Previous Chapter Continued:
"Salaam alikum effendi," I said, an Arabic phrase of greeting and effendi, being an honorary address to a male. "Alikum es-salaam," he replied.
It was then that we both noted Mrs. Hudson and Uncle John's astounded looks.
"Maalesh," I said under my breath, Holmes heard and chuckled.
"Welcome, Mary Russell," he said.
"Hello, Mr. Holmes," I answered.
Chapter Three
Uncle John, though at this age he looked more like a cousin, gestured me over to a comforting looking chair.
"Please, sit here, Mrs. Russell," he said, motioning to said chair.
"Thank you."
"So tell us Mary Russell, what brought you to the river at night, in the state you were in?" questioned Holmes. He in turn sat down in a chair directly across from mine. I had no doubt that his interest must be flared. A small Indian or south Asian looking man had stood from the floor when I had first entered the room. At my being seated, he stood near the far wall, in front of the flat's entrance.
Holmes' words, "river at night" registered quickly. I had obviously been found in a river. Was that the way time travel worked, I wondered? What would be a good answer? Thinking quickly, I answered simply, "I don't know."
"You don't know?" spattered Holmes repeating my words in a sadistic way.
"Yes, that's what I said."
"What do you last recall, Mrs. Russell?" Uncle John asked, or should I say simply Watson?
"I, I, I," I paused, this could be difficult. "I don't know, I don't remember, everything is difficult to remember." I shuddered theatrically, hoping that Holmes would buy the performance.
"Indeed?" Holmes said softly. He walked to a table and asked, "Would you like some tea?" Watson's lip jolted as though he was about to say something, then didn't.
"Very well," I said. Once that was taken care of, we were all seated once again, save the Indian looking man.
"Can you tell me what happened, Mr. Holmes?" I asked suddenly, feeling a giddy temptation creeping through into my thoughts.
"Ah, you know my profession," he stated. His lips moved rapidly.
"Yes, I know something about it, due to the various newspaper articles," I said, recalling that the articles in his room had been about cases that he had actually been mentioned in, as well as, in most cases, not mentioned.
"Well, as you claim," he paused, watching my reaction and then getting none, "That you do not know, then I will try," he said. He studied me carefully and then proceeded to say, "You are from America, though have not been there within the past few years."
"You are correct, Mr. Holmes," I said, trying my best to remain calm. This was sounding just like one of the romanticized versions of Uncle John's writings.
"Yes, yes, you are originally from the North American continent. You now, however, live in the country." He paused again and then continued. "You write and read Hebrew, are very observant and study something, perhaps physiology or theology."
"Theology? Physiology? Holmes, are you certain, clearly Mrs. Russell is a lady," interrupted Watson. Ah, the man of the late 19th century. I sighed inwardly, clearly no thought that I could think and act. Though I had thought Uncle John to be a bit above that sort of thing, perhaps it was merely the fields of study, I reasoned.
"Quite certain," Holmes stated firmly. "And you are very observant and intelligent, though why you were attempting to hide it by portraying a person of normal intelligence, even while being able to converse in Arabic, is somewhat beyond me at the moment."
"I see," I said, taking a slow sip from my tea.
"I think you do," he replied.
"So you do not know how I came to be in the river?" I asked.
"No, but if you wish I can find out," he stated.
"Yes, I think that would be the best course," I said, thinking about the situation. What would he discover? Some sort of device that brought me from the future? What would his reaction be if he discovered the fact that I was from the future, let alone his future wife?
"Of course," he said.
"Where do you live?" asked Watson, "So that we may reach you?"
"I live," I paused, thinking that 'Sussex' might not be the best answer, "As you said in the country; however, I am staying at a hotel right now, the Winters Hotel, on Post Cross." The hotel had been one that I had read about somewhere in the papers during the my time involved with the Margery Childe incident. The hotel had been burned to the ground mysteriously in 1907. However, right now it was still up and open and I had read that it was supposedly one of the best in Europe.
"Ah yes," said Watson, "Very nice, old hotel." An understatement, the hotel was elegant, so I read, and undoubtedly expensive. As for old, it had been built nearly seventy years ago.
"Excellent. Mary Russell, Mrs. Russell, I will look into this matter for you," started Holmes.
