Chapter 3: With the archives

"Is it a joke of yours?" John asked with a nervous laugh. Sherlock's gaze retained an impeccable amazement. "It's not your joke..."

John laid his hands on his face and saw Sherlock without believing what had just happened in that kitchen. They both stood there, standing on the steps, surprised. In it they heard that they knocked on the front door and the two moved their eyes to discover Lestrade.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked strangely. "Oh, Greg!" John exclaimed. "Come in, come in."

"The door was open," he said as he approached them. "Sherlock, I have something of what you asked for, the rest will be brought by Donovan in a..." Lestrade stopped talking when he noticed Sherlock who had a blank stare and, apparently, looked paler than normal. "Sherlock, are you, all right?" he inquired worried.

The detective moved his eyes and observed the inspector. "Yes," he replied very seriously, turned around and climbed the stairs. Lestrade stared at the scene and, until Sherlock got lost on the steps, turned to see John with a big question mark on his face. "What is it? Does it have something to do with Moriarty?"

"No," John denied, "not really." The inspector did not understand what was happening and at that time Mrs. Hudson appeared with a face covered in nerves. "John!" she whimpered.

"What is it, Mrs Hudson?" he asked worried. "Oh, John! It's about Bell..."

"Bell?" Lestrade interrupted confused but was ignored.

"Calm down, Mrs Hudson. The girl, did she do something?"

"Girl...? What the hell is going on here?"

Watson and Mrs Hudson turned to see him, and they did was signal to him to follow them. Lestrade began to follow their restless steps until they reached the kitchen door and, through the small glass that was there, the three peeped out and the inspector discovered a little girl.

"Who is she?" he questioned strangely. They both turned to look at him.

"She arrived this morning looking for Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson replied.

"Yes, her name is Isabelle," John continued, "but the point of this is that..." in it, the girl moved her eyes and spotted the three heaped at that window and they quickly got out of there.

John and Mrs Hudson stuck to the wall and their faces changed complete, but Lestrade still did not understand what was happening. The kitchen door opened, and Bell appeared, analysing everything around her. As she turned and saw the three adults on the wall, she turns her attention at Lestrade and he also looked at the little one, not knowing what to do or say.

"Scotland Yard, a distant wife, doughnuts and American coffee every day," she said like nothing, turned around and walked the steps up.

Speechless at what the little girl told him, he turned to look at both. John raised both eyebrows and squeezed his lips as he nodded, and Mrs. Hudson had her hands on her chest and a terrified look.

"Did..." Greg gasped. "Did you tell her something about me?"

"Nope," John replied as he folded his arms.

"Then that little girl just did what..."

"Sherlock does," John continued by him and Lestrade remained motionless.

Bell had arrived in the living room and appreciated Sherlock sitting on sofa, his hands on his chin and his stare lost. She stood under the doorframe.

"How much do you deduce?" he asked without looking at her. The little one was surprised.

Not hearing an answer, Sherlock moved his eyes toward her, who quickly moved hers toward the entire room. The girl went inside and began to walk through all the piles of newspapers that were already watered by the living room. Sherlock followed her with his eyes, he was curious about what the little one was doing. Bell kept looking at everything with fascination and with a soft smile despite the mess that the room was.

"What did you deduce?" he insisted.

Bell turned to look at him and was thoughtful for a few moments. Not hearing a word from his mouth, Sherlock arched his eyebrow and refused to look at her anymore. She started walking up to the couch and observed at it in detail and the detective noticed who the girl was lying on the floor. Bell looked under the couch and with a twinkle in her eyes, reached out to pull something out from under the furniture. Finding what she wanted, she got up and approached Sherlock, who try facing straight but the detective's greyish green eyes crossed with the girl's brown eyes. Both analysed each other. Sherlock began to see more details in the child, many of which he omitted in his first deduction:

"She is ambidextrous, she draws constantly; she knows how to play the piano; she is insecure; she has dark circles, she never sleeps well, possibly sleepwalker; she is spoiled, she loves chocolate..."

The more they were analysed, Sherlock perceived something familiar in her, however, her mind failed to connect that familiarity. He cursed inside and looked down. Seeing him like this, Bell reached out and opened her palm to show Sherlock what she had found under the couch. He looked up and got surprised what she had; the syringe he had used last night to get high.

"Bad," she said. "This is bad."

In face of this, Sherlock was shocked and therein those moments, in the distance, he could hear several footsteps came closer, he knew that everyone was about to enter the living room and with some fear he took the syringe from the girl's hand, hiding him in the pocket of his coat. John and Lestrade arrived and figured out at the scene in which Sherlock saw with the same strangeness and paleness than before and Bell was looking at the detective with a frown.

