I limped down the street, ignoring the crowds around me in my quest to make it home before the storm broke. A series of spring storms had been steadily drenching the city for over a week, and the next one had started rolling in just before I left the bookstore. I had no wish to wet my newest novel before I even got it home.

I also had no wish to add a cold drenching to the pain already lancing through my old injuries. This was going to be a bad storm, and if the quickly darkening clouds were any indication, I was going to cut it rather close.

People jostled me, nudging me this way and that as they flowed around my slower pace. Some of the harder shoves sent hot fire shooting through my old wounds, but I could do little except hug a wall and keep moving. A festival had been scheduled at Hyde Park for this afternoon, and the crowds would only get worse as the looming storm chased everyone home. I finally tucked my book inside my jacket so I could supplement my cane with the wall. People had so little regard for others anymore, it was only a matter of time before one of the young ones darting through the crowd ruined my already tenuous balance.

"Doctor Watson?"

A young voice sounded behind me, and its owner shoved her way through the press, a low hat hiding her red curls.

"Hello, Dor—" I paused, glancing at her outfit, "Jackson. What are you doing here?"

She grinned impishly as she ducked a lady's swinging elbow. Long frustrated with the inequality between genders, Doris had taken to dressing as a boy whenever she could—primarily when doing something for Holmes. She claimed it helped her gather information without notice, but I suspected it was more that she preferred trousers to the thick skirts that were the current trend.

"Runnin'," she answered, and I could easily hear the capital R as she created enough space for me to stand without fear. "Mr. Holmes wanted us to dig up info' on your burglar from last week, and George and me were watchin' him this afternoon. 'Parently, Mr. Sticky Fingers likes shiny stuff, like the jewelry on display at Hyde Park." Thunder sounded, and she glanced up. "Or, rather, the jewelry that was on display at Hyde Park. They were packin' up in a 'urry when I left."

She held the empty space around us as I resumed walking, and I smiled my thanks. Doris' older brother had been the leader of the Irregulars when Holmes had disappeared in Switzerland, and her "twin," a boy her age they had adopted in '96, had become the leader last year. Doris could have become the leader herself, but she had preferred the smaller jobs she had been doing for years. Not only had she easily learned the basic self-defense we had taught all the Irregulars, but she was an excellent spy. More than once, she had found the key piece of information to solve a case.

"You should probably be getting home, too," I told her, turning onto Baker Street. "You do not want to get caught in the downpour."

She glanced at the sky again, then at the people pushing down the sidewalk around us. "I think I'd druther walk with you, Doctor. At least to your door. People keep tryin' to run me over."

"I know the feeling," I replied with a chuckle. "I do not remember the crowds being quite this bad."

"It's 'cuz of the festival," she announced. "Too many people came here for it. The motels have been full for a week." She pulled a face. "One of the vis'tors got lost a few days ago and nearly found us. That wasn't fun."

That could be more than a little dangerous, though I doubted she fully understood why. My question came out a touch fast.

"He did not find the door, did he?"

She shook her head. "Just got too close. My twin started making everyone practice our intruder drill more often after that."

"Good," I answered, referring to both their safety and the drills, but I still made a mental note to check on the Irregulars' headquarters in a day or two, simply to make sure all was right.

A faint huff reached my ears. "Not good," she complained. "The drills are boring!"

Holmes still occasionally mentioned the first time one of his suspects had stumbled on the Irregulars' headquarters. Enough older boys had been there at the time that no one had been hurt before Holmes had secured the blackguard, but the incident had survived as a warning of what could happen if the headquarters was not kept hidden. The children who worked for us cared for more of their fellow street kids every year, and I did not want to imagine what would happen if one of our crueler suspects discovered the large group of young ones in that buried courtyard.

"Better to be bored now than in danger later," I told her, slowing as we reached 221B. "You know you sometimes help us track dangerous people. Most of you older ones can handle yourselves, but what about the younger?" She frowned considering that. "They need to know what to do to stay safe just as you need to know how to protect them."

"But they make me hide with the littles just 'cuz I'm a girl!"

"What have I told you about the element of surprise?" She stared at me, trying to remember. "No blackguard is going to expect a redheaded Firecracker to be the last line of defense, Jackson."

She smirked at the nickname, but some of her frustration eased. "I hadn't thought about it like that."

I smiled at the wonder in those words, but a glance at the sitting room window changed what I had been about to say.

"It looks like we have a client," I told her. "You get home before the storm breaks."

"See ya, Doctor!" she called, already moving away, and I stepped toward the door as the crowds pressed closer again. She disappeared while I fought with the lock.

The door closed behind me with a faint click, and the skies opened. Large, heavy drops pounded the streets outside, and the sidewalks cleared remarkably quickly under the deluge. I hoped Doris had made it to shelter, but there was little I could do about that now. I was simply glad I had not been caught in it. My old injuries were complaining enough about the storm, and I could hardly join Holmes and our client soaking wet.

"I am sorry to arrive unannounced, sir," a vaguely familiar voice was saying as I slowly limped up the stairs. "I only decided to consult you this afternoon, and I stopped on my way back from the Hope Fest when the storm closed us early."

Rumbling thunder drowned out Holmes' quieter reply, and I was halfway to the sitting room when the other voice started again. I listened closely, trying to determine what about the voice was so familiar.

"I make a variety of jewelry," he said, "from men's and women's watches to rings, brooches, and pins. The Hope Fest is one of the largest craft fairs this season, and my museum asked me to man the booth this year."

This year, yes, a voice echoed out of the past, but what about next year? The year after? They cannot build a life on such things, Ada!

A name came to mind, and I halted on the landing, staring at the mostly closed door as I leaned on my cane. My mother's brother had stormed out of the house years ago, disowning us as he went. He had disappeared without so much as a farewell, and aside from two letters he had sent my mother, he had not tried to contact us in the years since.

I had disregarded his existence for most of my life, just as he had mine, and I had no idea why he would be in our sitting room now. I was not entirely sure I even wanted to speak with him. Why would he initiate contact after so many years of silence?

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