I stood up quickly and interrupted him, "Thank you, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson and thank Mrs. Hudson as well when she returns." I had noted her leaving the building a few minutes ago through one of the front windows.
"Of course," replied Watson. "We will look into this matter Mrs. Russell."
"Oh and Mr. Holmes, did either of you perhaps locate a pair of glasses, I can't really see well from a distance without them." I said shortly.
"Of course, here you are," Watson handed me my glasses, one of the rims was bent a bit, but the glass was thankfully intact.
"Oh, Mrs. Russell," said Holmes as the flat door was opened as I was about to leave, "Is your husband staying in London as well?"
"Yes, Mr. Holmes, he is."
~~~~~
What possessed me to say that? Now I could imagine Holmes, in his prime, dashing across London searching for a Mr. Russell and searching out what had brought me to the river at night. He would not find a husband by the name of Mr. Russell. No indeed, he would not find a husband at all unless he went to the future to greet himself.
As I did not have any money with me, and I was wearing a parlor maid's garb I decided against fetching a hansom, and instead walked the twenty, long blocks to the hotel. Thankfully, Watson had leant me a strong coat to protect myself from the wind and temperature of February. They had not, I noted, offered to get me a cab, which I assumed this meant Holmes meant to follow me to the hotel.
As I walked upon the narrow sidewalks that surrounded the tall buildings of my husband's youth and life I saw several people. Beggars and street urchins were already underfoot asking for a dime every step of the first nine blocks. The bitter wind was still present, though the coat helped t great extent.
Then as I walked out of one part of London and entered another, I was greeted with the site of dozens of newspaper boys in a line, all representing different papers and attempting to get people to buy their papers. As I walked by I noted a headline stating "Another Handless Murder". My curiosity, as you no doubt could imagine was stirred. A handless murder? The urge to buy the paper was strong, however I resisted, seeing as I had no money.
The following blocks were a bundle of shopkeepers and laborers and I felt a pain in my gut at the difference in times. Would I ever return to Sussex and my Holmes? I wondered. The hotel soon came into view. It's tall structure was spellbinding, even for this date. It couldn't have been more than three stories yet it carried a presence that was undeniable.
As I entered the building a great heat wave hit me, it was much warmer in here. Around the lobby several society ladies were having a late breakfast, I noted the lobby also lead the way the hotel's restaurant. This could be useful. As I walked to the main desk I formed my plan.
There, I decided I would change one of the signed names in the registration book to Mr. and Mrs. Russell.as I glanced at the book I looked for the perfect name, ah! At last! Here was at least one thing that I was in control of, Mr. and Mrs. James Lowell!
However, things were not that simple. A manager of some sort at the hotel came up.
"Excuse me, Madame," he began, looking down at my outfit of a maid. "Are you checking in?"
"Yes, I am," I said hastily, thinking of a plan. Yes, it was the only way. He handed me a pen and an inkbottle, I made up my mind then. Scratching quickly with the pen, I wrote out a particular name, one that Holmes would find, and I then, as the manager turned his head to talk to a boy about another guest's baggage, turned the "L" in Lowell to an "R", which was not too difficult and then I outlined the "O" a bit more so to make it appear a "U" then the "W" was made to a pair of "Ss" and finally, instead of Lowell you had Russell.
Mr. and Mrs. Lowell, I noted were not due to check out for another two days, Thursday. I had only until then to think more carefully about this situation.
~~~~
Back to Baker Street: Watson's POV
"Well Holmes," I said, "A lot has happened."
"Indeed, we shall talk a few moments then proceed to begin our investigation." Holmes stated, putting down his pipe, and tipping the ashes into his leftover porridge.
"What think you of woman?" asked Hari, who had moved to sit back at the table.
"A very pretty young woman," I said.
"It seems you say that a great deal about many of the female clients," Holmes commented.
"Now, Holmes," I protested.
"It's all right, old fellow, calm down," he said, standing and stretching.
"Well what do you think of the woman, Hari?" I asked the smaller man.
"Diff-er-ent, wise," he said slowly.
"Yes, she is different, isn't she," Holmes murmured.
I glanced over at him, his eyes half closed in deep thought. "Holmes, what do you plan to do?" I asked. "Go to the river, ask questions, the hotel," I suggested.
