Perhaps for some of you the "mystery" is a bit simplistic. Perhaps you'll be pleasantly surprised! (

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"Well Watson, you've finished quite rapidly. Hopefully you were quite thorough as well." I turned to see Sherlock Holmes coming towards me, his sardonic grin prevalent upon his face.

"Ah Holmes. I don't think you will be unimpressed with what I have found out. I have much to tell you." He sighed.

"And I you, Watson." We turned and went towards the house. I had spent the majority of the day within the city of Gravesend, visiting local shops and areas I thought young John Montand might have occupied. I was constantly followed by the sting of Holmes' rebuttals of my earlier detective work, and I was determined that this time he would not have room for criticism. Needless to say I was quite exhausted by the end of it, but I did not believe that my work had been fruitless. I had found out a good many things about the missing boy and had many trails I believed Holmes would be interested in.

"Watson?" Holmes' inquiry brought me out of my thoughts.

"I'm sorry, I was just pondering. Miss Montand-"

"Doctor Montand."

"Yes, Doctor, excuse me. I was just thinking that she is an uncommonly talented woman."

"Yes, that she is, Watson, that she is."

"High praise, coming from you Holmes." He smiled.

"I am not a whole-souled admirer of womankind."

"Not even a half-souled one."

"Perhaps not, but I do admit she is a more determined and original sort than the run of the mill female." I laughed.

"Well, a concession anyhow. A lovely woman as well." Holmes groaned.

"Wonderful Watson, I knew I could depend upon you to notice that. Have you not also noticed that the more lovely and beautiful a woman is, the more untrustworthy and devious she can be?"

"Oh Holmes, honestly-"

"What did you manage to learn from your day in Gravesend?"

"Well, aside from the general impressions in the village of young John Montand, being an honorable, good-natured fellow with not a false word for anyone-"

"Yes, yes, Watson; did he have any enemies? Any falling outs, any entanglements?" Holmes interrupted impatiently. I narrowed my eyes. I was becoming puzzled over Holmes' avoidance of certain facts which I found to be relevant. Did he not often say that all details were of interest to him? And yet today he had blatantly ignored quite a few of them.

"As far as I could tell, not a one. He is a generally amiable boy whom everyone likes. Although, as Doctor Montand herself has said, he is apt to run off into places he should not."

"Such as?"

"Well, he rambles about the neighborhood in all his spare time. While being very amiable, he is also daring and determined. Some men I met described him as "knowing too much". And, strangely enough." I trailed off. The description of young John Montand was suspiciously familiar. I had heard it often enough, about Holmes himself. How could the young man be so talented?

"Strangely enough what? Come now Watson, don't leave your listener in suspense." He said impatiently.

"Some of the residents described him as a mind reader, that he can tell things about any one of them that they had never told him. However, he never explains just how he knows their personal matters, just says them." Holmes smirked to himself.

"I suppose it stems from his idolization of you, Holmes. Much like that Stanley Hopkins. Some gentlemen in the village said that the boy is an avid reader of the Strand and models himself on you." This could be the only explanation. Of course, perhaps the boy's age was helping to fuel his talents into mythic proportion. I have often noticed that the younger a person with talent is, the more likely society is to make him into a prodigy. Perhaps he was merely an observant boy. Holmes sighed, giving me his sardonic grin.

"I'm afraid, Watson, that there is a much more elementary reason to that young man's talents than meets the eye." I looked at him.

"Whatever do you mean Holmes?"

"Come Watson. Let us walk about the grounds." I followed him dutifully. Sherlock Holmes paced about the groves of trees on the grounds, his gray eyes surveying everything. He was silent for a few moments, and at length I interrupted.

"Holmes, what is it? If you don't mind my saying so, you've been in a rather strange humor throughout this entire business. Come on old man, what is it about this case that's affecting you so?" He turned.

"First Watson, I must apologize." Apologize? The great Sherlock Holmes, seeking my apology? Such an event was quite rare, and I nearly laughed at the occurrence.

"Apologize? For what?"

"I have not told you the truth, Watson, and upon the beginning of this case, I've realized that I can hide it no more." Now I had to laugh. This sounded utterly absurd coming from Holmes' lips.

"Holmes, what on earth-" But I was silenced by his serious and unflinching face.

"I'm sorry." He was silent for a moment. My mind was buzzing with a hundred questions. Whatever did Holmes have to tell me? Why was he so grave? I could not possibly comprehend it.

