Chapter Three: I Go Head to Head with the Great Detective

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, and you are?"

"I-I'm Muh-Mackenzie," I stammered.

Sherlock Holmes nodded. "I take it you are feeling better?"

"Yes sir," I replied, finally finding my voice. "I think you've already met my friend Becky," I said acknowledging my friend on the couch.

"Yes."

He certainly wasn't very talkative! "So Mr. Holmes, what investigation brings you to Paris?"

Holmes glared at Watson; his grey eyes glittered with both anger and surprise. Seeing Watson's discomfort, I decided I had to intervene.

"He didn't tell me," I said hastily. "I deduced it!"

"Excuse me?"

"I deduced you were conducting an investigation and I think I could be of some help to you."

"What makes you think you should be privy to the information of my investigation?" He asked, removing a silver cigarette case from his pants pocket. He removed a cigarette, lit it and inhaled the smoke gratefully. He stared at me keenly for several moments.

"Well for one thing," I said drawing myself to my full height of five foot three inches. I refused to allow Sherlock Holmes to intimidate me. "I have read Dr. Watson's accounts of your cases numerous times and I feel that I have the intelligence to conduct an investigation with you."

At my last statement, Sherlock Holmes burst out laughing. "You feel you have intelligence equal to mine?"

I scowled at him. Watson's right. He is arrogant.

"I think Mr. Holmes, you should allow me to prove myself before you begin to laugh in my face," I said with as much authority as I could muster.

Holmes began to laugh harder at my attempt to chastise his behavior.

"Really Holmes!" Watson said hotly. "Show the young lady some respect!"

Holmes finally regained control of his laughter and wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. "You're right Watson," he said between gasps for breath, "I must apologize for my behavior but your statement struck me as extremely entertaining."

"I don't think anything she said was funny," Becky said quietly.

"On the contrary," Holmes said turning to my friend. "Her statement was indeed a comical one. An American girl of about seventeen years of age, who keeps to herself and has been in her share of brawls, is slightly asthmatic, has a keen love for writing and playing the piano, feels that she has intelligence equal to the world's first consulting detective. You must see the humor in that."

At Holmes's deductions, both Becky and Watson stared at him in disbelief.

"How did you know all that about my best friend?" Becky asked her voice was filled with awe. "We've been friends since we were in the third grade and it took me several years to learn what you did about her in less than five minutes."

Sherlock Holmes smiled at my friend's astonishment. "It's sim…"

"Simplicity in itself," I said cutting the great detective off mid-sentence. I figured it was time someone matched his arrogance. "Mr. Holmes deduced that I was American by my accent. My age is not that hard to determine, all he had to do was take one look at me and realize that I am somewhere between thirteen and eighteen years of age. You did notice that he said 'about seventeen' meaning he was taking an educated guess at my exact age."

"I never guess!" Holmes interrupted angrily.

"Yes I know it's destructive to the logical faculty. All right sir, you assumed my age. Is that terminology better? I thought so.

'As for the fact that I have been in several fights, you will notice there are roughly three scars on my forehead and scars on the knuckles of my right hand. Only someone who has had her share of fights would have sustained such injuries."

"The fact that your asthmatic? Come on Mac, you'll be hard pressed to tell me how he knew that," Becky said.

"Not at all," I replied. "If you listen to me closely, you will hear a slight wheeze when I exhale. My breathing is also slightly irregular. Am I correct so far Mr. Holmes?"

The detective nodded but said nothing.

"What about your love for writing and playing the piano?"

"I'm getting to that! My love for writing, let's see how ever did he deduce that?" I paused for a moment and pretended to think. "Oh yes! If you will observe Becky, there is a callosity on the side of my right middle finger, which develops from holding a pen or pencil tightly for several hours. As Mr. Holmes knows, only a writer would be required to hold a pen or pencil for that length of time.

'He deduced my love for the piano by once again looking at my hands. My fingers are extremely slender and well shaped no doubt from playing the instrument for a length of time. There are also several stretch marks on that little bit of fat between my thumb and forefinger. That is caused by reaching across eight keys to grab an octave. No instrument, save a piano, would cause its player to have stretch marks in that particular area.

'I think I followed your train of thought perfectly Mr. Holmes. Is there anything that I missed?"

When I saw the look on the great detective's face, I wished I had a camera. He looked as though he'd just seen a ghost! His mouth was open slightly and his eyes were filled with surprise.

