Chapter 8!!!! Okay, I have NOT given up on this story; it seems workload
finally caught up to me and when I expected to spend hours working on the
story something always came up! I am so sorry for any of the readers
awaiting the update and apologize in advance for any more delays. Well here
we go.
Disclaimer: I own nothing
No mere Victorian Woman
The sun filtered in amidst the closed blinds, the room was musty and had the horrifying smell of human flesh, but with what seemed like the air of a veteran picking up a gun, Holmes stooped down, folding his lanky figure beneath him as he inched his face forward until the tip his crocked nose barley brushed the fibers of the cream carpet. His eyes darted from centimeter to centimeter, his mind making mental notes, I was sure, the angle of each strand of yarn, the color, description and most likely brand- name were all recorded in his filling system ready to be put to use when the time comes. He tilted his head up towards me as if in slight annoyance.
"What are you doing, just standing there? Or is this all a little too advanced for your limited skills?"
In a huff I kneeled down as well and studied my surroundings. It was times such as these where I eyed Holmes's pants with envy; I pilled my skirts around me and in an irritated state set to work. I followed his lead and was amazed with what my eyes revealed to me. There were sections of the carpet where the fibers were pushed in different directions from the general flow of the rug, these clearly illustrated footprints, which led to strides across the room. I shot a careful glance at Holmes in an attempt to decipher his exact methods. Truth to be told I had never considered doing anything of this sort although the idea appealed to me immensely. Puzzles and riddles, obscure ways of thinking and solving complex equations, I could imagine nothing better. In the midst of my thoughts I heard a familiar 'Ahh.'
"What have you found?" I inquired eagerly
"What do you make of this?" His question was straightforward but his eyes spoke for themselves, he was testing me. The evidence was presented in a small envelope, which seemed to contain a sort of dust. I peered inside. It could not be dust for two reasons, 1. What could you learn from dust? Mud or soil was another thing but dust? And 2. Why would Holmes give me dust and ask me what it is? Therefore whatever is in the packet must be different from what would be first perceived. I pinched the material and brought it up to my face. It was too flake-like to be dust. I finally smelt it and instantly knew it to be from a cigarette. I told him as much.
"I would also like to add that I believe it is the precise type of cigarette most commonly purchased by the middle class, it's a common brand so I do not believe it will help us much" I felt content as I saw the disappointment flow back into, not his face he was far too impassive to let anything so obvious slip, but rather those two cloudy abysses through which the depths of that genius mind could be viewed.
"Very good" he replied in a stern voice as uncurled his long fingers that seemed to miss nothing, toward the envelope. I placed it in his stained hands and turned my gaze once again to the unfortunate victim. I slipped my hand under his chin and tilted his head so that I could have a better view of the gunshot entrance. There was a small hole, as I had previously suspected, right at the temple. I thought about this for a second and then came to a confident conclusion. I took a few steps back and tried to picture the scene a few moments before his death. By the different footprints I found throughout the carpet I could imagine, that Farthing had his back to the murderer, the killer opened the door and grabbed his victim. I walked over to Farthing, yes there was a red rash that encircled his neck, he was strangled most likely with the murderer's arm while the pistol was pressed against his head, and then, well the rest is history.
At that moment the door burst open to reveal a mustachioed man carrying a doctor's black handbag, there was no question as to his identity.
"Holmes! I dropped in for a visit when Mrs. Hudson informed me that you were out," He was obviously utterly oblivious as to my presence as he continued, "I came as soon as I heard! Is there anything I can do?"
"Why Watson, you could start by examining the body." Holmes stated, but as Watson started to move toward Farthing, he noticed me.
"Hello miss." He said, every word filled with sincerity, however I couldn't help but notice that immediately after the words were uttered he crept over to Holmes and whispered, rather loudly
"Holmes, surly this is no place for a lady." That was the third time in the last hour I had heard that phrase and I must admit that I had had enough.
"Dr. Watson, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last, especially as you have had such a full schedule this week, what with Mrs. Dolling, with the broken leg and Mr. Goling with the stroke two days ago, I cannot imagine how you are not struck with exhaustion."
"Well yes, I have been working hard, and-" the full context of my words hit with a rush, and to my surprise, a deep chuckle erupted from his throat. "Why Holmes, she is just like you!"
This upset Holmes to no end.
"I will not be compared to that, that, Woman" he emphasized the last word with evident contempt and loathing. To my surprise I said nothing, I simply stared at him, but I was sure that my glare said more then could ever be formed into words.
"Why Watson, I believe I am familiar with a few of your stories," I began, I had started on this thread of conversation with an ideal goal in mind, one that I would not let be faltered by either Holmes or Watson, but just as I had predicted Watson grabbed hold to this familiar and lovable territory of his with such admiration and excitement that he resembled a puppy eager for an owners praise.
