The evening arrived, and Charlotte changed from her comfortable traveling clothes into something more proper for the dinner. She wore her black pleated skirt and white blouse, brushed her long hair out and put in a hairband. Black tights, shiny shoes, and a black peacoat. Charlotte's father insisted she wore formal clothing for what others may call mundane occasions. Family meals, museum outings, picnics in the park- it was important to dress accordingly.
The bedroom door opened with a creak and she peered out before exiting. Dust floated throughout the flat, visible only through the weakening sunlight from the window. Charlotte cautiously walked into the sitting room where John sat, focused on his laptop screen. Stacks of books, papers, and files littered every surface area. She perched on the sofa against the far wall. The table beside the window held sketches, diagrams, and more books. Even the corners of the floor contained jars of unusually colored substances and odd statues. But, Charlotte lost all her focus when she saw the music stand spilling over with sheets of notes and the violin leaned precariously against the wall. She stared, heart expanding and mouth hanging agape ever so slightly.
"Do you play?" She inquired quietly.
John jumped and gasped in his chair, shooting a look upwards. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you come in. I- what? Oh, no, no, that's Sherlock's." He stumbled over his words, startled at her sudden appearance. "He'll be here in a minute, I'm sure. Then we can be off to Mrs. Hudson's. She's only a flight of stairs away, luckily for us."
Charlotte gave a small smile, unsure of what else to say. She wasn't fond of all the introductions in one day. She was glad to see Sherlock enter the room and stop another uncomfortable conversation with John. As kind as he was, he was extremely awkward.
Just like John said, their destination was only a flight of stairs and a few doors away. Sherlock lead the way and rapped firmly on the door. However, it was unnecessary, because the door flew open immediately. The woman greeting them had a kindness in her face, but it was a kindness Charlotte would hate to see disperse, for fear of what would be beneath.
Mrs. Hudson squealed in delight.
"Oh boys, you would've thought she was your own!"
Sherlock cleared his throat and John shuffled his feet. Charlotte smiled at the boldness of her statement.
"Come now, don't be strangers, come in," She said, beckoning them inside with a grin. She took Charlotte by the shoulder and held out a hand. "I'm Mrs. Hudson, dear, I'm so glad you're here now."
"Charlotte," She introduced, shaking Mrs. Hudson's hand. "Thank you for having us, Ma'am."
Mrs. Hudson laughed loudly. "Oh, what a proper little thing!"
They sat together in the cramped kitchen while Mrs. Hudson served them a warm stew. She rambled about her day and how a dog wouldn't stop following her home or how she couldn't decide what kind of bread to buy at the shop. She seemed so oblivious to how much she ranted, or maybe she just didn't care, and Charlotte liked it. Mrs. Hudson reminded Charlotte of one of Mother's gardening friends.
When they were all seated and served, Mrs. Hudson directed all attention on Charlotte and grabbed her hand.
"Such an unfortunate time, with your parents and all, dear," She said, teary eyed. Charlotte was taken aback by the woman's sudden emotion.
"Mrs. Hudson," John interjected. "I don't think Charlotte wants to-"
"I don't mind," Charlotte said quickly, and she meant it.
"Such a brave girl," Mrs. Hudson sighed. "Oh, and when I heard the boys would have a little girl coming to their home…" She giggled. "I was mortified as you might know, they're not exactly qualified, but oh how good it is for them to learn more about children."
Charlotte turned her head towards Sherlock, who hadn't touched the bowl sitting in front of him. He was staring at her, again, and she could have smacked his bony face.
"What are you doing?" She asked, furrowing her brow. "Stop staring at me, Sherlock, it's impolite."
"Good luck with that, Charlotte, he's not one for manners," Mrs. Hudson giggled. "Oh, Sherlock, leave the poor girl alone! You and your deductions."
"Well, how else am I supposed to try and understand her?" Sherlock replied, folding his arms defensively. "I'm only trying to "get to know" Charlotte."
John shook his head. "That's not how you do it, Sherlock."
Charlotte pursed her lips when Sherlock didn't look away. She narrowed her eyes and leaned in, maintaining cold eye contact with him. "Fine, I'll just deduct you back! I know that's what you're doing, smart man. Hmm, a violinist, picky eater, lover of all death and sorrow, and- what's that? Ah, yes, I'm detecting a mean face."
John and Mrs. Hudson laughed in a slight shock, unsure of how else to respond. To the childish remark. However, Sherlock's mouth quirked, and Charlotte was satisfied.
Funnily, the night became more pleasant afterwards. It was mostly Mrs. Hudson telling stories about dates with serial killers and gossip of the neighbors. Charlotte found her interesting and genuinely kind and enjoyed her night. She decided staying in London couldn't be the worst thing that's ever happened to her.
...
Sherlock sat on his bed, reading a book on the principles of blood, while John lay on the cot across the room staring at the ceiling.
"I think she's warming up to us. Dinner with Mrs. Hudson was a good idea, I think," He said, thinking aloud.
"Hmm." Sherlocked turned the page.
"She's a little odd. Or maybe that's just how children are. I wouldn't know. You certainly wouldn't." John sighed. "I would appreciate you being a little kinder, Sherlock, you're her godfather afterall, not me. It's not fair to her, I mean, her parents just died. Why can't you just, be a little more welcoming?"
Why couldn't John understand? Why couldn't he just tell him? Because I know the truth, John.
"I'm going to bed. If you want to stay up, go somewhere else," John mumbled, turning over and getting comfortable for the night.
Sherlock sighed. The lights went out, and he left the room.
...
The blood beneath her feet was warm. Her mother was at the end of the sticky trail. Iron stung her nose and mouth, and she clapped a hand to cover them. The room was dark except for the white moonlight flooding in through the window. The light shone on the bloodied faces of her parents. Her stoic father, her beloved mother. Who did this? Who? Where are they? But Charlotte already knew.
Her eyes snapped open. Sweat trailed down the back of her neck and she tried to control her thumping heart. Charlotte's chin trembled, and her hands shook. She kicked off the hot blankets and closed her eyes, trying to find her library. Where was her dusty old kingdom full of stories and research and knowledge? It soon became clear that she couldn't focus because she heard music. Charlotte sat up, heart thumping for an entirely different reason now. Not fear, but longing.
The melody was bitter sweet, flowing and gentle and nostalgic. There was so much emotion packed into one piece of music. Charlotte recognized it at once, a piece from her childhood, a piece that would soothe her to sleep on her sickest nights, calm her through her sorrows. The very song she had played the morning.
The clock read 2:00AM.
Charlotte tiptoed out of her room and gazed at the figure in the sitting room. He stood facing the window, moonlight pouring upon him and his violin.
She leaned against the back of John's chair, staring and listening, desperate for the comfort the music brought her. The melody gave Sherlock a kind temperance she hadn't expected to see from him. Charlotte closed her eyes and listened as the music drowned away her worries.
A/N: If you are curious, the song Sherlock and Charlotte play at the beginning of this story is inspired by The Swan by Camille Saint-Saens. I encourage to listen to it. It's a beautiful piece.