An Unforeseen Occurrence
Chapter Two: A Regrettable Remark
November 12th, 1888
Walking quickly outwards from the eminent but crowded establishment of Barnaby & Murchand, chemists to the top medical consultants of Harley Street, Watson paused, and, juggling with the packages he had just emerged with, tried to open his black leather Kruse medical bag with one hand. On succeeding, he set off again briskly, attempting the task of slotting the well wrapped glass vials that were his latest consignment of medical supplies into a secure spot in his rather jumbled bag while moving ever more speedily along the path.
It was always of great convenience to him that Barnaby & Murchand were so expediently located on the corner of Harley Street and Marylebone Road, such a short distance from Baker Street. However, the convenience was never more so keenly felt by him than today, as he was to meet his fiancée that evening for dinner and needed to return to Baker Street as soon as possible to complete the myriad small jobs he had yet to do, before sallying forth once again to meet Mary.
Rummaging about with his case, as he walked smartly, head bowed as he worked, he did his best to avoid the on coming afternoon foot traffic, dodging here and there with surprising alacrity down the long expanse of Marylebone Road.
His luck was in, and he avoided all collisions, until finally, when trying to move out of the way of an oncoming lady whose black skirts he could see from beneath the bowed brim of his hat, he found the task to be impossible as, coming to a halt, he moved to the left only to find her do the same and on moving to the right, so did she.
Finally in mild exasperation and no little embarrassment at the miniature dance, he raised his head. "I do beg your pardon, I am most..." he began, only to trail off on recognizing the woman who blocked his path. "Why, Miss Thurlow!" he exclaimed, blinking in surprise.
Like a feminine reflection of himself, Helen Thurlow looked up from trying to juggle several packages in her arms to stare back at him with an expression of complete surprise, rather shocked at accidentally running into the man who was now her family's consultant physician in London for the second time in a matter of weeks.
"Dr. Watson?" she returned, her lips sliding into a pleased smile. "I'm so very sorry..." she continued, as the boxes again moved in her arms, forcing her to attempt another quick manoeuvre to keep them all from crashing to the ground.
Shifting his still open case to under his arm, he endeavoured to try and forestall any further precarious lurches of her packages by placing a hand on the rather large collection.
"What an extraordinary coincidence!" he exclaimed as he did so. "The chances of us running into each other again like this, and both in such unsteady circumstances...well..." He smiled, shaking his head in wonderment. "I'm sure Holmes could tell me the exact odds, but I'll settle for 'quite astronomical.' Tell me, what brings you to this part of town?"
She sighed in relief, as he gallantly removed a couple of her well wrapped boxes from the top, lightening her load considerably and allowing her to better balance the remaining ones. "Well, my brothers are growing like weeds, and neither their clothes nor their shoes are fitting properly. And as I had to pop into town today to drop off some dresses for a couple of my remaining clients and meet with the lawyers of the trust, I thought I could at least get them some."
She paused, and gave him a rueful smile at the number of her purchases. "And, of course, I found one or two items for myself, and then was foolish enough to enter the bookstore," she continued, glancing behind her at the small shop front a little down the way. "And naturally found some novels I couldn't resist. I fear I may have overdone it..." She sighed, looking rather bewildered at her own behaviour. "I'm usually rather practical, you know…but the having of money and the knowledge that you can afford to make purchases is, I find, still rather novel and somewhat insidiously seductive. One finds one's hand slipping into one's purse with increasing regularity."
He smiled at her rueful expression, knowing full well from increased meetings with her and her mother in his medical capacity that her new found wealth was something she was still coming to terms with. "As much as I wish I could empathise upon the latter, I can most certainly identify with your overloaded predicament!" He shifted the bulky packages he had taken from her. "In practicality's name, I vigorously suggest we hail you a passing cab to use for your convenience during the rest of your shopping trip," he advised, putting down her parcels for a moment so that he could close his medical bag properly, before picking them up again. "In general, such a move will save either you or your parcels an inevitable trip to the ground." He gestured with one full hand, adding, "These paths are infernally uneven."
She chuckled, and nodded. "I was about to before our impromptu dance," she agreed with a twinkle in her eyes. "But how are you, Doctor? Are your wedding plans progressing well? I was dreadfully remiss in not enquiring at our last impromptu appointment."
"Everything is progressing well," he replied with a smile of his own. "Or so I am informed. My fiancée is in complete charge of all decisions regarding our impending marital state…mine is merely to nod approvingly and plot some way to provide some little finance for the future she is planning for us. I am fortunate that Dr. Farquhar, in whose offices you and your mother are meeting with me, is giving me the opportunity to assess the potential of the practice before purchasing it, allowing me a little head start in that way." He chuckled. "I am to dine with Mary this evening at eight, and, no doubt, I will be given a full and resounding briefing on all the latest news. Thus far, I have been spared much...but Christmas looms upon us, and I am sure as we enter the New Year, my errand toll shall start to rise exponentially."