"Why have you?" he stated with glee. "And tell me what did you think of them?" I shot a purposeful glance in Holmes's direction but he paid me no notice, he reaction towards me was as if I was an odd piece of data he desired to be overlooked for it proved contrary to his entire theory, which ironically I suppose was precisely what I was. This reaction only heightened my incentive and I continued with all the disgust I had mustered for this egotistical, self-centered, and outright conceited man.
"Watson, I fail to understand how your Holmes in your stories has any resemblance whatsoever to the genuine person, if anything you seem to share more of the prized characteristics of this fictitious man than the living and breathing human, you already have grasped and understood things that seem to be a bit out of his reach." I simply smiled as Holmes shot me a malevolent glare. Watson simply stood there still trying to comprehend what I had just said, and then once I saw recognition fill his eyes, two types of recognitions to be more specific, one he fully understood my meaning and secondly he understood that this was a very dangerous subject, and one that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with. I turned from Watson slowly to spy Holmes hunched over the carpet a pair of tweezers in one hand and a small manila envelope in the other, he removed a small hair from the floor and placed it with the rest of the evidence, in the envelope and in his pocket.
"You know Watson," his reluctance to notice my existence was not lost on me. "I do believe that this is the most frustrated I have been with the Yard in all my years in their alliance. Almost all the evidence I can find seems to be constable footprints, constable hair, I would be willing to wager that even the ashes from the cigarette came from some constables lack of consideration and judgment." I scanned the room, and it occurred to me that he was right. The mud tracked in were obviously from a pair of boots that I had seen on the officers as we entered the building, the hair I had seen moments before in Holmes's hand had indeed been the same color as one of the men on duty, my shoulders sagged with disappointment and disgust for the people who guarded our law.
Holmes continued his search for another thirty minutes, each minute creating more frustration and aggravation, each minute another line of disappointment etched into that face. That face, there was something about it that I began to realize in those few minutes, the longer I seemed to watch it the harder it seemed for me to tear it from my gaze. I heard a soft cough behind me.
"Holmes-" Watson cut off.
"Another minute, just one more" Holmes uttered under his breath "there must be something, I just haven't found it yet,"
"Holmes we've been here nearly two hours, its time to go." And so we hustled into a cab and were off back again to the world-renowned 221b Baker Street hardly any wiser, and a great deal more dissatisfied then when we had left.
A/N: I once again must apologize for my lack of speed in updating!! I hope to get another chapter up before this weekend in over so keep checking, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!! AND PLEASE REVIEW!!!! THX!!!!
Disclaimer: I own nothing
No mere Victorian Woman
The sun filtered in amidst the closed blinds, the room was musty and had the horrifying smell of human flesh, but with what seemed like the air of a veteran picking up a gun, Holmes stooped down, folding his lanky figure beneath him as he inched his face forward until the tip his crocked nose barley brushed the fibers of the cream carpet. His eyes darted from centimeter to centimeter, his mind making mental notes, I was sure, the angle of each strand of yarn, the color, description and most likely brand- name were all recorded in his filling system ready to be put to use when the time comes. He tilted his head up towards me as if in slight annoyance.
"What are you doing, just standing there? Or is this all a little too advanced for your limited skills?"
In a huff I kneeled down as well and studied my surroundings. It was times such as these where I eyed Holmes's pants with envy; I pilled my skirts around me and in an irritated state set to work. I followed his lead and was amazed with what my eyes revealed to me. There were sections of the carpet where the fibers were pushed in different directions from the general flow of the rug, these clearly illustrated footprints, which led to strides across the room. I shot a careful glance at Holmes in an attempt to decipher his exact methods. Truth to be told I had never considered doing anything of this sort although the idea appealed to me immensely. Puzzles and riddles, obscure ways of thinking and solving complex equations, I could imagine nothing better. In the midst of my thoughts I heard a familiar 'Ahh.'
"What have you found?" I inquired eagerly
"What do you make of this?" His question was straightforward but his eyes spoke for themselves, he was testing me. The evidence was presented in a small envelope, which seemed to contain a sort of dust. I peered inside. It could not be dust for two reasons, 1. What could you learn from dust? Mud or soil was another thing but dust? And 2. Why would Holmes give me dust and ask me what it is? Therefore whatever is in the packet must be different from what would be first perceived. I pinched the material and brought it up to my face. It was too flake-like to be dust. I finally smelt it and instantly knew it to be from a cigarette. I told him as much.
"I would also like to add that I believe it is the precise type of cigarette most commonly purchased by the middle class, it's a common brand so I do not believe it will help us much" I felt content as I saw the disappointment flow back into, not his face he was far too impassive to let anything so obvious slip, but rather those two cloudy abysses through which the depths of that genius mind could be viewed.
