Chapter Four

The next day, John dropped Fiona off, promising to call once they knew what was going on.

"Good luck, Daddy!" Fiona said happily. "I'll see you tonight," she added, hugging him.

"Thank you lovely girl," John said, kissing her. "Be good and listen to Nan, okay?"

"Okay," Fiona said. "Good luck Uncle Sherlock."

"Thank you Fiona, but we won't need luck," he said, wincing slightly as John nudged him in the ribs.

"Thanks Mum," John said, kissing his mother. "Let's go."

"Right, we need to interview Mrs. Forrester and probably visit Lestrade as well."

"Why?" John was curious, he had not thought about going to see Lestrade at the Yard for this unofficial case.

"He might have some insight and besides, it was a missing persons case. He will have the cold case," Sherlock said, studiously not looking at John. John nodded and kept pace with his flatmate. Since last night's discovery and discussion, Sherlock was not his usual arrogant and talkative self. He kept to himself and even consented to eat the nutella and toast that John set out in front of him. John knew there was something off about Sherlock's behavior, but couldn't seem to pinpoint why his behavior had changed.

Think Watson, think. We talked a lot last night...what was it that made him so uncomfortable? John was so lost in his thoughts that he crashed into Sherlock's back when the taller man suddenly stopped.

"John? Did you not hear what I said?" he asked irritably.

"No, I'm sorry I did not," John sheepishly said.

Sherlock sighed. "I dislike repeating myself. But since you were so lost in thought, I will excuse it this time." John wasn't amused with Sherlock's tone. "Oh, don't give me that look. What I said, is that we should split up. You interview Mrs. Forrester and I shall inquire about the cold case files from Lestrade."

"Ah, that sounds fair," John said. "It's nine o'clock now, we'll meet up at noon?"

Sherlock nodded. "Text me if anything interesting comes up." John nodded, watching his flatmate walk away. Now that was interesting, John thought, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that he was avoiding talking to Cecilia. He was still deep in thought as he walked the rest of the way to Cecilia's house.

"John, my goodness! How are you?" Cecilia asked, smiling broadly before looking down at John's cane. "Oh, I do remember you being shot...Here, come into the living room and rest your leg. I'm so terribly sorry about the state of my house. I'm also so sorry about Mary," Cecilia Forrester said all in a rush, clearing a space on her cluttered couch. "She was such a lovely, lovely girl and I know you and Fiona miss her very much."

John smiled painfully. Oh, Watson. You should have known better. Of course, she'll want to talk about Mary. Is that why Sherlock didn't want to come with me? "Thank you Cecilia. I know Mary thought highly of you. I must come by with Fiona one day so you can meet her properly. She's almost the mirror image of Mary," John said, swallowing the lump and taking a deep breath.

Cecilia was everything that Mary was not, jittery, flighty and at the same time quick and stilted. Mary loved her dearly, treating her like a mother and friend over an employer. John bit back the affectionate endearment that Mary called her: Hurricane Cecilia. Cecilia's ceaseless babbling brought John back to the present, forcing him to listen to her. "Ah, you're such a lovely young man. Mary used to talk constantly about you. Sometimes, it was all I could do to get her to shut up! I could tell that she was head over heels in love with you and when she told me she was pregnant with Fiona she was so scared. She didn't know how you'd react. I'm so glad you're a sensible man. I'm sure you're a brilliant father," Cecilia said, patting John's face.

John's smile turned a little brittle. "Thank you, Cecilia. It's been difficult without her here, being a single dad and all."

"Oh, John. I'm so sorry. I've gone and upset you," she tutted. "Stay here, let me get some tea for us."

"No. It's fine. I'm good. It's good. It's all good," he said, taking a deep breathe. "I actually came here to ask you a few questions about Mary's father."

"About the Captain? What about him? Oh Mary was in a right mess when she couldn't find him. He'd been gone for so long and to have her aunt die like that as well. Poor thing. Luckily, she was a tough girl and managed to always do the right thing. And then all those strange letters that came for her. Terrible, terrible, terrible," Cecilia said, wringing her hands a bit.

"Wait, what letters?" John asked, placing a hand on her arm to pause the flow of conversation. "What can you tell me about these letters?"

"I can do better than tell you about the letters. I can show them to you. She asked me to keep them for her while she was settling in at your Mum's house. She forgot all about them and then...well, you know. I'll just be a bit. Help yourself to some tea," Cecilia said and left the room.