Her smile widened, for despite his words his enthusiasm and quiet excitement were obvious. "I am sure it will all go very smoothly," she consoled. "And how is Mr. Holmes? I suppose you both have been most busy with the many problems of London's citizens."
"One or two small matters...but nothing of note," Watson confirmed with a sigh. "When I left he was scratching that violin of his, and trying to drum up the enthusiasm to go back to writing a monograph on the many criminal usages of some new South American drug or other."
Her expression appeared distinctly impressed. "He plays the violin, writes papers, and does detective work? My...he is rather busy. I am most surprised he finds the time to fit that all in. Indeed, I find that with my brothers and all my other new responsibilities, I barely have time to eat!" she replied in astonishment, before sighing and shaking her head in annoyance. "Which reminds me...I have yet again lost track of all time. Do you know a cafe or tearoom nearby? I forgot to have lunch, and should most certainly eat before I catch the train home."
"Indeed you should," the doctor agreed with a serious countenance. "But not at any tearoom or cafe. You shall accompany me back to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson would only be too glad to provide us all with a spot of late lunch." He saw her begin her polite objections, and shook his head to put them off. "I will hear no other answer but yes, Miss Thurlow. We are without clients at the moment, and you will not be disturbing anything, as Holmes's fiddling when he should be writing is a sure sign of a man in need of distraction from boredom...besides..." he finished, "what kind of gentleman would I be to send you off to eat alone?"
She frowned a little, looking distinctly unsure, and reminding herself about propriety. It simply wasn't done to accompany a man to his home without an escort, not that she wasn't one to bend the rules given sufficient motivation...and she was hungry and Dr. Watson was a family friend...and Baker Street was as much their place of business as their residence.
Finally, she simply nodded, and replied with a smile, "Very well then, Doctor, and thank you. Baker Street, it is. However, I insist you let me pay for the cab, as you are going out of your way to provide me with lunch."
"Nonsense, it's Mrs. Hudson who will be doing that. I'm just sweeping you along back to Baker Street, where I'm heading in any event," he demurred. "But I shall not argue the toss with you further." With an incline of his head, he raised his hand as a hansom cab approached them from the left.
"Nor indeed should you, Doctor," she returned with a smile at him, as the cab drew closer. "For I have a great deal more that I owe you for, beyond the mere provision of lunch and that service you have rendered my family as a medical practitioner."
Watson gazed at her with a slightly quizzical expression. "Oh?" he replied, before the light dawned. "Ah…Mr.Fairfield," he concluded with a slight smile. "The letter of introduction I provided you with the week before last at my surgery was useful?"
"Beyond words, Doctor," she assured him in grateful relief as the cab stopped beside them, and he moved to help her into it. "Beyond words."
The journey was short, and made shorter still by their conversation regarding their recent encounters and the upshot of her dealings with Nicholas Fairfield, an old friend of Watson's. The conversation was truncated as within moments they arrived at 221b Baker Street.
On disembarking the cab, gathering their belongings and entering the hallway, Watson turned to take off her coat after removing his own, and a moment later Mrs. Hudson emerged from the kitchen.
"Good afternoon, Doctor! Back from your errands?" she asked, smiling up at the more genial of her two lodgers, before her eyes caught Helen as she arranged her packages by the door. "Ah...a new client?"
"Not precisely, Mrs. Hudson…an old one, so to speak," he replied as he hung up the two coats. "Do you not recall, Miss Helen Thurlow?" he asked her. .
Helen smiled at the older woman, as she removed her hat pin and hat, and the landlady nodded, her own smile widening on recognition. "Of course!" she enthused with a nod, and moved forward to greet the mourning bedecked young woman. "You are looking very well, my dear. Though I was so sorry to hear about your father. I only learned from Mr. Holmes of the nature of your loss after you briefly called here the day of your father's funeral."
"Thank you," the auburn haired woman replied graciously with a solemn nod of her head.
"So...will you be in for a while yet, Doctor?" Mrs. Hudson asked, turning back to Watson, before grimacing as the violin once again started up, its hurried and angry tones drifting down the stairs. "He's been playing that way all morning...wouldn't touch his lunch, just 'Be gone, Mrs. Hudson!'" She sighed in a succinct imitation. "I do so loathe it when he's bored...becomes quite insufferable, he does!"
Watson gave her a sympathetic look, and glanced up the stairs nervously. "I'll be in until departing for dinner tonight, Mrs. Hudson," he answered her question, before posing one of his own. "He's still as bad, eh?" he asked quietly, his eyes taking in Miss Thurlow as they swept down. "I hope I haven't brought you in a maelstrom of Holmes's moods...he has a tendency to be a trifle...irritable sometimes," he told her, trying to put a brave face on it.
She quirked one slender eyebrow at him, and glanced up the stairs. "I am sure I will fare just fine, Doctor. Unless you think it best that I should go? I can find a tearoom and head to King's Cross," she assured him, not wanting to aggravate a tenuous situation.