"Sherlock," John spoke, but he ignored him. The detective kept looking at the girl. It was as if through his eyes he asked her not to say anything about the syringe. "Sherlock?" he questioned somewhat annoyingly.

"John," he replied, still observing her.

"What's going on here?"

Bell changed his frown to smile at the detective. She had understood him and turned away with that smile and looked at Doctor Watson, who was puzzled by the situation.

"Is everything, all right?" Lestrade asked. Hearing his voice, Sherlock turned to look at him a little confused.

"Oh, Greyson!" he exclaimed.

"It's Greg," he argued.

"Really?" Sherlock asked curiously and got up off the couch. "It doesn't matter," and settled his coat, "do you have what I asked for?"

"Here," Lestrade said as he lifted a yellow folder, "I have a part."

"What about the rest?"

"Donovan will bring it in a while."

"Well, I hope it didn't take too long. We're in dire need of information on this case." Sherlock put his hands behind him, and he noticed who Bell sat on John's sofa, undisguised showed a furious look. "That's John's sofa!" he interrupted, and the little girl looked up in terror.

"Sherlock," John warned, "don't you start."

"I like here," the child confessed.

"I need him in his place," the detective continued as he observed her with exasperation.

"Sherlock, it's okay if I'm somewhere else; it's not the end of the world," John took the famous customer chair and put it in the middle of the two sofas. "See? There's nothing wrong."

To see red, Sherlock looked back at John, who was already sitting in the chair, and continued with Lestrade. He approached him and extended his hand asking for the folio. The inspector sighed bitterly and obeying him, he gave the folio to Sherlock. This one was taken from him and returned to his sacred sofa.

As he stood in front of the girl, he cast a look full of rage. Bell ignored him and climbed up her legs to the resting arms, left them hanging there and leaned back on the sofa, staring at Sherlock. The detective felt the look of the little girl and deep inside began to bother him.

"It would be good," he spoke exasperated, "that you will begin to tell what happened to your mother. That will make it easier for us to identify it in the archives."

"Sherlock," John warned again.

"What exactly is going on?" Lestrade questioned. "I need to know what I'm getting myself into."

"Isabelle," John mentioned and the girl gave him an annoying look, so powerful was that anger that he was surprised. "I mean, Bell, she came in early this morning asking Sherlock for help. Apparently, her mother was murdered."

"And she witnessed the murder?" Lestrade asked and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I think it's obvious, inspector, otherwise she wouldn't be here," he deadpanned and Lestrade looked at him seriously.

"Bell," John continued, expressed a fatherly sweetness, and the little one moved her eyes with him. "I know this is hard for you, Mrs. Hudson told us you were in shock when you arrived," and she could hear how Sherlock threw a slight laugh. He saw him upset. "But we need you to tell us exactly what happened so we can help you."

The little girl's brown eyes began to crystallize, and she breathed very slowly. John and Lestrade looked at her worried, instead Sherlock read the cases about Northampton.

"Mom," she bewailed and closed her eyes. All those memories of that night came to her mind. " Mom... wicked man... boom."

"Boom?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock looked up at hearing that word.

"Boom," he repeated curious. "A gun," and as a madman began to search the archives for cases involving with weapons.

John and Lestrade saw curious at Sherlock, then returned to Bell who was still lost in her memories. A minute passed and Bell had not uttered a word, the doctor and the inspector began to worry about the sudden silence of the girl. What was her doing? How much was in her head?

Sherlock was still doing his thing, looking like a crazy man. Both men no longer knew how to act, until they saw that, through the girl's cheeks, a few tears began to slip. "Bell?" John questioned worried and Sherlock looked up at her. "Bell, are you okay?"

The girl had disconnected from reality, was submissive to her memories and a stunned Sherlock knew perfectly well in the state she was in.

"Isabelle?" John called, hoping the girl would listen to him. Sherlock raised his hand to his face to shut him up and he was surprised. " What?" he questioned annoyingly.

"Don't you see, John?" the detective challenged.

"See what?" he questioned strangely and Lestrade felt lost in the face of all this.

Sherlock lowered his hand and slightly lifted himself from the sofa, dropping several documents on the floor, approached the girl and standing in front of her, knelt to better observe her.

"She's..." he stopped nervous "She's in her mind palace."

John opened his eyes wide and Lestrade arched an eyebrow than his strangeness. Bell was lost in her mind palace. What was in this little girl's head? How much was she storing? Would there be valuable information in her? As more questions hit on the detective's head, he felt a part of his mind slowly cracking.

"That girl, she's a little clone of you," Lestrade gasped.