'What's the matter Mr. Holmes, cat got your tongue?" I asked; my words dripped with sarcasm. I must admit that I thoroughly enjoyed one-upping the great detective.

I cast a glance at Watson and noticed he was attempting to hide a smile.

Holmes cleared his throat and stared at the floor in front of me. "You followed my train of thought perfectly," he said, his voice slightly horse.

Upon seeing his discomfort, my bubble of elation popped and I suddenly felt guilty. I hadn't meant to embarrass him. I simply wanted to show him that he couldn't just walk all over me and cast me aside like a second rate citizen. I was intelligent and I wanted to show him that just because I was a woman, it didn't mean I could not use my brain. I wanted to apologize, but I did not want to embarrass the man further.

"Well Holmes," Watson said, "did Miss Sterling…"

"Please, call me Mackenzie."

"Did Mackenzie prove herself worthy of your trust?" Watson asked his voice gentle yet firm.

Slowly the detective nodded. "You do not have intelligence equal to my own, but…"

"In all honesty, Mr. Holmes, you're right. I don't have intelligence equal to yours," I said with a slight smile. After all, since Becky and I seemed to be at the mercy of these two men, I decided to attempt to rectify my earlier burst of egotism.

My honesty seemed to placate Holmes. "Yes, quite. However, I am curious as to what you intend to do now that you are here."

The course in conversation unnerved me slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Where do you intend to stay?"

I felt myself pale. "Huh?"

"Obviously you cannot stay here Miss," Holmes said with some heat. "There is no room--"

"Holmes! There is plenty of space and besides the hotel has--"

"Watson, this topic is not open for discussion! These two women," he said the word with a large amount of disgust "cannot stay here."

"But Mister Holmes!"

"Enough out of you wench," the detective said with a grunt. He sat in a chair, his fingertips pressed together and stared into the fire. "You are free to go."

"Holmes, we cannot throw these two young women into the street!"

"We can and we are," the detective replied quickly.

"Mister Holmes, if you would just let me get a word in!" My voice took on a note of panic. I was, I will admit, terrified. I knew nothing of Victorian France and could not possibly survive on my own. "Listen, I…we could, I don't know, we could do something, you know possibly help you organize research--"

"No."

"Mister Holmes, here you like science don't you?"

The detective raised his eyebrows. "What the devil?"

Quickly I rummaged into my book bag and grabbed my chemistry book. "This is what science is like in the twenty first century!"

His grey eyes took in the book. "Science in the twenty first century?"

"Oh and here," I grabbed the criminal justice book out of my bag. "This is the justice system and how a criminal is treated in my time. This book also discusses different forensic techniques, like how a criminal investigation is conducted."

Holmes's eyes widened. "Honestly?"

"Yeah, absolutely," Becky said realizing what I was doing. "It's totally interesting!"

"Give me the books," Holmes said quickly.

I went to hand him the textbooks but withdrew my hand as he moved to take them. "You can see 'em on one condition."

"And what might that be?"

"You let Beck and me stay," I said, making my voice sound as hard as possible. "If you let us, then the books are yours. If you say no, I swear I will throw them into the fire."

"Go ahead and destroy them," the detective said quickly. "You cannot stay here."

"Fine," I said, crossing over to the fire place. My hands were shaking. There was nothing else I could use to bargain with him. I felt tears of frustration well up in my eyes but I angrily blinked them away. "Last chance Holmes," I said lowering the books toward the flames.

The detective jumped from his seat and grabbed my hand before I could drop the books. "You are a harlot," he growled hotly.

I smiled and handed the books to him, wiping my brow with the back of my hand. "Here you go Mister Holmes," I said sweetly.

He snatched the books from my hand and began to pursue them. He looked up a moment later. "Since you have proven that you can follow a simple chain of reasoning, I shall tell you something of my current case, and you will decide the best way to make yourselves useful."

I grinned and barely resisted the urge to hug him. However, I knew Holmes's aversion to emotion of any kind and I thought that hugging him might completely scare him off. Besides, I didn't need him to think that I was completely crazy. "Thank you sir," was all I said.

"Mac, can I talk to you for a minute?" Becky asked, her voice suddenly entering the conversation.

"Can't it wait?" I wanted to Holmes to tell me about his case before he changed his mind.

"No Mac, it can't wait," Becky said, her voice had an edge to it that I've never heard before.

I looked helplessly at Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson.

"You can use my bedroom for your conference," Holmes offered. "Watson and I will remain here. It's right through there," he said pointing to a doorway.