Anne

"Miss Chantrey? Miss Chantrey?"

The knocking on my bedroom door was becoming more insistent, although the voice was very quiet. I stirred, realising that I had dozed off after lying on my bed to think when I had come upstairs, no doubt the result of many sleepless lights fretting over those stupid letters…

My brain finally kicked in, and I jumped to my feet and ran to open the door. Mr. Holmes was standing outside, looking around furtively, as if he were being watched. He smiled nervously. "Um… Anne…"

"Hello," I said stupidly.

"May I come in?"

I could have sworn my heart stopped. "Sorry?"

"To discuss the case." His lips curled. "I did mention it earlier."

"Oh… Yes… Of course… Come in…"

Flushing furiously again, I opened the door and let him in, trying frantically to comb the knots out of my hair with my fingers. He gave me a vaguely amused look. "Don't worry about that. I'm sorry for waking you."

I didn't even question how he knew that. "Yes – I must have dozed off – I was tired, I suppose."

He smiled. "You were tired in the hansom, too."

I blushed an even brighter shade of scarlet, and he looked apologetic. "Forgive me – I didn't mean to offend you..."

"No – you didn't… I mean…"

I breathed out slowly. "Can we start again? Take a seat."

He settled immediately into the uncomfortable looking rocking chair that I had meant to take myself, leaving me to sit in a large squashy armchair opposite that immediately enveloped me in its saggy velvet cushions. "So," I said, after an awkward pause. "What have you… um… deduced?"

He smiled and steepled his fingers.

Holmes

To be perfectly honest, having extricated myself from George's jovial lecture on the current economic climate, which I could have sworn was slowly eroding my brain tissue, I had been thinking of going straight to bed.

But when I finally escaped to my room, I found myself sitting on the bed, wanting so desperately to discuss everything that had happened in the last few hours with Watson that it was almost physically painful. Every time I glanced up from my wandering thoughts I expected to him sitting there, his copy of the Times balanced on his knee…

I swallowed hard and the image faded. How could Anne Chantrey have stumbled into my life only a few dizzy hours ago and why in Heaven were the thoughts going around my head now even there? And how had her arrival stirred up all these old demons?

Not to mention that the case was hardly a simple one. The ideal solution to the adolescent thoughts that insisted on tormenting my mind would be to solve the case almost instantaneously and then escape back to Baker Street to return to a lonely but risk-free bachelorhood. I considered – it was a wonderful idea, except that I needed to solve the case now.

I suppose that might impress Anne.

I groaned in despair, and tried desperately to think.

Anne fluttered into my mind.

Not about her! About the case!

But it was useless. Without Watson as a sounding board, my ideas quickly petered out and I found myself absent-mindedly stroking my violin and vaguely considering whether any member of the apparently normal family could really be responsible for such venomous threats. But there was still that inexplicably ominous atmosphere, that look in Maude's eyes…

I came to an abrupt decision and stood. I needed to talk to Anne. Just having someone to bounce my ideas off would be invaluable, and she might provide some intelligent additions of her own.

You want to see her again.

I ignored the voice in the back of my mind and went to the door, opened it, and cautiously proceeded down the corridor to her bedroom door. I drew in a long, shaky breath and knocked.

Anne

"Practically nothing, then," I concluded when he had finished, smiling.

He looked curiously sheepish. "Well, in fact, part of the reason that I came here was my lack of ideas."

I raised my eyebrows. "I thought you were supposed to know everything."

He looked affronted. "I have never alleged that. In fact I always had to remind Watson…" His voice faded away, and I bowed my head in silence, leaving him to his grief for a moment.

He stirred again, and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

There was an awkward pause.

"In the corridor, you seemed very… furtive." I don't know what made me say it, but it just slipped from my lips before I could stop it.

His smile broadened. "I have to confess that I was afraid that I might bump into George again." I opened my mouth to ask a question, but he continued. "Oh, no, I like him well enough. But he seems so exceptionally loquacious that I feared that beginning another conversation at this hour would perhaps see me trapped until the morning."