John watched her retreating back a little numbly. Oh, my Mary. You were such a strong person, weren't you? He pulled out his mobile and updated Sherlock on what he had found out so far.

Might have something interesting here. - JW

Seems Mary was getting letters from a mystery person. Don't know if it's the same one or not. - JW

Will bring them with me. - JW
Anything on your end? - JW

No. Lestrade is giving me grief. Tedious. Might have you come here to convince him to give us the files. - SH

Didn't insult him again, did you? - JW

They are all incompetent children. - SH

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Keep working on him. Tell him that as next-of-kin, I should have access to the files. - JW

"Here you go, John dear," Cecilia said, handing him a hefty packet of letters. John was even more confused.

"Why didn't I know about this?" he asked out loud as he thumbed through the letters.

"I don't know, John. She might have planned on telling you but never got around to it. Mary just asked me to keep them all together. I never opened them and she never told me what was inside. All I know is that every year, around this time, she would get a letter. She was always upset when these letters came in. Said that they started coming to her nearly to the day that her father disappeared. Strange business. Very strange indeed," Cecilia trailed off, remembering. "Oh! I have something else for you," she said rummaging through a desk drawer. "Here you go dear," Cecilia said, handing a very confused John a partial strand of pearls.

"What are these for? Are these her's?" He asked examining the pearls. "And where are the rest of them?"

"That's all she had," Cecilia said. "I think they came with the letters, myself. She'd always string the pearl next to the other. I don't know why she only received one at a time. Why not all at once? I asked her once, but she only shrugged. Oh, but look how beautiful they are!"

John looked closely at the unfinished strand of pearls. They were perfectly white, round, and smooth; John rolled them between his fingers marveling at the silky coolness. "I think that these are very valuable indeed," John said softly. "I should get them appraised."

"That's what I think as well! Mary didn't feel comfortable keeping them with her. She said she didn't have a proper place to keep them safe. I told her that I'd keep them safe for her. And now I'm going to give them to you. I think these belong to Fiona, even if she is a little young."

John smiled crookedly. "Yes, maybe I'll make something out of these pearls that might be more appropriate for her," he looked up at Cecilia. "Thank you very much, Cecilia. You've been a big, big help to me."

"Oh, you're welcome dear," she said as they stood up. "By the way, where are you living these days?"

"Hmm? Oh, right. Fiona and I have a flatshare with this bloke named Sherlock Holmes," John said, tucking the strand into an envelop.

"Sherlock Holmes! Oh, John, he must be doing better if he's living with you and Fiona! You'd never allow Fiona to be exposed to drugs!" Cecilia exclaimed. "He always seemed a bit sad, poor thing. Such, a dear boy too. So brilliant and dramatic! He had the face of an angel, the voice of the devil and a mind like quicksilver."

"Hang on, what?" John stopped dead in his tracks.

"Did he not tell you?" Cecilia, for once, stopped in her tracks, sensing a shift in John's tone.

"No," John's mouth was now set in a firm line.

"Oh, well. When he solved my mystery for me - thank goodness that he did! I still cannot believe Bernard would do such a thing to me! - that nice sergeant told me that he was high as a kite. Well, the next thing I know, as he was giving the solution to the mystery - and while sergeant was taking Bernard away - in comes his brother and hauls Sherlock away threatening him to get clean. Well, I didn't hear much more of that because Bernard, stupid man, tried to run away. Oh, dear. That was such a sordid little affair. Well, if you are living with him, then he must have cleaned himself up. Oh, good for him. And good for you to keep him on the straight and narrow," Cecilia said rambling on.

"Ah, yes. Thank you Cecilia. I must be going now," John said, trying to extricate himself from her presence.

"Yes, I'm sure you have things to do and look at me, I'm rambling on. Goodbye, dear!" Cecilia called after him.

I'm going to kill him. I'm going to absolutely fucking kill him.

John found a cab and made his way to New Scotland Yard. He was seething over what he found out from Cecilia, and taking several deep breaths, John tried to reason with himself. Well, Watson. Think things through, why don't you. You're a doctor for god's sake, what are the signs of an addiction? You know them and he isn't exhibiting any of them. He may be annoying but he isn't getting high currently. John paused, trying to stop the speed of his thoughts. Well, I can't conclusively tell that he is not using but I will feel better after I grill the bastard on this. John sighed, ruffling his hair. Nothing is ever simple, is it Watson?

