What did I say about writer's block? I finally sat down yesterday and made myself work on it. Here are the results of my labor, I hope you like them.

Chapter 4

Watson:

Tea turned out to be a very pleasant affair. Summers, the Jacobsin cook, was an elderly woman of British origin and so was able to prepare a more than passable pot of our national drink. Also, Rose proved to be a charming conversationalist, and her company had a wonderful effect on Holmes. He became quite communicative, and I learned more about his extended family in that half hour than I had in our entire acquaintance, including the fact that they had a great many relatives still living in France, as well as numerous aunts, uncles, and cousins scattered throughout England and the rest of the world. The two of them were deep in a discussion on the sanity and probable life expectancy of a certain Great-Uncle Jeremiah who lived in a cottage on the Sussex Downs, when Drew and his sister entered the parlor, looking unnaturally neat for such young children.

Though I had seen Holmes interact with his irregulars and at times thought him really just an overgrown child himself, it had never occurred to me that he might be the kind of man who would like children. The idea simply didn't fit with the opinion I had of his rather cold, undemonstrative nature, yet when I saw his eyes light up as his niece and nephew came in, I found myself wondering how I could ever have formed such an erroneous assumption.

"I have something here that I think the two of you might like," he said as he pulled a somewhat oversized package of hard candies from pocket and offered them to little Sally with that reassuring smile that worked so well on his female clients and could have broken a score of hearts had he been so inclined. The tender age of its recipient didn't seem to lessen its effectiveness in the least, and she stepped cautiously from behind her brother to accept the gift. "Be sure to share those with your brother." The two children thanked Holmes in unison, their faces positively beaming.

"Really, Sherlock, sometimes I think you do these things just to torment me. Are you trying to spoil their supper?" Rose said with an exaggerated sigh and a smile that belied her words. She looked at her children, "One each. We'll be have supper in about an hour." Satisfied by their angelic nods of agreement, she turned back to us and noticed that my friend had removed his cigarette case from his pocket and was about to light one. A look of complete horror passed over her face. "Sherlock Andrew Holmes! You may NOT smoke in my house! I realize that almost every other boy in your college class was doing it, but I think that it is a repulsive habit, and if you wish to indulge yourself, you will do it outside. Do I make myself clear?"

Holmes looked as if he was about to protest, but I interrupted before he had a chance, "You know, Holmes, it's not healthy for a woman about to have a baby to be around smoke." It was a rather new theory, and still unproven, but I figured that mentioning it would work to prevent a quarrel between the recently reconciled siblings. My assumption proved correct, and Holmes put his cigarettes away with a scowl that soon disappeared when he noticed Drew staring at him and absently slipping candies into his mouth.

"What are you thinking about, little man?"

"Are you and Doctor Watson going to come to the fireworks next week?"

"Fireworks?" I asked.

"For Independence Day, Doctor. Alec may have married an Englishwoman, but he's American to the core, and our son holds the same unshakable patriotism. We've gone to see the fireworks every year since before Drew was born," Rose answered as she removed the bag of candy from Drew's by now rather sticky hands.

I am strongly loyal to the crown, and it is rare for Holmes to participate in anything even remotely social, but having travelled so far and with the case far from solved I doubted that we would be leaving for at least a couple of weeks. Under those circumstances, I could see no possible reason to refuse. Surprisingly, Holmes seemed to be thinking along the same lines, for he answered in the affirmative almost immediately, resulting in his nephew's smile widening beyond what I thought possible.

The boy was giving us the details of the coming event with enthusiasm only a seven year old could be capable of when a rather tall, auburn haired man of about thirty entered the room, causing the narrative to end with an abrupt "Papa!" as Drew and Sally threw themselves into their father's arms.

"Alec, you're home early! Look who's here. You remember my brother Sherlock, and this is his friend Doctor Watson."

"Yes, we were finished a bit sooner than I expected. Pleased to meet you, Doctor. It's good to see you again, Sherlock," he said as he shook our hands. I noticed that his grip wavered ever so slightly, but I could see no other signs of agitation. "Drew, you and Sally go help Emma set the table. I'm hungry enough to eat a bear." As soon as the children were gone, he dropped his cheerfulness so abruptly that I was left to wonder how he could have hidden his anxiety so well. "We had another incident today," his voice shook and he gripped the back of his wife's chair to steady himself. "Rose, darling, I think it would be best if you went to Jenny's for the night." He took a deep a deep breath and closed his eyes as if to block out some terrible image. "Tom is … dead."

Rose:

I could hardly believe what Alec was saying. Thomas Arrow was Alec's partner. They had grown up together, and ever since Alec had brought me to Baltimore almost nine years ago, Tom's wife, Jenny, had been my closest friend, teaching me about American customs and just being an ear to listen; we even had children nearly the same ages. "How did it happen?" I asked though I was almost afraid to here the answer.

My husband sat down on the sofa and buried his face in his hands. I moved to sit next to him and rubbed his back; I could tell he needed the support. Finally, when he was a little more composed, he began, "We were leaving the office for lunch. As we came out, the breeze picked up and blew Tom's hat from his head. Just as he jumped to catch it, I heard a shot, and Tom fell. He died in my arms a few minutes later without a word. Rose, that bullet was meant for me. if Tom hadn't jumped in front of me right then, I wouldn't be here."

I didn't know what to say; I didn't even know what to feel. On the one hand, I couldn't help but be selfishly pleased that Alec was sitting here beside me, yet on the other hand, I grieved for my friend who never got the chance to say good-bye to her husband and for her children who would now have to grow up without a father. Tom was such a good man. How could the world be so cruel?

"Did you see anything?" Honestly, Sherlock seriously needed to acquire some tact.

"No, nothing. The street was crowded, and as soon as Tom hit the ground, we were surrounded by so many people that the police actually had to fight there way through the crowd." Alec's voice was beginning to steady, but I continued to rub his back. This was just like everything else in this case – no evidence, and I informed my brother to that affect.

"That is part of what makes this such an intriguing case, but never fear, no matter how slim, when a crime has been committed, there is always evidence of some kind, and I intend to find it," he answered.

Alec looked up at that. "I only hope you can, Sherlock," he said, his voice quite firm now. He glanced at me, "for all our sakes."

I admit right here that my medical knowledge is very slim, but I do seem to remember that it was during the Victorian Era that doctors started to make the connection between smoking and illness. As to whether or not Watson would know anything about second hand smoke, I don't have the faintest idea, it just fit in my story.

I am started on Chapter 5, and I hope to have it posted withon a day or two, but I make no promises.

Please review! The more I get, the more chance there is of my finishing quickly.