He cocked his head on one side, obviously wanting to know why I had asked. I stuttered and stammered. "I was just going to mention… If we need to have some kind of… um… secret meeting…" I flushed deeply again. "Well… That door there…" I pointed to it. "It leads through a small secret corridor to your room."

He raised his eyebrows. "Really? And what was the purpose of such a passageway?"

I shrugged. "My uncle's ancestors must have had a strange sense of humour – I've no doubt it was used in order to play pranks on any guests staying in the house."

His lips twitched. "Not for secret rendezvous, then?"

I blushed. "No – well… Maybe…"

"Anyway, it will be a useful escape route if any more unexpected visitors knock on your door in the middle of the night," he said cheerily, and I attempted a smile.

He frowned in concern. "Are you all right?"

"Yes… Just a bit tired…"

"Hm – you do look a bit peaky."

"No… I'm fine…" I looked away, feeling tears pricking my eyelids for no particular reason. Just the fact that someone actually cared was so momentous that it made me feel stupidly emotional. "You should be worrying about yourself. I saw – you didn't eat any dinner."

He smiled. "Don't worry about me." He gave me a long, piercing look. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes!" I said impatiently, but it came out sounding a bit tearful. Before I knew what was happening, he had leaned forwards in his chair and taken my hand in his. Somehow it was immeasurably different from when he had examined it in his consulting room – then he had been professional, clinical, but now he was looking into my eyes like a friend.

"You need to take care of yourself," he said quietly, and his voice sounded sad.

I realised that my heart was beating far too fast, and I kept forgetting to breathe. He was too close – somehow his presence seemed to be overwhelming all my senses in the small room…

Holmes

I didn't know what had happened. One moment I had been enquiring after her health like a good friend, and the next minute the part of my brain that was controlled by Sherlock Holmes, the cold and logical genius, abandoned me to leave the part of my brain that was controlled by some adolescent dolt that I had only recently become acquainted with, to take over.

My hand, completely of its own accord, rose slowly towards her cheek. Somehow I had an overwhelming urge just to…

A knock at the door.

We both froze.

"Anne? Anne?"

It was Elsie's voice.

Anne leapt into action. She shot me a panicked look. "Quick!" she whispered.

I went straight for the little door she had previously indicated, but was dismayed to find that I was unable to open it. "It must be locked from my side," I whispered.

"Anne?" Elsie asked again, apparently puzzled. "Let me in!"

"Um… Quickly – in the wardrobe!" Anne ordered in an undertone.

"The wardrobe?" I whispered fiercely. "I'm six feet tall! I won't fit!"

"For God's sake, Anne…" The hammering on the door continued.

"I'm coming!" She glared at me. "Get in!"

She practically pushed me across the room, shoved me into the closet, and shut the doors firmly, nearly catching my fingers. I was able to observe her through a tiny crack between the doors, going to the door and opening it. Elsie's impatient face peered around it.

"Finally! What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing," she said, with extraordinary dignity. "What do you want?"

Anne

My heart was still beating uncomfortably fast, but I tried to hide it as best I could.

"What do I want? Nothing particularly – I didn't think it was a crime to pay your little sister a visit in her room, but apparently it is now!"

"No… Sorry… I was just reading – I wanted to finish my chapter."

"You were reading? You couldn't open the door because you were reading?"

I hoped my guilty blush wasn't spreading over my face. "Well, actually, I'd dozed off… The conference was quite exhausting, and I…"

"The conference?" Elsie asked innocently, sitting down on my bed. "Are you sure it isn't the sparkling company of your Mr. Stamford that's exhausted you?"

I flushed again, and forced myself not to glance at the wardrobe.

"You do like him!" she squeaked in delight. "Oh, Anne, I always knew we'd eventually get you married off!"

"Elsie!"

"For a while I thought that Mark Collingwood…"

"Elsie!" I was horribly conscious of Mr. Holmes hidden in my wardrobe, hearing every word of this acutely embarrassing conversation.

"But, well, he is very charming, and not at all bad looking either, though he's a little skinny for my tastes…"

"Oh, for goodness' sake!"

"Obviously very intelligent, and you can tell how he feels about you – he hasn't taken his eyes off you all night!"

I froze. "Really?"