The cab stopped and John paid the driver, making his way out. He straightened his coat and walked purposefully into the Yard. We'll discuss this later. Right now, we've got a case to solve. John nodded briskly at Donovan and Anderson as he passed them by on the way to Lestrade's office where he could see Sherlock talking animatedly to Lestrade. Well, talking at is more like it rather than talking to him, John thought wryly.

Lestrade looked like he wanted to throttle Sherlock, and against all reasonable sense, hadn't done so. When John caught Lestrade's eye and gave him a stiff nod, Sherlock caught the direction of Lestrade's gaze and whirled around. Looking at John, he oculd see the anger in John's posture. Difficult bugger. Already knows that I'm angry with him. Well, one thing at a time, Watson. One thing at a time.

"Well, what did you find?" John asked, trying to erase the tension in his shoulders.

"Unfortunately, the Yard was ever so helpful in the case of Captain Morstan. There's nothing in these notes that are particularly worth reading. What did you find?" Sherlock asked. A slight quirk of the eyebrow was his way of acknowledging that something was troubling John. Yes, John thought, they would be talking about this later. "Cecilia Forrester was keeping a bundle of letters addressed to Mary," John said and handed the packet over to Sherlock. "It also seems that these letters contained a single seemingly perfect pearl," he added and carefully took out the unfinished strand of pearls.

Lestrade whistled appreciatively as Sherlock took them and examined them closely. "Perfectly round, rarest and indeed the most valuable shape for a pearl. These are natural and one hundred percent calcium carbonate and conchiolin. In Hindu scriptures pearl powders help with digestion and in treating mental ailments. Not to be outdone, Jesus compared the Kingdom of Heaven to a pearl of great price. Interestingly enough, in Islam, it is mentioned that those within paradise are covered in pearls," Sherlock paused in his monologue and looked at John. "I believe these pearls from the Persian Gulf."

"Because Captain Morstan was stationed in Kuwait during the Gulf War?" John asked.

Sherlock was momentarily stunned but regained his mask of aloofness. "Precisely, but to find this many valuable pearls in one location..." Sherlock trailed off before handing the pearls back to John. "Come John, we have half a day to prepare," he said and swept out of Lestrade's office.

John caught Lestrade's eye again and shrugged. "I'll fill you in later," John muttered and went after Sherlock. "Thanks for the files," he added.

"You're welcome, you nutters," Lestrade said, waving them on.

"The more I hear about this, the more my gut tells me not to see this mysterious person sending Mary letters. Did you see the pearls? We should get them appraised if they're worth what I think they might be worth," John said, rambling a little. Sherlock did not respond. "What? Don't tell me that you're bored with this mystery already!"

"No, it's not that," Sherlock said slowly.

John sighed. "Look, Cecilia told me about your addiction. However unsettling and upsetting that may be to me, we will be talking about this later," John took a deep breath, clearing his mind of the anger.

"John, I..." Sherlock began. "No, you are right. One thing at a time." His attention shifted to the letters he held in his hand. He plucked the top most letter out of the bundle and examined it. "There isn't much to go on with this letter. It's from the same person who sent the latest letter, mind you. Same paper, same handwriting and same post office."

"I don't think we should meet them," John blurted out at the same time that Sherlock said, "I think we should meet them." They looked at each other seriously before small smiles cracked the tension.

"I really don't," John said.

"But we should," Sherlock replied. He turned his all seeing gaze on John. "Mary would have wanted to know."

John's eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare bring Mary into this. Things would be different if Mary were still alive."

"Indeed they would be. But you know I am right. Mary would want to know. She'd want to know what happened to her father. Fiona has a right to know what happened to her grandfather," Sherlock said.

"You're a right bastard, you know that?" John said through gritted teeth.

"So I've been told," Sherlock replied smoothly.

John's mobile chimed with a text.

If you want to see your daughter alive again, you'll come tonight.

John's forehead wrinkled as he dialed his mother's number.

"Mum?" John asked. He could hear someone screaming in the background.

"Oh, god, John! They've taken her! They've taken Fiona!" Mrs. Watson said, sobbing.

"What?" John said. Sherlock's head whipped around. "Who's taken her? Who has my daughter?"

"I don't know John. I don't know. I tried to stop them. But they hit Harry and I when we did. Oh, god, John! What are we going to do?" John could hear sirens wailing in the background.

"I'm going to get her back is what I'm going to do," John said and hung up.