"No...no...not at all!" he soothed, moving towards her, his words reassuring himself as much as her. "In fact, you may be just the job to deal with this." With an incline of his head, he indicated for her to go on ahead of him. "Think of it as earning your lunch, Miss Thurlow." Glancing down over the banisters as they climbed, he caught the landlady's eye. "Speaking of which, might I impose upon you, Mrs. Hudson?"
"Of course, Doctor!" she enthused. "I'll go put something together for you straight away. Tea as well?" she asked, heading back into her section of the house.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson!" he called down, expressing both his gratitude and agreement to her suggestion, as he moved on up to the landing and from there to the door of the sitting room ahead of Helen. Opening the door, he entered to find Holmes seated in his chair, and his violin sitting in its case on his desk.
"Holmes…" Watson immediately took in the expectant look on his friend's face, coming to the conclusion that Holmes had himself already deducted that he was not alone. "You'll never guess who I..."
"Miss Thurlow," Holmes interrupted him, as he rose from his chair to stand, naming her well in advance of her appearance at the door. "Yes, Watson, thank you."
On entering, Helen glanced around the room, smiling a little at the fact she found that nothing had changed one iota in three months, before crossing over to the detective and holding out her hand. "Mr. Holmes," she greeted, her tone its usual soft yet melodic timbre. "I apologise if I am interrupting you. I bumped into Dr. Watson a short while ago, and he insisted I come to tea. I hope that is all right?"
"If Watson insisted, you could hardly be blamed for intrusion, Miss Thurlow," he returned, taking her hand and bowing over it, his eyes gazing up at her as he did. "A pleasure to see you again."
She smiled, nodding and turning her gaze to his violin. "I hear you have been practicing today, and indeed heard you downstairs. Mozart was it?"
"You are too kind in your estimation." He inclined his head again, as he let go her hand. "It was merely a concoction of my own. A stream of consciousness style of play I developed to suit my mood and help me concentrate. No doubt, it may have played upon some insentient air of Mozart's in my mind as it went along. Alas, his genius ear for creation eludes me. My own airs are unstructured and meandering in the extreme."
She gazed up at him, her expression distinctly impressed. "Perhaps...but being able to make music simply on the spot shows a goodly degree of talent," she insisted, before crossing over to sit on the couch, and casting a glance at Watson, added, "The doctor tells me that you are in a brief lull at the moment. It must be nice to take a break after so busy an autumn."
He waved an arm at the couch, indicating for her to sit as Watson closed the door and moved to another chair. "Nice is not a term I would use to describe it," he said quietly, his vexed air more than a little evident in his voice, as he waited for her to be seated before doing so himself once more.
"You do not enjoy having time for yourself?" she inquired with a small smile, seeing clear evidence of the contrary being presented in front of her. "Or perhaps the opportunity to channel the time and energy into another pursuit?"
"I enjoy doing the things I enjoy when I wish to do them, not when I am forced to because what I really wish to do is unavailable to me," he replied somewhat contrarily, making Watson shift uneasily in his chair, as he hoped his friend would not allow his frustration at the lack of interesting work and the inevitable accompanying irritability to shine through in front of their guest.
"I require little relaxation, despite what others try to tell me." Holmes's eyes drifted towards Watson meaningfully before moving back to their visitor. "Music and some physical activities like fencing, boxing, riding afford me such relaxation, but my mind quickly grows weary of inactivity and lack of stimulus."
Helen inclined her head a little as she considered that. "You like to keep busy," she summarized, her expression remaining mildly impressed. "Where in London do you indulge your more physical pastimes? Or perhaps you could write a teaching guide to demonstrate your inestimable methods for future consulting detectives…and for posterity?" she suggested, engaging him just as Watson had hoped, the doctor having to dip his head to hide a small smile at the flattery she employed.
Holmes, however, was not easily dissuaded from his dissatisfaction at his ennui. "I box and fence at a club here in town, Miss Thurlow," he replied quickly, "and I have written several monographs on the techniques you speak of. However, one is pure physical activity, the other a mere outpouring of knowledge, neither a stimulus of the mind." He glanced towards the work bench laden with the tools of a chemist. "My experiments afford me some such stimulus, but there are lulls even there...periods where one must wait for results...which tax my underutilised brain greatly."
He glanced at Watson again, and on seeing the trepidation in his friend's face regarding his own manner, he exhaled slowly, attempting to ease his words while endeavouring to relax. "I fear I am not the best of housemates at such times," he admitted. "I become...irritable. I am sure Watson is only too keen to begin married life within his own lodgings if only for that reason alone."
"Nonsense, old chap," Watson responded with a small smile. "In general, you are as fine a housemate as a man could hope for. Life is certainly not dull around you." He shook his head and chuckled softly adding, "All though...I must confess, I do look forward to looking up from reading The Times over breakfast and seeing an entirely more attractive face than yours looking back at me."
"Watson!" Holmes exclaimed, taking an exaggeratedly stricken pose. "You wound me to the quick...and here I thought my features to be quite striking." He arched an eyebrow in jest at his friend. "Or do you say such things only to romanticise me in your writings?"