She ignored me. "Then again, you've been just as bad – you need to act calm and collected and less as if you're in some kind of trance – you were sitting there practically drooling."

I cringed, wanting to sink into the ground. "Don't be ridiculous…"

"So," Elsie continued, pausing for breath. "Do you like him?"

"Well, of course I…"

"You know what I mean."

I took a deep breath. "Listen, Mr. Stamford is a very old friend, and nothing more. Of course I like him – he is a very… nice, and a very kind, man, but I don't feel romantically attracted to him."

That certainly sounded more calm and collected that the truth - in fact I only met him this morning but he was so nice that now I can't even stop thinking about him and right now he is hiding in my wardrobe.

"Oh." Elsie looked exquisitely disappointed. "Maybe you're just in denial?" she suggested hopefully.

"For God's sake, Elsie!"

"Keep calm! I was just speculating…"

"Did you really only come here to discuss Mr. Stamford?" I said, still considerably flustered. "Or did you have any sensible motive?"

She sighed theatrically. "Well, as a matter of fact Tressilian said this had just arrived – posted through the letterbox by hand and addressed to you. He said he was sorry to disturb you, but he thought it might be important."

A chill ran down my spine. "Oh?" I said, trying not to sound too concerned. "A letter?"

Holmes

Truly, it was exceedingly uncomfortable in the wardrobe, but I was too fixated on observing the scene before me to care.

At first I was frustratingly unable to see Anne's expression, but then she shifted around slightly. Her dark hair was just a little mussed, that familiar pink blush creeping on to her pale cheeks, her eyes very bright.

"He's obviously very intelligent, and you can tell how he feels about you – he hasn't taken his eyes off you all night."

I stiffened, biting my lip. Had I been so obvious? Part of me wanted to close my ears and to somehow excuse myself from this conversation, but the other half longed to hear Anne's response.

"Really?"

She sounded quite nonchalant and unconcerned. My heart sank, and I wondered what I had been hoping for. Her to express her undying love, after having known me for barely a day?

"Then again, you've been just as bad – you need to act calm and collected and less as if you're in some kind of trance – you were sitting there practically drooling."

I froze, squinting at Anne's expression. She looked perfectly composed. "Don't be ridiculous."

I felt suddenly cold and hopeless and stupid, stooping double in a very small wardrobe, foolishly (and inappropriately) desiring a vulnerable young lady (a very young lady, I reminded myself cruelly) who had not the slightest interest in me. Crushing disappointment overwhelmed me.

"Listen," Anne was saying again. "Mr. Stamford is a very old friend, and nothing more. Of course I like him – he is a very… nice, and a very kind, man, but I don't feel romantically attracted to him."

I took some very small hope from the fact that she thought me kind, but "nice" was hardly a particularly adoring description for someone. And the "very old friend" was just another nail in my despairing coffin of disappointed… lust (I refused to refer to it as… well, love, I suppose). A perfectly ludicrous thought, in fact.

"Oh." Elsie sounded rather melancholy. "Maybe you're just in denial?" she probed.

"For God's sake, Elsie!"

I winced. Anne sounded so terribly adamant that I was fervently glad that I hadn't acted on my desire to touch her cheek – it would obviously have ended in acute embarrassment.

"Keep calm! I was just speculating…"

"Did you really only come here to discuss Mr. Stamford?" Anne continued, sounding impatient. "Or did you have any sensible motive?"

Elsie sighed. "Well, as a matter of fact Tressilian said this had just arrived – posted through the letterbox by hand and addressed to you. He said he was sorry to disturb you, but he thought it might be important."

Anne froze, as did I. "Oh. A letter?"

Author's Note:

First, a contrite apology for the gap between chapters as GCSE Science modules and English coursework have unfortunately taken up a great deal of my time…

Secondly, thank you for the reviews – the thought that me sitting here tapping away insanity on my laptop might possibly bring a little smile to someone else's face is a very humbling one!

To TimeGhost823 – I know killing off Watson was a very drastic step (and one that I was pretty unsure about – I am a great Watson fan!) but I'm so glad you thought it fitted!

Phew – enough notes for now (sorry as usual) and please please review to encourage me to continue!