Don't contact the police. I have employed a handful of trusted friends to trace the source of this note, but nobody can tell us who has our Addy. We had been beside ourselves since, until your brother Mycroft pointed us to you."
Sherlock read the note, and true enough it only contained the two sentences mentioned.
Slanting yet curved hand writing. A woman's. Ordinary stationery, can be bought from any store at a cheap price. First name basis. Either somebody who knows the victim or someone who did her homework well.
"Have you asked Ms. Adele's acquaintances? Boyfriend perhaps?"
The younger Roth chuckled a little. "You must have misunderstood Mr. Holmes. Addy maybe sweet, loving and kind, but her superior intelligence make her seem to be too intimidating for most men. She presented to us only one boyfriend, and that was when she was in college. After him, nobody else."
Sherlock frowned. "Friends?"
John handed the younger Roth a piece of loose paper and a pen. He then proceeded to offer the former Prime Minister tea, which was accepted gratefully.
"Addy had a lot of friends and acquaintances and they're too hard to keep up with and be remembered all the time. But there are a handful few who are always with Addy or mentioned by Addy," the younger Roth said as he scribbled names on the sheet.
The older Roth settled down his tea cup and looked intently at Sherlock. "Mr. Holmes, I'm prepared to pay whatever amount, to give whatever you see fit as the price for looking for our Addy," he plead.
Sherlock scanned the names on the paper the younger Roth handed him.
Upright almost undecipherable hand writing. Definitely alcoholic but keeps it a secret from his own father.
"I will take your case."
