The Vengeful Jewel

Tuesday, January 19, 1891
10:37 a.m.

It was nearing midday and the sun was still climbing into the sky; its warm rays of light piercing through the thick fog that perpetually covered London's sky. Down below, people walked down Baker Street either due to an errand or just to walk out in the open air. Markets were open and children were out playing in the streets.

No one paid any acknowledgement to the silent building of 221B of Baker Street. Only two people currently resided in the flat with the absence of the landlady who, much like everyone else, had gone out to perform her errands.

These two men sat alone in one of the unkempt rooms; the windows thrown wide open to offer the stagnant room fresh air and light: a man with dark hair and dark eyes resting on a big armchair; shirtless but clothed in the black and blue of bruises. The other knelt before him, examining said bruises with the experienced blue eyes of a doctor.

The previous removed the clay pipe from his mouth in preparation to speak to the latter who listened with intent interest.

"As you are well aware, Mrs. Katherine Jones visited us here three days ago on Saturday," Sherlock Holmes began, his eyes staring listlessly as the tendril of smoke from his pipe floated up towards the ceiling and disappeared. "What was it that you noticed about her?"

John Watson didn't look up from his examination. His sharp eyes peered closely at the colored bruises and swollen flesh that marred the detective's body. "Judging by her attire, I concluded that she was an aristocrat of pure blood. She was married and was treated well both financially and domestically. She appeared a little shorter than the average height of a woman of her age but that seems irrelevant."

"Nothing is irrelevant, my good fellow," Holmes interjected. "But do continue. Anything else?"

"Her chest seemed to be slightly discolored. It was paler than her neck and face."

"Excellent! Quite right, Watson."

"But I don't know the explanation as to why."

"And here is where our case unfolds. Her chest was discolored because of an extra layer of powder that she had applied. And a woman's powder is always used to hide that which she does not want the public to see. Now, I was fortunate enough to witness it after she had embraced me. When she pulled away, some of the powder had rubbed off on my shirt. And my god, Watson! Your hands are freezing. Might you warm your fingers before continuing your examination?"

His visual examination complete, Watson had placed his hands on Holmes' ribcage to feel for swelling or tell-tale of more serious injury. At Holmes' exclamation, he had pulled away out of surprise but now returned his searching fingers to his friend's wincing form.

"No," he said simply, ignoring his friend's chagrined and pleading expression. "And stop that squirming. You might damage something further."

With an exasperated huff, Holmes settled in his seat. Watson glanced up him with a wry smile and the smallest flicker of apology.

"Do continue, Holmes," Watson urged, pressing the skin between the ribs to check for tissue or muscle damage.

Holmes grimaced but didn't argue. "Where was I?"

"You saw something when Mrs. Jones' powder rubbed off," Watson answered.

"Ah, yes. Her powder had rubbed off on my shirt and I was able to see what she had so painstakingly attempted to hide. On her chest was a ring of blistered and discolored flesh. It formed a ring around her neck like the shadow of a necklace. It was a chemical burn, in the exact same place I imagined her beloved necklace to have been.

"It also had a strange scent. Naturally, I asked her about it and – as you heard – she had recently received a perfume from her sister. I knew the burn was caused from some sort of substance hitting the skin. The perfume explained what had happened.

"Trusting her sister, Mrs. Jones had applied the perfume two days prior to her visit to me. But it was no ordinary perfume. It was some sort of chemical that reacted violently with the necklace that she wore on her person at all times – for it was a beloved piece. Being burned by her own jewelry, Mrs. Jones had taken off her necklace where it was promptly stolen. Now, the only person who could have possibly known when and where Mrs. Jones would take off her necklace was her sister."

"Ms. Merrimirt," Watson finished as his hands moved along Holmes' ribs to his sternum and solar plexus; checking for damage along the pectoralis major.

"Precisely," Holmes nodded. "And, after out little search together, I decided to do some more research privately while you rested. I found out that Mrs. Katherine Jones had a slightly younger spinster of a sister named Chloe Merrimirt. I acquired her address and did some investigating around her neighborhood for I knew that my conclusion would not be enough to satisfy the police. I would need proof.

"The neighbors were more than willing to tell me their grievances. Apparently, a few choice pieces of jewelry had been stolen over the course of the last year. Nearly everyone had had at least one jewel taken from them yet none mentioned Ms. Merrimirt as a victim. That was her first mistake, Watson: stealing too much in such close quarters. Eventually, she grew more confident and began stealing from a wider area. But it seemed as if she were never truly satisfied with her spoils. She wanted one specific jewel."

Watson nodded, following Holmes' deductions intently. His fingers moved over to Holmes' shoulder; along the deltoid, and stoked the bicep to check for damage. Then he continued down the length of the arm.