"We shall follow her, when she leaves the hotel. Now, as she had no money with her, and coincidently, I did not bring that up,-" Holmes began, only to be interrupted by myself.
"No money! That poor woman, I can't believe I didn't think-" I started.
"Nonsense, if she is who she states she is, then she surely has plenty of money," Holmes said, "And I deliberately did not bring that subject up, due to the fact that you would most likely give her some, and she could then hire a cab somewhere, versus actually walking to the hotel."
"Oh, I see," I said. "Hari, we shall be going out, do you wish to stay here or go back to Murray's hotel?"
"I stay here, case some-one come," he stated.
"All right, fine, just don't mess with the experiments," Holmes said hurriedly. He then, grabbed his coat and motioned to me to leave.
"We'll be back," I said, not saying "soon" due to the fact that Holmes' quests or cases were not always "soon" over.
Once outside, I asked Holmes, "What do you think of Hari?"
"Most interesting chap."
"That's right, you talked to him, what did he say?"
"Many things, mainly why he is with Murray."
"And why is that?"
"Murray saved his life."
"Ah, that would explain the companionship of the two, and Hari's supposed acting like a servant," I stated.
"Somewhat, but do hurry along, this case may prove to be interesting," Holmes said. Little did he know just how interesting it may prove to be.
Back to Russell:
I admit that writing that name had not been the smartest thing for me to do. I should have simply wrote Susan Smith or something of that sort, otherwise Holmes would grow suspicious, know that I knew more than I should. He would then track me down. I should have waited until I did something that drastic, I should have sat alone for a day and pondered what I should do! This was a very dangerous situation--- that I knew. Anything I did would affect the future!
By writing that name down I changed Dr. Watson's account of the case "The Greek Interpreter". Indeed, when that case took place, Watson had never even known of Mycroft! Now though, I realized, my very presence in his life, slight though it was, was changing things already.
I had two days till Thursday; two days till Holmes would look outside the hotel. I knew that his interest was aroused. I could tell it in the slight glint in his eyes. Where to go? I asked myself. Not the hotel, I couldn't pay for it, I needed someplace heated, comforting, small, easily located by myself and not others---of course one of Holmes' boltholes.
I knew of at least two. One in a large building home to several stores and another near where Margery Childe's Temple of God once stood. It was still there in 1923, I had no idea what it was today. Deciding that the shopping area was my best bet, and only option within a mile, I walked from the hotel, after the manager gave me a key and an oily smile.
The bolthole, I thought, would be the perfect place. Small, cramped, but it might be right. My only fears were that I would go mad from spending so much time in the hole or be discovered and taken to a late 19th century police station!
It was perhaps forty minutes by the time I discovered the shopping center, and my worries almost escalated. The shopping area was completely different! Well, what did you expect? Things to stay the same for thirty-six years? I asked myself. The area was the same only the building had not yet been built.
~~~~~~~
Holmes' POV
"She studies Theology!" said Watson, after a brief lapse of silence.
"Yes, she told us that," I replied.
"Isn't that odd?" he stated.
"Indeed, especially for a woman," I noted. This woman was most peculiar. Never in all my life had I encountered one similar.
"What do you make of it, Holmes?" Watson asked.
"What do I make of what?" I snapped, I was trying to think! This woman, there was something about her, something that didn't make sense.
"I," he paused, caught off guard by my reaction, but then continued. "The woman, there is something about her, isn't there, something that bothers you?" He had read my thoughts, or at least was thinking similar ones.
"Perhaps, but there is something amiss. The bruises, they were not caused by oars from a ship or boat, as I first believed. I had talked with Hari about that as well, He claimed that the oars were used near the shoulders and the feet, due to the position of the body when they found her," I said carefully.
"So you mean the bruises were there before she came to the river?" Watson asked.
"Yes, I think so, something happened, and I believe that she does not know," I said.
"Shock? Could she be blocking events from her memory?"
"Possibly that could explain some things."
"What do you suppose the bruises came from?"
"Describe them, Watson, remember that I did not see the bruises."
"Ah, they were each identical, there was a long thin area, but then this rounded off to a flat top."
"Similar then, to a cane, perhaps?" I suggested.
"Yes, like a cane. Wait, Holmes, that would mean---"
"Yes, that she was beaten, twice." I said.
"For a woman of that class, her husband, perhaps?"