Watson's laughter bubbled forth again. "You may be assured of it, Holmes," he responded in jocular fashion. "It is merely done to intrigue the ladies and keep the circulation of readers high."
Helen watched the repartee avidly, as she struggled to keep the smile that was insistently tugging on her lips from showing.
Holmes sighed, and looked at her with a small smile. "It is a poor thing when a man may not even look to his best friend to assuage his vanity…though I long ago reconciled myself to my lack of kinship with Adonis."
She quirked an eyebrow at that, thinking he was not nearly as homely as he was trying to present himself to be...in fact, she found him rather striking and...handsome. "I had thought such matters were unimportant to you," she teased. "After all, as you stated to me previously, you are not looking for a romantic companion, where indeed such an assessment would be necessary, and one does not simply choose one's friends based on looks or employ one on his looks, so why should it matter?"
He gazed at her in amusement, before leaning forward, as his eyes wandered over her face with startling intensity and directness, causing Watson to blink at his companion's behaviour. It was hardly a done thing to stare at a lady so.
Her reaction, however, was merely to watch him, unblinking and unwavering, though she did look decidedly amused at his behaviour.
"A little Ponds powder...number five, I would say. The most delicate brush of rouge upon the cheeks, not enough to paint, just enough to lift...and a pale pink lip balm of a generic brand, but most becoming," he decided, sitting back after examining her make up. "You came to town on business...one does not run a business or shop on ones looks...why should it matter?" he returned, folding his arms lightly over his chest as he stretched his legs out. "All of us have a little vanity in ourselves, Miss Thurlow."
Her smile widened, though her cheeks flushed just a little and her eyes dipped. "I never said I did not, Mr. Holmes. However, one does not know whom one will meet in a day. It is best to be prepared for all contingencies."
"Precisely, Miss Thurlow," he replied, inclining his head in absolute agreement. "It is indeed. Especially, when one believes as you do, that the assessment of looks in the obtaining of a romantic companion is important." His eyes remained steadily on her, though an eyebrow rose as he commented on her earlier words, causing her to flush more deeply, as she realised that she had indeed intimated something very much like that, and how frivolous it made her sound. She was about to clarify her point, when he continued on having made his point about her and now seemingly wishing to make another.
"There are those born with a confident disposition...but most of us must learn to grow confident in ourselves. Some have an easier time of it than others thanks to nature's bounty...others must find their place in the world before they can begin to do so. Then, they may blossom, but still seek approval from society around us." He paused for a moment, as he folded his hands. "Vanity is a reflection of a need for confidence in oneself. We, most of us, judge ourselves by how others see us…men and women both."
She nodded slowly, finding truth in that. "And how do you see yourself, Mr. Holmes?" she inquired after a moment.
"A man of logic and science, an ordered active mind in an ordered active body, with a sufficiently confident and positive view of myself and my powers to know when I am right and others are wrong and to say so," he replied instantaneously.
Watson sniffed and crossed his legs, his tone somewhat wry, "Which you do, Holmes...often."
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, as she ran through his description in her mind. "And yet…no reference to the physical, apart from an ordered and active body. You are confident due to your mental processes...your science and logic. You carry faith and pride in that. Everything in its place," she mused, her eyes glancing around the room, a tiny smile on her lips at the piles of papers, notes, maps, and other clutter. "Mostly."
Watson blinked at her final comment, a little embarrassed on his own behalf at that mess, but also a little surprised that, as their guest in their residence, she had voiced what could be construed as a criticism of it. Holmes, for his part, took in the direction of her gaze, and after a moment looked away from both it and her.
"There is logic even in apparent chaos, should one know how to look for it, Miss Thurlow," he murmured quietly, as he stood to retrieve his pipe, his demeanour showing a growing lack of interest in continuing the conversation, as she made a snap and, to his mind, superficial decision on the lay out of his papers.
Hearing the clink of china, and the sound of Mrs Hudson's footsteps on the stairs, Watson moved quickly to open the door for their landlady, while Holmes stood by the fire refilling his pipe facing away from their guest. A second later, Mrs. Hudson bustled through carrying a large tray containing a tea pot, cups and saucers, and a plate of sandwiches, which she deposited on the table with a sigh of relief. "Here you are, Doctor, Mr. Holmes...Miss Thurlow. If you run out, I have some more sandwiches made up downstairs. Feel free to fetch them. I have to go out for an hour or two," she explained to Watson, casting a quick glance at her other lodger's back.
Helen as well regarded the detective's back, a rather thoughtful expression on her face, slipping into one of discomfort at the thought that perhaps she'd offended him with her forthrightly teasing words.
"Thank you, Mrs Hudson," Watson said with a smile. "Be sure to wrap up well. There's a brisk wind blowing today."
She smiled back at her more personable lodger, and nodded. "Not to worry, Doctor. I shall bundle up accordingly," she reassured him, before ambling out the door, and closing it behind her.