"Very good" he replied in a stern voice as uncurled his long fingers that seemed to miss nothing, toward the envelope. I placed it in his stained hands and turned my gaze once again to the unfortunate victim. I slipped my hand under his chin and tilted his head so that I could have a better view of the gunshot entrance. There was a small hole, as I had previously suspected, right at the temple. I thought about this for a second and then came to a confident conclusion. I took a few steps back and tried to picture the scene a few moments before his death. By the different footprints I found throughout the carpet I could imagine, that Farthing had his back to the murderer, the killer opened the door and grabbed his victim. I walked over to Farthing, yes there was a red rash that encircled his neck, he was strangled most likely with the murderer's arm while the pistol was pressed against his head, and then, well the rest is history.
At that moment the door burst open to reveal a mustachioed man carrying a doctor's black handbag, there was no question as to his identity.
"Holmes! I dropped in for a visit when Mrs. Hudson informed me that you were out," He was obviously utterly oblivious as to my presence as he continued, "I came as soon as I heard! Is there anything I can do?"
"Why Watson, you could start by examining the body." Holmes stated, but as Watson started to move toward Farthing, he noticed me.
"Hello miss." He said, every word filled with sincerity, however I couldn't help but notice that immediately after the words were uttered he crept over to Holmes and whispered, rather loudly
"Holmes, surly this is no place for a lady." That was the third time in the last hour I had heard that phrase and I must admit that I had had enough.
"Dr. Watson, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last, especially as you have had such a full schedule this week, what with Mrs. Dolling, with the broken leg and Mr. Goling with the stroke two days ago, I cannot imagine how you are not struck with exhaustion."
"Well yes, I have been working hard, and-" the full context of my words hit with a rush, and to my surprise, a deep chuckle erupted from his throat. "Why Holmes, she is just like you!"
This upset Holmes to no end.
"I will not be compared to that, that, Woman" he emphasized the last word with evident contempt and loathing. To my surprise I said nothing, I simply stared at him, but I was sure that my glare said more then could ever be formed into words.
"Why Watson, I believe I am familiar with a few of your stories," I began, I had started on this thread of conversation with an ideal goal in mind, one that I would not let be faltered by either Holmes or Watson, but just as I had predicted Watson grabbed hold to this familiar and lovable territory of his with such admiration and excitement that he resembled a puppy eager for an owners praise.
"Why have you?" he stated with glee. "And tell me what did you think of them?" I shot a purposeful glance in Holmes's direction but he paid me no notice, he reaction towards me was as if I was an odd piece of data he desired to be overlooked for it proved contrary to his entire theory, which ironically I suppose was precisely what I was. This reaction only heightened my incentive and I continued with all the disgust I had mustered for this egotistical, self-centered, and outright conceited man.
"Watson, I fail to understand how your Holmes in your stories has any resemblance whatsoever to the genuine person, if anything you seem to share more of the prized characteristics of this fictitious man than the living and breathing human, you already have grasped and understood things that seem to be a bit out of his reach." I simply smiled as Holmes shot me a malevolent glare. Watson simply stood there still trying to comprehend what I had just said, and then once I saw recognition fill his eyes, two types of recognitions to be more specific, one he fully understood my meaning and secondly he understood that this was a very dangerous subject, and one that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with. I turned from Watson slowly to spy Holmes hunched over the carpet a pair of tweezers in one hand and a small manila envelope in the other, he removed a small hair from the floor and placed it with the rest of the evidence, in the envelope and in his pocket.
"You know Watson," his reluctance to notice my existence was not lost on me. "I do believe that this is the most frustrated I have been with the Yard in all my years in their alliance. Almost all the evidence I can find seems to be constable footprints, constable hair, I would be willing to wager that even the ashes from the cigarette came from some constables lack of consideration and judgment." I scanned the room, and it occurred to me that he was right. The mud tracked in were obviously from a pair of boots that I had seen on the officers as we entered the building, the hair I had seen moments before in Holmes's hand had indeed been the same color as one of the men on duty, my shoulders sagged with disappointment and disgust for the people who guarded our law.
Holmes continued his search for another thirty minutes, each minute creating more frustration and aggravation, each minute another line of disappointment etched into that face. That face, there was something about it that I began to realize in those few minutes, the longer I seemed to watch it the harder it seemed for me to tear it from my gaze. I heard a soft cough behind me.
"Holmes-" Watson cut off.
"Another minute, just one more" Holmes uttered under his breath "there must be something, I just haven't found it yet,"
"Holmes we've been here nearly two hours, its time to go." And so we hustled into a cab and were off back again to the world-renowned 221b Baker Street hardly any wiser, and a great deal more dissatisfied then when we had left.
A/N: I once again must apologize for my lack of speed in updating!! I hope to get another chapter up before this weekend in over so keep checking, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!! AND PLEASE REVIEW!!!! THX!!!!