The Deceiving Bonds:

A Memoir of Sherlock Holmes

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Hi. Thanks for the reviews and suggestions. But I doubt I'll be able to find that book, much less afford it. Therefore I'm going to start presuming things about these characters and because this is fanfiction I figure I can do that. I just wanted to warn you about that.

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 The next day, I was half ready to kill Watson. He had an old friend of his coming to London and this friend wanted to meet me. Watson told him that I would. I, on the other hand, wanted to be left alone so I could think about this case. The man who was murdered was a wealthy landowner named William Thatcher and several people could have a motive for killing him. The first one being revenge for being forced out of their homes for not paying the rent on time. Several of his tenants had become homeless for this reason.

 But now Watson wanted me to meet this friend of his and ruin my concentration.

 " Watson, why did you tell him I would meet him without asking me first?" I said aggravated. We were now walking to the train station where we would meet this friend.

 " I'm sorry, Holmes but I knew you wouldn't agree to it unless I did that," Watson said. I sighed. He was right but why did he even want me to meet this friend of his?

 "Who is this person anyways?" I asked. I watched him for a moment. His face told me he was trying to decide something. I doubt people realize how much one can read from someone's face. One's face can say that they're lying or hiding something. People's faces take on different expressions when they do those things. But I'm getting astray.

 I kept watching him and he finally said, "It's the brother of William Thatcher."

 "And you're just now telling me this?" I asked with controlled anger. I was going to kill him.

 "Holmes, please don't get mad. I wasn't sure if you would have come if I told you," he said.

 "Of course I would have come," I muttered but my mind had now left him and was thinking again. This could be what I needed. I wanted to know the history of his tenants so I could have an idea of who it could be.

 There was quiet the rest of the way to the station. When we got there, we had to wait for a few minutes for the train to arrive. When it did we had to wait another few minutes until Watson could identify this Mr. Thatcher. During this time I began to question him.

 " What is this man's name?" I asked.

 "Michael Cross Thatcher," Watson said, still looking into the crowd and avoiding looking at me.

 "Was he and his brother close?"  I asked.

 "When I knew them, they were. But it's been a few years and I don't know if that's changed," Watson said, still not looking at me.

 "Would there be any reason for it to change?" I asked.

 "Michael has done some traveling from what I've heard and William has lived here and has never left England. And I imagine that they might of have lost contact with each other," he said.  I thought this over and was silent for a few moments. During that time, Watson finally spotted Michael Thatcher and began to walk to him. I followed close behind but my mind was somewhere else.

 I finally realized what was going on and came back to my senses. I then looked the man in front of me over. Michael Thatcher was a fairly tall man with brown hair and blue-green eyes. He wore a brown traveling coat and suit. His face had a squared look, as did most of his features except for his eyes. They were somewhat round and a little large.

 Watson introduced us and we spoke for a few moments of nothing that was of any importance. Soon we were on our way to my house for Michael was going to stay with us for a few hours and then return to his manor in London.

 We reached Baker Street and were soon in my living room drinking tea and talking. I learned that Michael was an antique dealer and this was the reason for his travels. He had been fairly successful and brought a manor house. He was wealthy enough to be considered first class. He was married and had two children, one boy and the other a girl. Both were in their twenties. 

 I managed to direct the conversation to his brother.  William Thatcher, I learned, had always been charitable or at least in the beinging.  The housing he owned was for those who couldn't afford it anywhere else. But somewhere down the line, that changed.  William Thatcher started to make his tenants pay rent. Soon after, he started to force those who couldn't pay to leave.

 "I don't know why he changed. We lost contact after a while. Say Mr. Holmes aren't you a detective?" he asked.

 "Yes, I suppose you could say that," I said.

 "Are you working on my brother's murder?" he asked. I looked him over before answering. He was looking at the floor and his face had the expression of someone waiting for the worst.

 "Yes," I said and watched him. His position didn't change.

 "What do you know?" he asked.

 "Not much," I said. He finally looked up and looked at me for a moment.

 "I'll be willing to help you anyway I can," he said.

 "Thank you for the offer," I said. Silence followed afterward and Michael soon left. An hour after he was gone, I decided to take a walk. I had been doing this often and Watson was use to my leaving without saying anything.

 It was nighttime and there was a chill in the air. It was late autumn and the nights were becoming cold. I pulled my coat tighter around me and looked at the ground. My thoughts where on the case and Michael Thatcher and I couldn't seem to get it out of my mind. I knew then and there I wasn't going to get any sleep that night.

 The cobblestone streets were smooth and the stones unevenly shaped. The buildings, most of them old, looked like giant shadows that would frighten little children. I don't know why I noticed all of this but I did.

 My walk soon led me to a part of London that had alleys and near the place where William Thatcher had died. I thought I'd go to where the murder took place and see if I could find anything.

 I walked through an alley to get there. I was still staring at the ground when I heard voices.

 "Lily, what do you think your doing?"

 "Anthorne, please."

 It was the Davis's voices. I lifted my head and looked ahead. There they where in the middle of the street. Both had looks of rage on their faces. They wore the same clothes from the day before. They didn't notice me.

 "Lily, we needed that," Anthorne said.

 "So did she," Lilah replied. She was completely different from the woman who sat on my couch yesterday. She was curt and anger seemed to pour from her.

 "Please just stop it. Here have it back," said a female voice. A blond hair, blue-eyed girl stood. She had the greasy, wore appearance of Anthorne and Lilah. She had her hand out and in it was a piece of bread.

 "Keep it, Felicia. Anthorne and I will leave now," Lilah said. She then turned and began to walk away. She had very determined air about her and her fists were to her sides.

