Chapter 4

Sherlock Holmes was stil sleeping soundly on my bed when I woke the next morning. I peeked around my bedroom "wall," really a shower curtain that divided the room in two, just to be sure the coast was clear for me to change out of my pajamas.

I was on a mission.

I knew it would take up a lot of the money I was saving to buy a digital SLR, but it was worth it, in my mind. Besides, I had gotten on well enough with my old camera, and wasn't quite ready to make the switch to digital. I threw my clothes on and slipped out the door.

* * *

Holmes was just waking up when I returned. I quickly threw my bundle into a closet, and tried to act like I wasn't up to something.

I am so horribly readable.

Holmes eyed me suspiciously. "You're up to something, aren't you, Chele?"

I put on my best innocent face. "Me? No. Just...out...getting groceries."

Holmes crossed his arms and said, "Then where are the groceries?" He smiled a smug grin.

Damn. He had me. I sighed, and opened the closet door, revealing the gift I'd gotten for him, a violin. "I was reading a little about you last night, and it said you liked to play," I said, handing him the instrument. "It's not a Stradavarius or anything, I just...thought it might make you feel more at home."

I could see he was genuinely surprised as he took the violin from me. "Miss Chele," he half whispered, "This is wonderful. Thank you." He gave me a warm smile.

I smiled back. "You're welcome. Play for me?"

"Most certainly." He took the instrument out of its case and plucked at the strings. "Good tone," he murmured. Then, taking the bow, he brought it up to his chin and produced a beautiful, haunting melody. It was entirely unfamiliar to me, but I was never much into classical music. I just layed back onto my futon-bed and enjoyed the concert.

"That was wonderful," I said when he'd finished. "Who wrote it?"

"Oh, no one," he answered. "I have a habit of playing random chords and melodies that come to mind. Although I am familiar with many classical pieces. Would you like to hear something in particular?"

My eyes grew wide. "That was just improv? That was beautiful! You should play professionaly."

He smiled. "I'm afraid I have already chosen an alternate career path." Then his expression darkened. "Or at least, I had a carrer. I don't suppose the police force will be calling upon the assistance of a fictional character anytime soon. If you will excuse me." He rose and went back into the "bedroom." After a few minutes, I heard more violin music, but it was an incredibly sad tune. Downcast, I sunk further into the sofa, my hand grazing the carpet. My eyes laid upon the television remote and I grabbed it to turn the TV on. Anything to take my mind off Holmes and his horribly depressing song.

"Police now have one suspect wanted for questioning," reported the newswoman on the screen. "5 year old Jesse Meyers was reported missing at 7:00 am this morning from her Georgetown home." The camera panned to a quaint little house, just like every other house on the street. Except this was the house I'd driven to a hundred times, where my sister and her husband and child lived. I missed the rest of the newscast.

"Sherlock!" I screamed, my body frozen in shock. I heard a sharp mischord and a thud as the detective rushed to where I was sitting.

Turning my head to face his, he asked "Chele! What is it? Are you hurt?"

I could hardly breathe, but somehow, I managed to say, "My sister...Jesse...she's missing..."

"Your sister is missing?" he asked.

I forced myself to calm down. "No. Her daughter. My niece." I fell against him, sobbing. "Oh God, what if she's dead already? What if they can't find her? Poor little Jesse..." Then it dawned on me. I was crying on the shoulder of none other than Sherlock F-ing Holmes! I looked up at him, full of hope. "Do you...do you think you could check it out? Could you find her?"

Holmes' expression turned to one of complete self confindence. "Miss Chele, I assure you, I will put no less than my best efforts to the case. Come," he beckoned, taking my hand, "we haven't a moment to spare."

I jumped off the couch and hurried out the door, stopping only briefly to slip on my shoes. Holmes was standing beside me when I got to the car, my keys dangling in his hand. I gave him a sheepish grin and snatched them away.

I nearly broke the sound barrier on the way there.