Upon hearing such a revelation, Sherlock reacted, rose from the ground, and looked at the inspector with courage and surprise in his expression.

"This is impossible!" he maintained. The two looked at him strangely.

"What do you mean, Sherlock?" John asked confused.

"It is not possible!" he defended. "No one, no person on this earth is capable of understanding the science of deduction! No one to perfection! No one can have a mind palace...! No one!"

Lestrade and Watson looked at each other and then resumed with Sherlock.

"What about Magnussen?"

"He...! He is beside the point! He was not a person," Holmes mumbled. "My point is, that little girl," and he pointed her, "that little girl can't do what I can do."

They both looked at each other very puzzled, what was the reason for the detective's sudden outburst? Did no one understand the science of deduction? Could no one have a mind palace? And the more they thought, the more they looked at each other with a certain mischief. They both thought they understood the detective's highly disturbed behaviour.

"Sherlock," John spoke. "Are you... jealous?"

Before those words, the fury on the detective's eyes had changed to a startled. Seeing his reaction, Inspector Lestrade did not avoid letting out a slight laugh. Sherlock Holmes, the great consulting detective, envies a little girl who possesses his own abilities. This was unbelievable.

"Are you jealous?" John repeated with a soft smile. "No," he argued, and his cheeks were painted a little red. "Yes, you are," Lestrade continued, trying not to laugh again.

"Lestrade, shut up," he ordered. "Sherlock," John called and this one turned to look at him. "Easy, okay? Let us see, Bell poses your same qualities, they're not as developed in themselves, but understand your science of deduction."

"Do you really have to remember it, John? How redundant you are, you surprise me."

"Sherlock..." spoke seriously.

"John, I can't understand what you're getting at, but let me tell you, no, I'm not jealous that this little girl has my own qualities," he whinged. "What I can say is that, if she knows how to use the deduction, she will solve the murder and I can concentrate on..." he paused and grimaced at his face, as if it hurt what he wanted to say. He just could not. "You know what I mean, John," he continued seriously.

Lestrade and John looked at each other again and changed those mockery to seriousness and silence reigned in the room. It was strange that that would happen here at 221B Baker Street, but this had become an awkwardness. Minutes became centuries and seconds in millennia. Sherlock walked away from John, sat on his sofa, and could see that Bell was opening her eyes, from which the rest of her tears fell. It looked like the little girl was in shock and she let go in tears.

John and Lestrade could no longer be more surprised. The doctor approached the little girl and tried to reassure her, but it was impossible. Bell would not stop crying and would almost scream at his mother. Sherlock looked at the scene without any expression and John put Bell on his chest trying to calm her down like a baby. Lestrade had felt his heart break to pieces; he was very sensitive to the infants. Bell took refuge in John and continued to shed her tears on the doctor's shirt as Sherlock frowned at what he witnessed.

"Are you still sure she can solve this alone?" Lestrade asked to the detective annoyingly, who turned to look at him in surprise. "Sherlock," John continued, annoyed, "Bell needs us."

A pressure flooded the detective's head as he was being devoured by the looks of these two men. His only action was to rise from the sofa, adjust the buttons on his coat and look at them seriously.

"Fine," he replied angrily and went to lock himself up in his room.

It took John a while to control Bell, but the little one had calmed down. "I think the best thing to do is leave her with Mrs. Hudson until Sherlock stops throwing tantrums," Lestrade said and John turned to look at him. "It's true," he mentioned as he folded his arms. "This is incredible."

"That she does what Sherlock does?"

"I always thought Sherlock was unique, for doing what he does. And now Bell shows up and makes me think of so many things," Watson said with a half-smile. Lestrade looked surprised, but John only understood himself because he said that and turned to see Lestrade's thoughtful face. "However, Bell was wrong about one thing about me," Lestrade more confused than he was already saw him with an arched eyebrow. "She told me I have a brother when I actually have sister. She made the same mistake as Sherlock."

John laughed for himself, gave Lestrade a soft pat on the shoulder and retired. As he stepped out of the building, John looked curious at a huge black vehicle parked in front of 221B and, laid on one of the doors, was a beautiful girl texting non-stop. All he could do was sigh with reluctance and he approach her.

"Hello," he said something nervous.

The girl looked up and smiled at him, stepped aside, and opened the door for John to enter. Without further ado John obeyed and stepped into that great-class vehicle. As he was inside, he looked at her travelling companion, constantly texting, until he turned to look at John and he smiled at him.

"Hello. Again," he vacillated to liven the mood.