Once she was gone, Helen rose to her feet somewhat hesitantly. "I did not mean to offend you, Mr. Holmes. I know something of the idea of finding order in chaos. With your mind, you surely know exactly where everything is, and have grouped accordingly." She paused in looking at his frock coated back, and turned to Watson, feeling rather embarrassed and unsure of herself, before continuing in a quiet voice, "Perhaps, I should go? I did wish to discuss what we talked about in the carriage further with you, but maybe I can make an appointment at your surgery instead."
At that, and on striking a match and putting it to his pipe, Holmes turned back around to face her, drawing gently on the fragrant tobacco with the mildest of looks on his face, as the smoke began to rise.
"You did not..." he said between puffs a resigned air filling his tone, "offend me in...the slightest, Miss Thurlow. I am well used...to such superficially aesthetic remarks from women, hampered as they often are by their natures," he finished, drawing on the pipe as it lit properly and sat down unperturbed. "I am gratified, however, that your mind has shown a capability to see beyond that," he replied, before inquiring, "Tea?"
Watson, feeling the air of affability degenerate under the weight of regrettable remarks and Holmes's snappishness, made a valiant effort to keep things sociable and turned his gaze back to her. "Please…if you have something to discuss with me, do stay," he pressed, seeing how Holmes odd mixture of rebuke and reassurance could more than fail to keep her here.
Helen stared at him with the most wary expression on her face, unsure which of her options to choose. She'd heard enough in his words to know that even if she had not offended him, his resignation and referral once again to generalities amongst women indicated that she had instead disappointed him…and for some reason, she found the latter more disturbing then the former.
She did however wish to speak with his companion and, with an inward sigh, sank back down to the couch. "Very well," she agreed, though her tone showed she had her reservations.
Watson poured the tea, while glancing at the doggedly placid face of his friend. On another day, Holmes might have ignored it as a duck did the rain, but today he was irascible and touchy, his bullishness only having grown in the hours Watson had been out, and had he known he would never have taken Miss Thurlow back for tea. For her slips in comment, mild as they were, had played at the worst of times into Holmes's innate distrust of women as a gender and what he regarded as their superficiality.
As he handed her a cup of tea quickly, he had no doubt that Holmes was resigned to her remark as another indication that his theory was correct. "Milk or lemon, Miss Thurlow? And do you take sugar?" he asked her.
"Just milk, thank you, Doctor," she replied softly, casting a quick glance at the other man in the room, and bit her lip, still feeling rather uncomfortable.
"Holmes?" Watson looked over at him as well. "Are you partaking?"
"Thank you, no, Watson," he answered, as he lounged in his chair. "My pipe is quite sufficient for now."
Watson nodded and went to fetch the milk jug. "Some sandwiches, Miss Thurlow?" he asked from the table, his eyes flitting between the anxious woman and the seemingly uncaring man.
Whereas before she had been rather peckish, after her light-hearted comment gone wrong, she found she had no appetite, and quietly shook her head, cursing herself for her forthright mouth, for she knew that it had always been her downfall.
Watson stared at the rather large pile of sandwiches, suddenly more aware than ever of the others waiting in the kitchen below, and he the only one to eat them. With a sigh that at least broke the rather oppressive silence in the room, he began to fill his plate, resigning himself to sandwiches for his meal, as he would have to eat the vast majority to assuage Mrs. Hudson, even though that would leave him no room for dinner.
"So..." Holmes said quite suddenly, his eyes not moving from they were boring into the fire, "you have business with Watson, Miss Thurlow? Pray...do not let me interfere. What might the good doctor do for you? I'm sure he is only too keen to know."
Sitting down with his overburdened plate of sandwiches and balancing it with his tea, Watson nodded eagerly, glad not only to hear it, but to interrupt the silence as well. "Please, yes...do go on. What can I do for you?"
She swallowed, her wary eyes turning from Watson to Holmes once more. "I did plan on sending a note to Dr. Watson in the next day or so for an appointment to speak with him. However, since I was fortunate to bump into him today, I had thought to simply make my inquiries now. But, if it is inconvenient, I can simply follow through with my original intention, and just return at another time," she explained, turning back to the doctor. "I do not wish to put either of you out in any way."
"You are not!" Watson assured her swiftly and kindly, before glancing at his colleague. "Is that not so, old man?" he urged.
"Not in any way," Holmes said quietly, waving his hand with the pipe in it he gestured towards her. "Continue, Miss Thurlow."
She swallowed again, and nodded. "Very well," she replied, taking sip of her tea before continuing, "I would first like to thank you, Doctor, for your kind and most helpful counsel you gave me regarding the matter I was concerned with a couple of weeks ago, and directing me to Mr. Fairfield. You not only saved me a great deal of worry, but helped me find someone who I can trust to ensure that matters such as those will never happen again."
