Children's Whims (working title)

Chapter 3

By Imp

A/N: Forgive me if this is at all awkward – I'm not accustomed to many chaptered stories. Again, I thank my reviewers – Estriel, Nako-chan, Kittenchatter (your comments are quite helpful in informing me of how, to some extent, I'm doing), Chibi Hermione, Panther7x (^_^ thanks for encouragement and notes on the story's flow), March Hare (thank you for the compliments!) – it is certainly useful to have reviewers, some or many of whom are quite articulate. I don't believe I've ever received comments in any other section of such value.

~

My companion leaned back, the vague shadow of a smile still playing about his lips. But his burst of merriment was quickly subsiding, and I observed the tension of earlier creeping back into his features and manner.

"A premonition, Watson! A premonition!" cried he, with agitated distraction. "A premonition… Absurd, is it not?  Unexplained, unconscious warning of impending misfortune. Quite so. But is it not entirely irrational?"

Somewhat perplexed by my companion's sudden and unexpected alterations of emotion and thought, I moved across the room and sat. Observing Holmes from my seat, to the best of my ability, I perceived the tenseness of his poise and the hardness of his look, while his nervous fingers moved as constantly as our recent guest. Yet there was an excitement in his abstracted manner, an eagerness that recalled to mind the attitude of a hound having just scented its quarry.

"I fear," said I. "That I rather fail to follow your train of thought."

"Indeed!" returned Holmes, with some apparent bewilderment as to my lack of comprehension. "Ah, but I am forgetting… You neither deduce such things as I, nor have you my knowledge of the affair."

"Apparently." I responded, with perhaps some slight irritation at his manner.

But Holmes had fallen back into a silent reverie – he neither registered my annoyance, nor even my reply it appeared - and for some moments he seemed to forget entirely that I was there.

"You have been following these…'accidental' deaths in the paper, no doubt?" he inquired abruptly.

"To some extent," I answered.

"…Pity…" said he. "They have got it quite entirely wrong. You noted, I hope, the distraction of our most recent visitor?"

"It was rather impossible to ignore," said I. "It has, I suppose, some bearing upon your inquiries?"

"Quite."

"Then Van Sarn also has some important role in this drama?"

I was, I admit, becoming rather eager for the story. However, Holmes's attitude when dealing with mystery in no way made room for story-telling. And if explaining his thoughts and the circumstances did not directly aid his own unraveling of the crime, he was quite unlikely to remain communicative.

"It is quite likely." said Holmes, gazing absently at the sheaf of papers transfixed to the mantle by his jack-knife. "In fact it is more than probable. But his visit is, unfortunately, quite obscure."

"Well surely," said I. "He is anxious for the safety of his son?"

"Son?" echoed the detective vaguely, brow creasing. "Oh well – it is possible, I suppose. But, I fancy, highly unlikely. You see, I am not quite certain of the existence of a son. You observed, I'm sure, that half of what he put forth were pure lies, and of course there is no wisdom in believing a liar."

"More than half?" I cried in surprise.

"Obviously." continued my companion, "It is a pity though, that he chose to flee in such an inconvenient fashion."

"He was frightened," I murmured, as much to myself as to the pensive, curled-up figure in the armchair.

"Evidently," snapped Holmes. "A wretched business. Children! Children drowned, suffocated – fallen, broken their necks!"

With abrupt suddenness he relapsed into silence, and I saw by his drawn brow and the strained tension of his limbs that he had fallen into contemplation of the darker, tangled aspects of his strange inquiry; an inquiry that I had yet to be entirely satisfied as to the facts of.

"I'm afraid, dear fellow," I said at last, "That my mind is hardly more clear upon the subject."

He stirred, but for a moment it seemed that he was still quite unaware of my speech. And then he spoke, voice revealing something of his abstraction.

"Naturally." said he, returning somewhat from of his reverie. "It is, however, hardly a clear matter yet to any one."

"But surely you have a theory?" I prompted.

"Perhaps." he replied, some slight asperity creeping into his manner. "But I haven't all the facts, and I may be as incorrect in my conjecture as our good friend, Lestrade. No…no – not quite as turned about as Lestrade."