 "Lily girl, we could have saved that bread for tomorrow. Now we'll have to buy more. That money won't last forever," Anthorne said coming up behind her.

 "I know that, Anthorne. I just-Oh my! Mr. Holmes!" she said when she saw me. Anthorne looked up quickly at me. His expression changed from anger to being aghast and Lilah expression went back to the one she wore the day before.

 "What are you doing here?" Anthorne asked after a while. There was awkwardness about the situation and everyone felt it. The girl they had be talking to, the one Lilah called Felicia, stared at us. She would take steps closer and then stop while the Davis's and I spoke to each other. The closer she got the younger she looked. When I could finally see her clearly, she looked to be 15 years old. What were they doing here? I wonder through I was sure I already knew.

 "I was taking a walk. What are you doing here?" I asked. The two looked at each other. Felicia had just began her stepping closer and then stopping and the taking some more steps. Lilah opened her mouth to answer but Anthorne spoke before she could.

 "We live here," he said and looked at the ground. Lilah's eyes widened. I'd suppose she was going to say something else. Anthorne kept looking at the ground and Lilah stared at him. Felicia stopped walking and was looking at them.

 "What do you mean?" I asked. Anthorne looked up from the ground and glared at me.

 "I mean we live here. In these streets," he almost shouted.

 "Anthorne," Lilah said in a soft, scolding voice and placed a hand on his arm. He turned to look at her and his face softened. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. Felicia had stepped close enough by now that she could hear everything said and if she spoke, she could be heard.

 "I'm sorry about this, Mr. Holmes. But it's about time that Anthorne and I leave," Lilah said.

 "AND JUST WHERE ARE WE GOING?" he yelled at her. I could feel my eyes narrow in anger. I hated to watch a woman yelled at or hit. But for some reason I didn't say anything.

  Lilah flinched but said, "We're going to the church to pray."

  That seemed to only make him angrier. He glared at her and screamed, "AND WHEN HAS GOD EVER ANWSERED OUR PRAYERS? NEVER I TELL YOU, NEVER!"

 "YES HE HAS! Do you remember when Marie Thomas was ill and we prayed that she would recover? Well, the Lord sent a doctor to this part of town and he was kind enough to take care of her," she said. Anthorne glared but didn't say anything. He slowly turned and began to walk in the direction of the church. Lilah sighed and went after him.

 I was left standing there with Felicia. She looked at the ground. And I began to study her. She was short and scrawny. One could almost see her bones. Because of her thinness her eyes looked unusually large. She let her hair hang loose but it was so oily that it was rarely in her face. She wore a dress that look like it was once a bright red but now it had faded to a dully, almost pink color. She had soft, round features.

 She finally looked up at me and asked, "Who are you?"

 "My name is Sherlock Holmes. What is your name?" I asked.

 "Felicia Madison," she said.

 "May I ask why you're here?" I asked. She stared at the ground for a moment and then back at me.

 "My father died when I was about five years old and my mother couldn't find work and keep the house. We were forced into the streets and when I was ten years old a man named William Thatcher told us he had a place for us to live and find work and that we didn't have to pay for it.  My mother found a job and began to earn money. About a year ago, Mr. Thatcher began to demand that we pay a rent. Of course we couldn't refuse and my mother had to take another job to afford the rent and food and other things we needed. She soon became ill and died shortly after. I was told I had to find a job in two months; otherwise I would have to leave and go back into the streets. I couldn't find a job and was force to leave," she said.

 My eyes widened a little at hearing this. She could then possibly be the murderer. But I doubted it for a moment. She hadn't spoke neither with anger nor with bitterness. Only with sorrow but that didn't mean she didn't do it. But she didn't look the height of Anthorne, like Lilah said. But Lilah had been lying then about where she lived and why she was in the streets. Was she lying about the murder to and had I given her that money for no reason? I wondered.

 "Why was Mr. and Miss Davis frightened to see you?" she asked.

 "I'm not sure," I answered.

 "Then why did he say that?" she asked herself.

 "Say what?" I asked. She sighed and said, "Miss Davis is very religious as is Mr. Davis but he was never as religious as Miss Davis. But still, they both go to the church everyday to pray and read out of a bible there. So it surprised me to hear Mr. Davis say that the Lord never answers prayers. Now that I think of it, he's been acting rather strange lately. I suppose it's the fact that Miss Davis saw that awful murder or at least part of it."

 My eyes widened. So Lilah had seen the murder. She wasn't lying about that but was she lying about what happened there? I wondered again.

 "Did she tell you what happened at the murder?" I asked. She then looked worried and bit her lip. She nodded her head and said, "She had come running into the alley and ran to Mr. Davis who was talking with me about what I thought of a job offer he had gotten. He had just gotten there a few minutes ago himself. She was hysterical and she said, 'I just saw a man get murdered, Anthorne. What do I do? What do I do?' It took him a while to calm her but when he did she told him what happen. 'I was coming back from the church,' she said, 'and when I had turned I saw to shadows or shapes. It was so dark I couldn't see their faces. I think it was two men but I'm not sure. One raised his hand just as I got there and had something in it. I think it was a knife and he stabbed the other man with it. What am I supposed to do, Anthorne?' He told her there was nothing she could do for the time being and just to keep quiet about it. I don't know why I just told you that but I suppose there's a reason the Lord made me do it."

 So, Lilah Davis had told the truth about the murder and I hadn't given them the money for no reason.

 "I see. Do you know when the Davis's will get back?" I asked.

 "No, I don't but I know where the church is if you want to talk to them," she said.

 "Will you take me there?" I asked. She nodded and turned around to begin leading me. I never knew how much that decision was going to change everything.

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