"Possibly. Here we are, the hotel." Indeed, we had arrived at the hotel. "Let's take a look at the registration book."
"Manager!" Watson called over, "We need to take a quick look at this registration book."
"And who are you to look through it?" he asked.
"Dr. Watson, and Sherlock Holmes," Watson said, stressing my name.
"Sherlock, who, you mean that detective fellow?"
"Yes, the detective fellow, now if you will please let us take a brief look," I began.
"I don't know," he began.
"Watson," I said, lifting an eyebrow. Watson took out a few coins and handed it to the man.
"I still don't know," the man persisted.
"Very well, just give him a five pound note," Watson did so and soon we were looking over the book.
"Only one entry today Holmes, I can't seem to read that writing," he said.
"Here, here let me see," I glanced at the words and laughed. A sharp laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. "Watson, the woman is on to us," I said, look what she has written:
MRS. MYCROFT HOLMES
"Mycroft?" Watson asked. "I don't understand, who is this Mycroft?"
"My brother." My mind was in inner turmoil. This woman knew of my brother! She knew that we would follow her! Did she know of Mycroft's possession? Did she even know Mycroft?
"Holmes, you never told me that you have a brother!"
"I do."
"So she is your sister in-law?" Watson said, amazed.
"Nonsense, Mycroft is a bachelor to the bone, and if he married," I Chuckled a bit, "then it would be more astonishing then if I were to marry." However, a small thought entered my mind. What if she worked with the government? What if, this was a cover, and this was her clue to signal me out of following her?
"So, this woman," Watson said, getting over the shock of not knowing, "Knew about your brother, knew his name and wrote herself down as having been married to him?"
"Yes, it doesn't make much sense. See here, she has changed the name," he paused glancing more closely. "Lowell to Russell, obviously she is playing a tricky game. We shall have to be careful, Watson, very careful. This woman, whatever she intends to do, was telling us the truth to some extent, but is clever. Perhaps maybe more than clever."
"What do we do now Holmes?" Watson asked.
"Would like to meet my brother?"
Author's note: Thanks a bunch to March Hare for beta reading!!! Sorry for the slight delay in the posting! Thanks to all the reviewers! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!!!
"Salaam alikum effendi," I said, an Arabic phrase of greeting and effendi, being an honorary address to a male. "Alikum es-salaam," he replied.
It was then that we both noted Mrs. Hudson and Uncle John's astounded looks.
"Maalesh," I said under my breath, Holmes heard and chuckled.
"Welcome, Mary Russell," he said.
"Hello, Mr. Holmes," I answered.
Chapter Three
Uncle John, though at this age he looked more like a cousin, gestured me over to a comforting looking chair.
"Please, sit here, Mrs. Russell," he said, motioning to said chair.
"Thank you."
"So tell us Mary Russell, what brought you to the river at night, in the state you were in?" questioned Holmes. He in turn sat down in a chair directly across from mine. I had no doubt that his interest must be flared. A small Indian or south Asian looking man had stood from the floor when I had first entered the room. At my being seated, he stood near the far wall, in front of the flat's entrance.
Holmes' words, "river at night" registered quickly. I had obviously been found in a river. Was that the way time travel worked, I wondered? What would be a good answer? Thinking quickly, I answered simply, "I don't know."
"You don't know?" spattered Holmes repeating my words in a sadistic way.
"Yes, that's what I said."
"What do you last recall, Mrs. Russell?" Uncle John asked, or should I say simply Watson?
"I, I, I," I paused, this could be difficult. "I don't know, I don't remember, everything is difficult to remember." I shuddered theatrically, hoping that Holmes would buy the performance.
"Indeed?" Holmes said softly. He walked to a table and asked, "Would you like some tea?" Watson's lip jolted as though he was about to say something, then didn't.
"Very well," I said. Once that was taken care of, we were all seated once again, save the Indian looking man.
"Can you tell me what happened, Mr. Holmes?" I asked suddenly, feeling a giddy temptation creeping through into my thoughts.
"Ah, you know my profession," he stated. His lips moved rapidly.
"Yes, I know something about it, due to the various newspaper articles," I said, recalling that the articles in his room had been about cases that he had actually been mentioned in, as well as, in most cases, not mentioned.