She smiled and returned to her phone. With his smile and a somewhat strange look, John knew it would be of no use to talk and turned to look at the panorama. Several minutes later, Doctor Watson looked at the place that had arrived: the Diogenes Club. Another long sigh came, and he got out of the vehicle, saying goodbye to the text girl who just smiled at him. Upon entering the place, he was received by the manager who led him to where John was already waiting to go: The office of Mycroft Holmes.

Upon arriving at that place John entered and, sitting behind that desk, was the eldest of the Holmes brothers.

"Ah, Doctor Watson!" he exclaimed on seeing him. "Please have a seat," curious John obeyed and observed as Mycroft approached him with two cups. "Tea?" questioned with a fake smile.

"Thank you," John said as he drank the cup. "Tell me, Mycroft, how can I help you?"

"Oh, Doctor Watson!" he exclaimed as he sat in front of him. "I am offended that you think I only sought him out for help."

"Well, my intuition says it's something to do with Sherlock," in that he laughed with some nervousness and drank his tea.

"Well, your intuition is correct, Doctor Watson. Let us get to the point, who's the little girl?" John almost spit out his tea when he heard Mycroft's very direct question. He put the cup on the table and took the napkin to wipe his lips. "Pardon?" he asked sputtered.

"You heard me perfectly, Doctor Watson. Who is the girl who arrived at 221B?"

"Well... I, ah—came asking for help for a case..."

"What's her name?" John looked at him with huge eyes. "The girl, what's her name?"

"Isa—Isabelle" he confessed.

"Oh, Isabelle!" Mycroft exclaimed with a smile.

"Yes..." John said.

"Isabelle, it's a beautiful name," and he took his tea with fine elegance.

Unaware of what to do John raised his eyebrows and bowed his head to avoid eye contact with Mycroft. The older brother Holmes put his cup of tea on the plate and looked at Watson.

"And why did she look for my brother?"

"Well, I really don't know. Mycroft, Bell..."

"Bell?" He interrupted with a half-smile. "Already so soon with diminutives?"

"She just doesn't like being called Isabelle."

"Oh, what a shame! With such a beautiful name and she detest it, that is terrible. Well, what kind of case does she have to seek Sherlock's help?"

"All we know is that her mother was murdered, but she doesn't talk much, she..." suddenly John shut his mouth to no longer report anything more to the eldest of the Holmes.

Mycroft raised his eyebrow and observed him. John was still thoughtful and looking for the right words to tell him about the girl. "What about Isabelle?" John looked at Mycroft. "What's so special about her?" John sighed, he would never cheat on Mycroft Holmes, on any Holmes actually.

"She does the same as Sherlock. Deduction." Mycroft narrowed his eyes, frowning very sharply and beheld the face of John Watson, in which one could see admiration and surprise.

"Doctor Watson, do not come with these games, the deduction only is known by Sherlock and I."

"And Magnussen," he said quietly.

"Sorry?" he asked annoyingly.

"Nothing... But it is true what I tell you, Mycroft, that little girl has that ability. She hasn't been able to exploit it like you do, but she does."

Mycroft raised his eyebrow further, unconvinced by John Watson's words. He placed his cup of tea on the table, crossed his right leg over his left and settled on the sofa.

"Doctor Watson," Mycroft spoke seriously, "did this child come asking my brother for tutoring to expand her knowledge of deduction? Or did you propose it?"

"No... No!" he exclaimed upset. "Someone murdered her mother, and she wants us to help her, she is desperate, she needs us..."

"Not as England needs Sherlock Holmes," he interrupted. "You know perfectly well the conditions under which Sherlock is still free, walked by our fair England. He needs to be totally focused on James Moriarty."

"Mycroft, I know, I know better than anyone, but..."

"No Doctor Watson, you don't know," he stood up from his couch and looked at John. "I will help you solve this case, so that Sherlock will be free as soon as possible. Just tell me what else you know about it."

"Ah... well, I think the girl came from Northampton and..."

"That's enough," Holmes interrupted angrily and left that place leaving John completely surprised and upset. Completely alone, John heard his cell phone and saw that a message had arrived:

"Don't talk to him about the child."

SH.

John understood that the message had been sent more than twenty minutes ago. Why have he received it so far? Simple. When he was in the vehicle, they entered a tunnel in which lost signal, and when arriving at the club also the signal was not very good. He cursed himself from within and laid his hand on his forehead. A few moments passed and Mycroft appeared with a folder. John looked up and discovered how he was handing him a folio, took it and looked at the title:

"Jones, Samara."

"What is this?" he puzzled.

"Your case, Doctor Watson," he said in a despotic tone.

A/N:

Thanks so much for reading. I will be deeply grateful with any comments, constructive criticism, opinions and / or suggestions :3