"And Van Sarn?" I persisted.

"There are too many roles which he might play, and I must discover which is the true. You do know what facts there are, I hope?"

"Briefly," I responded, frowning. "That children in different parts of the country have turned up quite dead, for what the official force has assumed – by chance or accident."

Holmes made a derisive sound, turning his gaze toward the window. The blind was half drawn, and outside a thin mist, which would certainly grow to an unpleasant fog, was sweeping down the street.

"A pretty puzzle," he murmured. "And unless I am much mistaken, simple. But then the simplicity hinges upon the suspects! And who, might I ask, would so wish to harm children? Motive. Motive is lacking in every instance!"

With that last exclamation he trailed off. And to my continued disappointment and even irritation, he would say no more. It appeared that he was quite incapable of painting a picture in words, which another human being might comprehend – for as was often the case, he was much too involved in his own thoughts to make any great effort. It was an aspect of his rather egocentric personality, that he did not strain himself in any extraordinary way to enlighten a mind less precise and perceptive than his own. And in such instances I almost invariably found myself with some few thoughts and an amazing curiosity which could not be at once quenched.

I turned my gaze thoughtlessly back to my companion, who remained staring vacantly in the direction of the window. With a sudden cry though, the still figure sprang up, recalling vividly to mind the abrupt departure of our most recent caller, and the pipe which had just filled the room with a dull grey smoke fell to the table.

"What a fool I have been, Watson!" cried he. "What a wretched fool! Blind! Blind!"

I have to admit, that his sudden movement and cry had quite amazed me. And for a moment I sat, mute, in my chair while my companion dashed across the room, catching up his jacket, showing all signs of complete insanity.

"Ah, but if I have slipped- they have done so ten-fold!"

He stuffed a stained, mottled piece of paper into his trouser pocket, which I realized must have been our strange visitor's calling card, and then glanced rapidly about. His whole form spoke of distracted impatience, and his eyes gleamed.

"My coat – Watson – ah, here it is. How could I have so overlooked it!…"

"By heaven!" I exclaimed, starting up. "Where are you going?"

"Where am I going!" His irritation with himself transferred swiftly to me as he turned at the door; but he paused. "I must apologize for so hasty a departure, dear fellow. I should return before supper."

"For goodness sake – you haven't even had breakfast."

"You'll have to do without me," said he distractedly.

I started forward, for the hard light in my companion's eyes seemed to speak of some dire errand. However, Holmes shot me another absently irritated look, and I paused with an exasperated sigh.

"If there is danger, surely you don't intend to go entirely alone?"

"Certainly."

"But Holmes –"

"I most surely will not allow you along."

"But why in the world not?"

"My dear Watson, though your friendship is invaluable, I fear that your honesty of disposition should certainly prove disastrous to my enterprise. Kindly look over the paper for me while I'm gone – and allow any caller to wait for me, if you will."

"Are you going after Van Sarn?"

"Van Sarn? Nothing of the sort. I'm looking for the man who followed him. And just as your honesty could jeopardize my mission, so also could delay."

"Naturally." I replied, feeling quite dull as I fell back into my chair.

The door swung shut with a decided snap. And I was left wondering.

It seemed that the few other cases in which I have played any part at all, the facts all appeared much clearer. However looking back, the past has a habit of appearing with more clarity to one's eye, and the grotesque occurrence of so many children dying in what seemed distressing accidents leant fear and confusion to my thoughts. What if they were indeed accidents though? Was it possible that my friend could go wrong in his deductions? Indeed, his talk of premonitions and such was quite obscure and senseless. And after all, he had admitted himself that there was no apparent motive for the killing. Who, indeed, would wish to harm little children?

~

A/N: I hope that this does not merely become an irritation. For still the mystery remains, and poor Watson the narrator, is trapped quite in the dark. It does though, progress to some extent, and I hope it retains consistency – though it continues in short chapters owing to my limited amount of time. And again, comments upon the story – its plot, the way in which it is told, its consistency – are welcome. Toodles - IMP