"Well, as you claim," he paused, watching my reaction and then getting none, "That you do not know, then I will try," he said. He studied me carefully and then proceeded to say, "You are from America, though have not been there within the past few years."
"You are correct, Mr. Holmes," I said, trying my best to remain calm. This was sounding just like one of the romanticized versions of Uncle John's writings.
"Yes, yes, you are originally from the North American continent. You now, however, live in the country." He paused again and then continued. "You write and read Hebrew, are very observant and study something, perhaps physiology or theology."
"Theology? Physiology? Holmes, are you certain, clearly Mrs. Russell is a lady," interrupted Watson. Ah, the man of the late 19th century. I sighed inwardly, clearly no thought that I could think and act. Though I had thought Uncle John to be a bit above that sort of thing, perhaps it was merely the fields of study, I reasoned.
"Quite certain," Holmes stated firmly. "And you are very observant and intelligent, though why you were attempting to hide it by portraying a person of normal intelligence, even while being able to converse in Arabic, is somewhat beyond me at the moment."
"I see," I said, taking a slow sip from my tea.
"I think you do," he replied.
"So you do not know how I came to be in the river?" I asked.
"No, but if you wish I can find out," he stated.
"Yes, I think that would be the best course," I said, thinking about the situation. What would he discover? Some sort of device that brought me from the future? What would his reaction be if he discovered the fact that I was from the future, let alone his future wife?
"Of course," he said.
"Where do you live?" asked Watson, "So that we may reach you?"
"I live," I paused, thinking that 'Sussex' might not be the best answer, "As you said in the country; however, I am staying at a hotel right now, the Winters Hotel, on Post Cross." The hotel had been one that I had read about somewhere in the papers during the my time involved with the Margery Childe incident. The hotel had been burned to the ground mysteriously in 1907. However, right now it was still up and open and I had read that it was supposedly one of the best in Europe.
"Ah yes," said Watson, "Very nice, old hotel." An understatement, the hotel was elegant, so I read, and undoubtedly expensive. As for old, it had been built nearly seventy years ago.
"Excellent. Mary Russell, Mrs. Russell, I will look into this matter for you," started Holmes.
I stood up quickly and interrupted him, "Thank you, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson and thank Mrs. Hudson as well when she returns." I had noted her leaving the building a few minutes ago through one of the front windows.
"Of course," replied Watson. "We will look into this matter Mrs. Russell."
"Oh and Mr. Holmes, did either of you perhaps locate a pair of glasses, I can't really see well from a distance without them." I said shortly.
"Of course, here you are," Watson handed me my glasses, one of the rims was bent a bit, but the glass was thankfully intact.
"Oh, Mrs. Russell," said Holmes as the flat door was opened as I was about to leave, "Is your husband staying in London as well?"
"Yes, Mr. Holmes, he is."
~~~~~
What possessed me to say that? Now I could imagine Holmes, in his prime, dashing across London searching for a Mr. Russell and searching out what had brought me to the river at night. He would not find a husband by the name of Mr. Russell. No indeed, he would not find a husband at all unless he went to the future to greet himself.
As I did not have any money with me, and I was wearing a parlor maid's garb I decided against fetching a hansom, and instead walked the twenty, long blocks to the hotel. Thankfully, Watson had leant me a strong coat to protect myself from the wind and temperature of February. They had not, I noted, offered to get me a cab, which I assumed this meant Holmes meant to follow me to the hotel.
As I walked upon the narrow sidewalks that surrounded the tall buildings of my husband's youth and life I saw several people. Beggars and street urchins were already underfoot asking for a dime every step of the first nine blocks. The bitter wind was still present, though the coat helped t great extent.
Then as I walked out of one part of London and entered another, I was greeted with the site of dozens of newspaper boys in a line, all representing different papers and attempting to get people to buy their papers. As I walked by I noted a headline stating "Another Handless Murder". My curiosity, as you no doubt could imagine was stirred. A handless murder? The urge to buy the paper was strong, however I resisted, seeing as I had no money.
The following blocks were a bundle of shopkeepers and laborers and I felt a pain in my gut at the difference in times. Would I ever return to Sussex and my Holmes? I wondered. The hotel soon came into view. It's tall structure was spellbinding, even for this date. It couldn't have been more than three stories yet it carried a presence that was undeniable.