"My friend, you have never been so frank. Please tell me what it is." Still Holmes was hesitant.

"Does.could it possibly have to do with Doctor Montand and her son?" At this he looked up, his eyes steely.

"Yes, Watson it does."

"You have known them before her consulting you, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have." I seated myself upon a nearby bench, contemplating the revelation I had just heard. I had, of course, seen Holmes' strange actions: his seeming to know everything about the lady without explaining his methods as he usually did, and his strange quivers of laughter at the most inopportune times. However, Holmes having met the lady and her missing son beforehand was no great secret that would make it necessary for Holmes to conceal it. And yet I could recall that, when Doctor Montand had first come to our rooms, she had acted as if she had been meeting us for the very first time, going so far as to retell Holmes (who had presumably known it all beforehand) her occupation, name, and history. These things did not seem to come together, as Holmes' strange secrets usually did.

"Holmes, I don't see how that is such a grave secret-" Holmes held up his hand, silencing my protest.

"My dear fellow, there is much more to the secret, I assure you." His voice was resigned and stoic and I could see immediately that it was quite a thing for him to share this part of his life, which had obviously been his own for a very long time.

"Well then? Under what circumstances did you know Miss Montand before her coming to consult you?"

"First Doctor, let me remind you that it is Doctor Montand, not Miss, and Doctor Montand is not a lady. I have never seen her as such and she has never wished to be so."

"Holmes! That is going a little-"

"She will be acknowledged only in terms of her intellectual abilities, Watson."

"Which are?"

"If there ever was an equal to me, Watson, Doctor Montand is about as close as nature can provide." I was speechless for a moment. Thoughts of Mary, my late wife, thoughts of the late Irene Adler, the woman who had bested Holmes- was it possible, that, just maybe-

"My dear Holmes, I-" Holmes frowned at me.

"Please, Watson, spare me your congratulations upon finding a romantic interest. I assure you I have none and shall never have one and there is none of your lurid intrigues in my tale." I sighed impatiently.

"Then pray, Holmes, tell me the tale."

"When I first met Doctor Montand, I was a student at Cambridge. In her pursuit of her medical degree, and her ambitious notions of becoming a specialist in every field related to it, she did attend a number of chemistry and common classes and lectures as myself. This is where I first met her." He paused, his gray eyes hazy for a moment, as if recalling some far off distant memory.

"If you can picture it, Watson, in your mind, imagine a room full of young gentlemen, ready to carry out chemical researches, all in the plainest of clothes, the most complacent surroundings, the most common of all minds conglomerated into one room. And then enters.a mind ultimately superior to everyone else's, a talent and intellect hardly rivaled by all of them put together, with no ordinary manner and no commonplace appearance." For a moment I was repelled by Holmes' egotism. It was one of his only faults; seeing himself as a man among men, higher than any other-

"If you can picture it, Watson, that was precisely the moment that Doctor Montand entered the classroom." My mind could hardly comprehend that the words were Holmes'. Never had he uttered a positive word about women. Not even the late Irene Adler had he complimented so much in a single memory.

"And I had thought you a born misogynist-"

"As I have intoned Watson, and I shall remind you again, Doctor Montand's gender has not a thing to do with the matter. I was as impressed with her as I would be with any fellow." He said sharply.

"Holmes, again, I do not see the reason for you to hide this from anyone. If this is your great and damnable secret, I advise you not to torture yourself with trying to cover it up any longer." Holmes sighed, exasperated. No doubt my words were by now repetitious and bothersome, but I even now I could not see the reason for his deception.

"May I finish the tale before you begin romanticizing it for your readers?" He said.

"Damn it all, Holmes, I am attempting to listen to you, but you aren't making any sense! The lady was your acquaintance at university; this is of little surprise. What I want to know is why you both act as though you have never seen each other before and how all of this relates to the lady's son." I snapped back.

"Watson." He trailed off.

"I suppose," He began in a low voice, "that, as with so many other things in life, this must be given the direct approach. There is no simpler way to explain other than to state the facts." Sherlock Holmes then turned to me, his gray eyes sharp, calculating and direct. In a calm, eerily flat and penetrating voice, he spoke:

"Young John Montand's abilities are not mere worship of an idol, Watson. They are, in fact, hereditary." For a moment I was stunned. Hereditary?

"What?"

"I am John Montand's father." My eyes grew wide- "And Abigail Montand's husband."