Prompt from Ennui Enigma: Watson is troubled.

I can't believe there's just one more of these to go! For once, I might actually finish on time.


Holmes glanced over at his companion, letting his violin playing falter. "You are troubled, Watson. Why?"

"You can't already tell?" Watson asked with a wry chuckle that quickly slipped back into gloominess.

"Insufficient data," Holmes said smoothly. "You haven't gone near your chequebook, so it's not to do with money; no letters have arrived today, so no unexpected bad news; and forgive my indelicacy, my dear friend, but I know your anniversaries with Mary are not for several months."

"As always, Holmes, you are correct on all counts." This time Watson's smile, though still as momentary, was slightly more real. He signed and continued, "It's not money or an anniversary, and though I did receive some unexpected news, it was with yesterday's post, and not so much bad as it was unusual."

Holmes laid his violin back in its case and came to sit in his armchair beside Watson's. "If I can offer any assistance, you know you only need ask."

"There's no deductions to be made, just a decision, and I would be grateful if you could give your honest opinion."

Holmes did not respond, and anyone who did not know him well might have thought he had grown bored of the topic, resting back in his chair with eyes closed. Watson, after twenty years of friendship, easily recognised the position as Holmes being ready to listen to a new case, and his heart was warmed by the sight.

He laid out the facts. "As far as I was aware, my brother, who you might remember died many years ago, had no children. Yet in yesterday's post I received a letter from a young woman who says she is his daughter, and thus my niece. She says she found my name in some old family papers, and hopes I can come to Scotland so we can meet in person. I have no reason not to believe her, but I would so dearly wish her story is true I am afraid it's affecting my judgement."

"May I see the letter?"

Watson handed it over, already well worn from the time he had spent poring over it.

Holmes examined it for a few long moments, then got up, retrieved a magnifying glass from his desk, and examined it further. Finally, he set the letter down in his lap. "Do you believe her story?"

Watson hesitated, then shook his head. "I badly want it to be true, and have no reason to think otherwise, but my instincts disagree."

"Even without deductive skill, Watson, you have a gift for divining the truth of a matter. The girl has hidden it well, but from what you have told me of your brother this could not possibly have come from any child of his." Holmes gave his friend a sympathetic look as he handed back the letter.

Watson took the letter with him, not bothering to question Holmes' conclusion. He knew better than most that Holmes although Holmes was rarely wrong, it did still happen, but his instincts agreed there was something not quite right about the letter. "Thank you, Holmes."

Holmes merely nodded his acceptance, and returned to his violin-playing. He did, however, choose one of Watson's favourites to play next; neither man would admit it, but it reminded them both that family came from more than blood.