As I entered the building a great heat wave hit me, it was much warmer in here. Around the lobby several society ladies were having a late breakfast, I noted the lobby also lead the way the hotel's restaurant. This could be useful. As I walked to the main desk I formed my plan.
There, I decided I would change one of the signed names in the registration book to Mr. and Mrs. Russell.as I glanced at the book I looked for the perfect name, ah! At last! Here was at least one thing that I was in control of, Mr. and Mrs. James Lowell!
However, things were not that simple. A manager of some sort at the hotel came up.
"Excuse me, Madame," he began, looking down at my outfit of a maid. "Are you checking in?"
"Yes, I am," I said hastily, thinking of a plan. Yes, it was the only way. He handed me a pen and an inkbottle, I made up my mind then. Scratching quickly with the pen, I wrote out a particular name, one that Holmes would find, and I then, as the manager turned his head to talk to a boy about another guest's baggage, turned the "L" in Lowell to an "R", which was not too difficult and then I outlined the "O" a bit more so to make it appear a "U" then the "W" was made to a pair of "Ss" and finally, instead of Lowell you had Russell.
Mr. and Mrs. Lowell, I noted were not due to check out for another two days, Thursday. I had only until then to think more carefully about this situation.
~~~~
Back to Baker Street: Watson's POV
"Well Holmes," I said, "A lot has happened."
"Indeed, we shall talk a few moments then proceed to begin our investigation." Holmes stated, putting down his pipe, and tipping the ashes into his leftover porridge.
"What think you of woman?" asked Hari, who had moved to sit back at the table.
"A very pretty young woman," I said.
"It seems you say that a great deal about many of the female clients," Holmes commented.
"Now, Holmes," I protested.
"It's all right, old fellow, calm down," he said, standing and stretching.
"Well what do you think of the woman, Hari?" I asked the smaller man.
"Diff-er-ent, wise," he said slowly.
"Yes, she is different, isn't she," Holmes murmured.
I glanced over at him, his eyes half closed in deep thought. "Holmes, what do you plan to do?" I asked. "Go to the river, ask questions, the hotel," I suggested.
"We shall follow her, when she leaves the hotel. Now, as she had no money with her, and coincidently, I did not bring that up,-" Holmes began, only to be interrupted by myself.
"No money! That poor woman, I can't believe I didn't think-" I started.
"Nonsense, if she is who she states she is, then she surely has plenty of money," Holmes said, "And I deliberately did not bring that subject up, due to the fact that you would most likely give her some, and she could then hire a cab somewhere, versus actually walking to the hotel."
"Oh, I see," I said. "Hari, we shall be going out, do you wish to stay here or go back to Murray's hotel?"
"I stay here, case some-one come," he stated.
"All right, fine, just don't mess with the experiments," Holmes said hurriedly. He then, grabbed his coat and motioned to me to leave.
"We'll be back," I said, not saying "soon" due to the fact that Holmes' quests or cases were not always "soon" over.
Once outside, I asked Holmes, "What do you think of Hari?"
"Most interesting chap."
"That's right, you talked to him, what did he say?"
"Many things, mainly why he is with Murray."
"And why is that?"
"Murray saved his life."
"Ah, that would explain the companionship of the two, and Hari's supposed acting like a servant," I stated.
"Somewhat, but do hurry along, this case may prove to be interesting," Holmes said. Little did he know just how interesting it may prove to be.
Back to Russell:
I admit that writing that name had not been the smartest thing for me to do. I should have simply wrote Susan Smith or something of that sort, otherwise Holmes would grow suspicious, know that I knew more than I should. He would then track me down. I should have waited until I did something that drastic, I should have sat alone for a day and pondered what I should do! This was a very dangerous situation--- that I knew. Anything I did would affect the future!
By writing that name down I changed Dr. Watson's account of the case "The Greek Interpreter". Indeed, when that case took place, Watson had never even known of Mycroft! Now though, I realized, my very presence in his life, slight though it was, was changing things already.
I had two days till Thursday; two days till Holmes would look outside the hotel. I knew that his interest was aroused. I could tell it in the slight glint in his eyes. Where to go? I asked myself. Not the hotel, I couldn't pay for it, I needed someplace heated, comforting, small, easily located by myself and not others---of course one of Holmes' boltholes.