She gave him a very grateful smile, as she took another sip of her tea. "It is because of this matter, that I have become frankly even more aware of myself as being a woman managing a large company with many rather gaping holes of knowledge. I want to have my father's vision flourish, and, indeed, leave my role in fourteen years time having not only managed the company, but have improved upon it in some small way. But I cannot do that, and be constantly in the dark. I need someone who understands how this all works, or who can point me in the direction of someone who does. I need someone I trust to go to for counsel and aid." She took a deep breath. "And I would be very honoured if you would consider aiding me in this."
Watson stared at her with an expression of stunned pleasure, trying and failing to find a way of responding, while Holmes, for his part, finally turned his head back to the pair, his eyes going to straight to his friend.
"Watson? Just what have you been getting up to in the world of high finance?" he asked with amusement. "Have you added pecuniary consultant to physician and detective on your resume?"
Watson flushed slightly with embarrassment and coughed. "No...no...it was nothing really, Holmes," he insisted, shaking his head quickly. "Miss Thurlow contacted me near the start of the month while she was in town as she said. She was a little perturbed by a situation that had developed at the Head Office of Balfour & Thurlow, during a meeting of the Board of Directors...or rather after the meeting. Apparently one of the directors, a man named Martin Harrison, had contacted Miss Thurlow several times before the meeting to inform her that it was imperative that she vote for the takeover bid of an American distribution company…something that was tabled to appear on the agenda at that meeting."
"He informed her that if she did not put her casting vote towards it, that she would be putting the very future of the company in jeopardy as expansion into America was absolutely essential for survival. He was most insistent and used, what could only be, what I would describe as a subtle yet undeniable combination of fatherly advice and scare tactics designed specifically to frighten a young lady unsure in the ways of high finance into a quick decision."
"He assured her his haste and urgency was down to the nearness of this important meeting, and she needed to make a firm decision in advance as things would get confusing for a lady who had no experience of such meetings. He gave her some documentation on the subject, which on scrutinising it I could make neither heads nor tails of, and yet he had told her to trust him on this matter based on it and on the long good standing he had held with her father, while assuring her he had only her interests and that of the company at heart."
She nodded in remembrance. "I have heard that line taken much too often as of late, and I simply do not make decisions rashly. As quick as my mouth can be, I never make an important decision on something so vital without knowing all the facts involved."
"But..." Watson continued with a nod, "the facts were in short supply as the board was deeply divided over this matter, and everyone had a different tale to tell that contradicted the other. So...Miss Thurlow, exasperated as indeed anyone might be, sought me out merely to have a male head to bounce it off, and to see if I might have any little insight as to their ways."
Holmes's eyes moved over to take in hers. "You did not go to your mother's male relatives for advice and assistance?" he enquired. "I seem to recall your father saying many of them still worked at the firm."
"Oh yes," she agreed. "That they do...and all were very willing and free with their advice. And...as my father did inform me prior to his death...all were very motivated to their own self interests." She looked vaguely disgusted at the recollections this brought. "I had hoped he was merely exaggerating...but indeed, he quite hit it on the nail. Men whom I had known my whole life and thought sincere, and indeed are in matters of family, are vastly different when their pocketbooks come into play."
Holmes nodded slowly, before turning his attention back to Watson, and gesturing for him to continue.
"Well," his colleague continued, putting down the tea he had sipped on while she had been talking, "needless to say, I'm a poorer financier than I am a detective...but I do have connections, and a knack for keeping them. So, while I listened, I took the line that Mr. Harrison's tactics smacked to me of desperation."
"Quite right, Watson," Holmes agreed. "Any businessman confident of what he was saying would've taken the time to provide Miss Thurlow with adequate proof of his claims, and a proper proposal rather than merely badgering her continuously. There was entirely too much urgency and use of emotional appeals to past relationships involved."
"Just so," Watson concurred, as he continued, "I put Miss Thurlow in the way of Nicholas Fairfield, an old army chum of mine who now works quite successfully in the city. I gave her a letter of introduction, explained the situation, and asked him if he would be so good as to investigate the claims put forward by Mr. Harrison..." He paused, a smile forming on his face, quite enjoying the attention he was getting from Holmes in the recounting of the story, and the feeling of the tables reversing somewhat. "What he discovered was exactly what I suspected," he said a trifle smugly.
"Harrison had a controlling interest in the American firm...well disguised, most probably using a third party trading name...but traceable by an alert and experienced brokerage or banker," Holmes interjected just as Watson was about to say exactly that.
The older man deflated, slightly irritated and glum that his friend had naturally deduced the ending. "Yes, Holmes," he agreed with a sigh. "Precisely."
"And so Harrison would've made an absolute killing on the purchase," Holmes said quietly before enthusing, "Capital, Watson! Splendid...a job well done."
The smile returned swiftly to the physician's face, his demeanour perking up considerably at that. "Yes, well...it was quite obvious really when you think about it."
"Nevertheless, you responded to a request for help, followed the logical course of reasoning and action...and uncovered the impending fraud. Well done, old man!" his friend congratulated with a smile, which only increased as he watched Watson preen a little.