"Determined to steal the jewel that had purposefully alluded her hands due to the mother's dying wish to have her eldest daughter take ownership of the family jewel, Ms. Merrimirt devised an ingenious plan to take what she believed was rightfully hers. Hence the perfume and the missing jewel in the same day. Ow!"

Holmes abruptly pulled his hand out of Watson's probing fingers to rub his sore wrist. "Do be gentle, Doctor. I did fall down a flight of stairs after all."

Watson gently took the hand back and lightly felt around the wrist. "That does explain the sprain," he concluded and pulled from his bag a splint and bandages. "But what proof was there that pinned the creation of the perfume on Ms. Merrimirt?"

"I'm getting to that, my dear Watson. First let me tell you what was initially observed upon the arrival at Ms. Merrimirt's house.

"When the spinster first opened the door, you may have noticed that her hair was loosely bound with strands of hair falling out of the clip."

"I hadn't."

"I thought not. But, upon seeing her the second time after she had struck you, I saw that her hair was bound anew and tightly. I concluded that the jewel must have been in her hair; more specifically: her clip.

"As for the perfume, while you entered the room with the bed, I entered the other with the crude lab. The room was empty except for one large table containing used bottles of various chemical ingredients. She had left some of the completed formula in a bottle and the scent matched that of the one that clung to Mrs. Jones. It was the same chemical as that in the perfume that caused the burn on Mrs. Jones' chest.

"With the makeshift lab in her room and the jewel in her hair, I proved that my conclusion had been correct. Ms. Merrimirt had stolen the jewel of her sister."

"It seems so obvious now," Watson admitted as he finished splinting Holmes' wrist.

"The answer always does," Holmes replied.

"But what I don't understand is why Ms. Merrimirt didn't move out sooner," Watson mused as he moved on to examine Holmes' other arm. "She certainly had enough jewelry stocked up to buy a much better house in a richer neighborhood."

"She had though of moving, yes," Holmes said, testing the mobility of his bound wrist until Watson forced him to lower it back onto the arm of his chair. "If you recall, the first two rooms we searched were not in use and all the furniture was covered. She was probably preparing for such a move until we so subtly intervened."

"Speaking of which, Mrs. Jones didn't ask once about her sister," Watson added, glancing up at Holmes questioningly.

"Nor did I feel reason to tell her," Holmes said evenly. "She trusts her sister. That much is evident by her readiness to use the gift of perfume. I didn't want to tell her that it was that very same sister that had betrayed her to steal that jewel and who is now serving justice at Scotland Yard."

Watson nodded in sad understanding. Mrs. Jones had been so jovial at the prospect of reclaiming her jewel. And with the recent outbreak of her husband's temper, the mention of her imprisoned sister would do little to soothe her.

"You may not be so inclined to show it at times, but… you're a good man, Sherlock," Watson said sincerely with a warm smile as he patted Holmes' shoulder approvingly.

Holmes cringed at the contact and Watson pulled away quickly. "Sorry," he muttered.

Holmes waved the apology away – an action that caused him to wince. "So, what's the verdict, Doctor? Will I live?"

Watson smiled with a sigh. "Yes, I dare say you will. You're pretty bruised but that seems to be the only damage. Nothing hit hard enough to cause internal damage. The swelling will go down soon and the bruising will fade within the next few days. You're wrist will take a bit longer but that will heal perfectly. It seems as if your concussion has dissolved as well."

Watson leaned back and shook his head in disbelief. "My god, Holmes. You have got to be the luckiest person in the world. All that and just some bruising to prove it." He chuckled at the thought.

But Holmes didn't join in with his carefree mood.

He was staring oddly at Watson, as if trying to solve the last case that distracted his mind.

"There is one thing I can't quite put my finger on," Holmes said finally in a serious voice.

"You mean to say that there is a mystery that even the great Sherlock Holmes can't solve?" Watson asked with mock-surprise.

"Why did you wait so long to intervene?"

_._._._._._._

Looks like Watson has some explaining to do too.

I took the explanation format from the novels. Anyone who has read the novels would know that the case is only completely solved when Holmes explains it because he witnesses far more clues than Watson.

Pretty smart detective work huh? I have taken a liking to forensics. And my anatomy class has again assisted me in writing a more believable doctor's report for Watson.

So, I hope to see you next time in which Watson gives his own explanation. This fic is drawing steadily to its conclusion I fear. Thank you for the wonderful reviews and compliments. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. And I do apologize for my previous typos. Thanks for telling me. Constructive criticism leads to improvement.

Until next time,
Hobey-Ho