I knew of at least two. One in a large building home to several stores and another near where Margery Childe's Temple of God once stood. It was still there in 1923, I had no idea what it was today. Deciding that the shopping area was my best bet, and only option within a mile, I walked from the hotel, after the manager gave me a key and an oily smile.
The bolthole, I thought, would be the perfect place. Small, cramped, but it might be right. My only fears were that I would go mad from spending so much time in the hole or be discovered and taken to a late 19th century police station!
It was perhaps forty minutes by the time I discovered the shopping center, and my worries almost escalated. The shopping area was completely different! Well, what did you expect? Things to stay the same for thirty-six years? I asked myself. The area was the same only the building had not yet been built.
~~~~~~~
Holmes' POV
"She studies Theology!" said Watson, after a brief lapse of silence.
"Yes, she told us that," I replied.
"Isn't that odd?" he stated.
"Indeed, especially for a woman," I noted. This woman was most peculiar. Never in all my life had I encountered one similar.
"What do you make of it, Holmes?" Watson asked.
"What do I make of what?" I snapped, I was trying to think! This woman, there was something about her, something that didn't make sense.
"I," he paused, caught off guard by my reaction, but then continued. "The woman, there is something about her, isn't there, something that bothers you?" He had read my thoughts, or at least was thinking similar ones.
"Perhaps, but there is something amiss. The bruises, they were not caused by oars from a ship or boat, as I first believed. I had talked with Hari about that as well, He claimed that the oars were used near the shoulders and the feet, due to the position of the body when they found her," I said carefully.
"So you mean the bruises were there before she came to the river?" Watson asked.
"Yes, I think so, something happened, and I believe that she does not know," I said.
"Shock? Could she be blocking events from her memory?"
"Possibly that could explain some things."
"What do you suppose the bruises came from?"
"Describe them, Watson, remember that I did not see the bruises."
"Ah, they were each identical, there was a long thin area, but then this rounded off to a flat top."
"Similar then, to a cane, perhaps?" I suggested.
"Yes, like a cane. Wait, Holmes, that would mean---"
"Yes, that she was beaten, twice." I said.
"For a woman of that class, her husband, perhaps?"
"Possibly. Here we are, the hotel." Indeed, we had arrived at the hotel. "Let's take a look at the registration book."
"Manager!" Watson called over, "We need to take a quick look at this registration book."
"And who are you to look through it?" he asked.
"Dr. Watson, and Sherlock Holmes," Watson said, stressing my name.
"Sherlock, who, you mean that detective fellow?"
"Yes, the detective fellow, now if you will please let us take a brief look," I began.
"I don't know," he began.
"Watson," I said, lifting an eyebrow. Watson took out a few coins and handed it to the man.
"I still don't know," the man persisted.
"Very well, just give him a five pound note," Watson did so and soon we were looking over the book.
"Only one entry today Holmes, I can't seem to read that writing," he said.
"Here, here let me see," I glanced at the words and laughed. A sharp laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. "Watson, the woman is on to us," I said, look what she has written:
MRS. MYCROFT HOLMES
"Mycroft?" Watson asked. "I don't understand, who is this Mycroft?"
"My brother." My mind was in inner turmoil. This woman knew of my brother! She knew that we would follow her! Did she know of Mycroft's possession? Did she even know Mycroft?
"Holmes, you never told me that you have a brother!"
"I do."
"So she is your sister in-law?" Watson said, amazed.
"Nonsense, Mycroft is a bachelor to the bone, and if he married," I Chuckled a bit, "then it would be more astonishing then if I were to marry." However, a small thought entered my mind. What if she worked with the government? What if, this was a cover, and this was her clue to signal me out of following her?
"So, this woman," Watson said, getting over the shock of not knowing, "Knew about your brother, knew his name and wrote herself down as having been married to him?"
"Yes, it doesn't make much sense. See here, she has changed the name," he paused glancing more closely. "Lowell to Russell, obviously she is playing a tricky game. We shall have to be careful, Watson, very careful. This woman, whatever she intends to do, was telling us the truth to some extent, but is clever. Perhaps maybe more than clever."
"What do we do now Holmes?" Watson asked.
"Would like to meet my brother?"
Author's note: Thanks a bunch to March Hare for beta reading!!! Sorry for the slight delay in the posting! Thanks to all the reviewers! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!!!