Helen found herself smiling as well. "Indeed, I am now doubly indebted to him," she added with a twinkle in her eyes. "And as I told him earlier, I am deeply grateful for all he has done for me and my family." Turned back to Watson, she continued, "I think I am a good judge of character, Doctor, and I did not come to my decision lightly. You have shown me that you are kind and true, and wise enough to know your limits. I cannot think of anyone more suitable to turn to for aid and impartial advice. Will you help me?"
After a moment, during which a deep flush spread over his cheeks, Watson set aside his plate of sandwiches and stood up, offering her his hand, and bowed over hers once she'd taken it. "Miss Thurlow, I would be honoured," he told her earnestly, and upon seating himself once more, took on a serious expression. "Contact me whenever you wish, but as you come up to town every week, might I suggest a semi regular meeting...maybe twice a month?" He paused, casting a quick glance at his fellow lodger. "At my practice perhaps."
"Why your practice, Watson?" Holmes asked, striking another match to relight his sputtering pipe.
"I...well..." Watson looked at him, glancing at Helen from the corner of his eye. "I wouldn't want to disturb you."
Helen turned to gaze at him, her eyes having returned to their more evaluating state, as she nodded in agreement. "I agree. I have no wish to inconvenience you, Mr. Holmes. You are a busy man, and I would hate to have my business with Dr. Watson be even the slightest disturbance to your work."
"It is you who would be disturbed," Holmes pointed out. "You would rarely get enough peace at Watson's surgery to have any kind of conversation. This too is Watson's place of occupation," he continued. "And it is...God knows..." He heaved a great sigh at his lack of work. "A great deal quieter than Watson's practice when his patients know he's there...and patients can sniff out a doctor in the house better than the most well developed bloodhound." He put out his match, and tossed it in the fire. "Split them if you will...but give yourselves at least one chance of a quiet consultation a month."
The young woman merely turned back to the older man at the table, awaiting his verdict.
Watson looked at him carefully. "Well...if you're sure, Holmes," he said slowly. "We could split the meetings, one here, one there? Perhaps meet for lunch, Miss Thurlow, rather than at my practice? I lunch out on the days I hold my practice to avoid patients as Holmes says...Mary...Miss Mary Morstan, my fiancée, usually joins me on those days. I'm sure she would be only too pleased to make your acquaintance, if you don't mind that is?"
Helen smiled gratefully and nodded. "Of course, she is more than welcome. If you do not think she will be horribly bored, that is."
"On the contrary," he assured her with a grin, "Mary would be only too fascinated to hear about the world of high finance and wheeling and dealing. She is a remarkably level-headed woman as Holmes can attest to…a very calming influence, just the sort of person you'd need to have around you after a jangling morning dealing with overstuffed men in Saville Row suits."
Helen laughed in spite of herself. "Then, I shall look forward to meeting her, Doctor. For dealing with such men is rather tiring and more than a little stressful."
"Wonderful," he enthused. "Then, shall we say the second and fourth Friday of every month? Unless needs dictate otherwise, of course."
"That sounds like an eminently sound plan, Doctor," she agreed, taking a sip of her tea, and breathing an inward sigh of relief.
"I shall inform Mary this evening when I go out to dine with her," Watson continued with a nod, shooting a quick glance at Holmes again. "As next week is the fourth Friday, we can meet all together for lunch. I'm sure she will be insistent on that. After that, we move into December. If you prefer, we can meet in town for lunch then too…as I'm sure you will be shopping for Christmas as well, and it might be easier for you?" he inquired, glancing at Holmes yet again, as he tried to gauge his reaction. However, if his friend had any indication that he was deliberately keeping her clear of him despite his insistence that having her here was fine, he gave no indication of it.
She followed the doctor's glance, and nodded, feeling her anxiety return a little. "Whatever you think is best, Dr. Watson. Either location is perfectly acceptable to me."
"Perhaps, it might be best...for the Christmas period," he said softly with a slightly weak smile. He had hoped Holmes's admiration for how Miss Thurlow had handled herself throughout her father's case would stand her in good stead with him, and their meeting in St. Albans had seemed amicable enough, but once again, things hadn't quite gone the way he'd hoped. Holmes may have been calm and cool on the outside, but he had his own ideas, and, on occasion, was the touchiest and most unpredictable of men. He sighed internally, best to have some time go by before they met again.
She inclined her head, finishing the last of her tea, before rising to her feet, and crossing over to the table and laying her cup down on the tray. "Of course, Doctor," she replied with a tiny smile, her eyes glancing just for a moment to the smoking detective before exhaling just a little. "And now, I really should be going."
Watson rose swiftly to his feet. "Of course...you have to get back to St. Albans and it's already getting dark. We should let you go."
Unfolding himself from his seat, Holmes stood slowly. "A pleasure to see you again, Miss Thurlow," he said, his pipe in the corner of his mouth where he held it, as he inclined his head politely. "Thanks to your new mentor, I'm sure we will have occasion to meet again."
She returned the gesture, and gave him a small smile. "I'm sure we will," she agreed, before pausing, and then quickly saying, "Again...I would like to apologise if I did in any way offend you. I assure you it was not my intention."
"And I assure you once again, that none was taken, Miss Thurlow," he responded, his face as composed and unreadable as ever. "I wish you well on your journey back home, and my regards to your mother and to your brothers."
"Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I will convey it to them this evening," she replied, turning back to his partner. "And thank you again, Doctor. I will look forward to meeting with you and Miss Morstan next Friday."
"I too, Miss Thurlow. Now, I will walk you out," Watson offered gallantly. "We shall get you a cab."
"Thank you. That is most kind," she returned with a smile, as she followed him out the room.
As he closed the door behind him, and walked with her down the stairs, Watson waited while she donned her coat. "Miss Thurlow," he said at length, "I must apologise for my friend...as I mentioned, he has been rather touchy these past few days, and I'm afraid you received an edge of it."
She sighed and shook her head. "No...he is not to blame. I only meant to tease him to lighten the mood...and I'm afraid I misjudged the situation, and it backfired." She gave him a wry smile. "I'm afraid my long years alone, and now spending time with lawyers and financiers, has left my witty repartee in dire need of a refresher course. The absence of finishing school creeps through, does it not?" She shook her head with a small self deprecating chuckle.
"Not in the slightest, I assure you," he replied with an incline of his head, giving her an encouraging smile. "Finishing school would merely have gilded the lily in my estimation," he complimented her, causing her to blush with pleasure and thanks. "And your repartee is only in need of a little fine tuning regarding its timing. Holmes is rather like a thoroughbred stallion, I'm afraid…as highly strung as that instrument of his with odd notions that run through that otherwise brilliant mind of his...when things are said to him, and indeed who says them, can be just as important as what is said sometimes. It doesn't make him an easy man to get along with at times..." He paused with a sigh. "But there are a great many compensations, I assure you."
"I see," she murmured, giving him a resigned look, before moving to pick up her parcels. "It is well then that I did not mention the bullet holes I observed in the wall over the dining table, seeing as he had gone to the trouble to cover them with a rather charming painting."
Watson blinked in surprise at her having noticed them; with only a partial one or two visible, peeking out from beneath the frame of the landscape hanging there, it took a keen eye to catch them. For all that, the doctor gave her an embarrassed look. "Yes...sometimes he...he practices his marksmanship in the house," he explained with another long suffering sigh. "It's a wonder Mrs. Hudson's nerves aren't shot to pieces after all this time, if you'll pardon the expression." He shook his head wryly. "All though, as you say, had you queried him on those, he most likely would have told you about that cheerfully. There is no hidden element in that, as there is in his filing 'system,'" he mused with an apologetic shrug. "He is, I'm afraid, a complex, contrary, and contradictory man."
"As I am quickly becoming aware," she agreed, straightening with her parcels in hand.
Opening the front door for her, he accompanied her outside, and moved to the pavement, looking for and gesturing to a cab near the end of the road, before turning back to help her with her parcels once more. "Well, I can promise you a more sedate and calm time next time we meet, Miss Thurlow. My Mary is not at all like my roommate, nor vice versa, thank the lord above. I can think of no worse fate than being married to Sherlock Holmes," he concluded with a chuckle.
She laughed at little at that. "Heavens forefend, Doctor," she agreed. "I shall await your telegram as to the location for our business luncheon, and wish you well on your evening out tonight and beyond," she added with an incline of her head, before climbing into the waiting cab, once her packages had been loaded in.
"Thank you, and safe home, Miss Thurlow," Watson returned with a smile. "I'll be in touch soon. Kings Cross Station," he called up to the cab driver, and stepped back, giving a short wave to see her off on her way.
Once the cab turned out of the street, he sighed, rather thankful he didn't have to spend the evening with Holmes, who was rather obviously destined now for one of his moods, and turned to glance up and find his friend moving away from the window above, where he had obviously been watching, and disappear back into the sitting room.
A few moments later, the strains of the violin echoed out into the street below, and shaking his head at his behaviour, Watson headed back into the house muttering, "Complex , contrary and contradictory," to himself over and over again.
Authors' Note: Thank you all for such kind and insightful reviews! Yes! We're back! (Why do I feel an Eminem song nagging at my brain now...heh) We hope you enjoying the story, and continue to do so. I must say it's fun getting to peek into characters' heads... :D Now to address some comments: Why does Holmes seem tired? Well, we picked up as they were on the train back from Dartmoor and the three-four weeks they were occupied with Hound...so if he seems rather tired, that's why. The mystery - sorry folks...no telling...but I think you'll really enjoy it (I'm under orders not to blab...my co-writer knows where I live...gulp). Helen's outspokenness...yeah...well, as you just read...she doesn't always say the right thing at the right time. Still... And as for hopes of romance...well, as promised there is some...Watson's getting married! smiles cheekily at readers Thank you again for the reads and/or reviews, and please feel free to keep telling us what you think. We love hearing from you! Till next chapter... Aeryn (of aerynfire)