Return to the Solution
Cosmic Coincidences
If they had been living in a story book, Watson supposed that Holmes character opposite would not be some criminal, not even cunning mastermind, but rather his elder brother.
Both men were extreme in their behaviors, and that is where the similarities ceased.
While Holmes would go to an extraordinary effort, or at least it seemed so to Watson, to appear unpredictable and completely odd in his daily habits, the elder brother of the Holmes clan was hardly what one would call spontaneous.
In fact, Mycroft was so utterly unchanging in his daily exhibits of faith; Watson would go as far as to say one should take great caution and suspect an upcoming war or some other calamity of that sort, if one spotted the large man up and taking a stroll through the park.
It was with this reassurance of meeting an unchanging, stern, and over all dull creature that Watson walked confidently up to the steps of the Diagnoses club, walked through the door, and prepared to search for the bulky man himself.
Unfortunately, the Diagnoses club valued the privacy of its members, and when Watson, who was not in the bests of moods and found the door man utterly intolerable, attempted to brush past without first signing the large book being thrust at him, he was not received with any measure of hospitality.
"Sir, if you please, you must sign your Christian name here, the name you go by here, your address directly under, followed by the date of birth…"
Simply ignoring the man, Watson made his way up the large stairway he suspected to have been built in the height of the Bork style so regal and opulent they stood.
He had been to the Diagnoses club a grand total of three times in his life. The first had been to meet the aforementioned elder brother; the second was in the midst of a pressing case in which he and Holmes had ignored the doorman in precisely the same fashion.
Almost feeling a pang of guilt for the poor chap, he had after all, only tried to do his appointed job, but Watson could not possibly deal with minor trivialities during such a stressful time.
Though he did suppose it wouldn't hurt to stop on the way out and make a brief apology.
Sadly, Watson never got that far. Apparently breaking club rules with Holmes was one thing, but by himself he was quickly apprehended by one very angry doorman, and escorted out of the grand building.
He stood there in the bright July sun trying to register what had just happened. It took not but three breaths for him to realize he had ruined any chances of gaining additional information for the evening.
And so, Watson continued on his fruitless stroll through the shopping district of London, all the while muttering "Bloody Hell" under his breath.
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In a not too distant neighborhood of London, a cab was rumbling along. Within it sat what appeared to a common man, a passing pedestrian would assume him perfectly respectable, if not extraordinary. The cabby would assume he lived a perfectly regular life, with perfectly regular circumstances.
It was an altogether, a perfectly pleasant scene.
Or at least it would have been, if not for the squirming child seated next to this perfectly respectable man.
Holmes was not at all proud of himself and this endeavor. His costume was mediocre, at best, but he hoped the populace of London was dense enough to believe that he did, truly, wear that horrendous cap and cloak the Stands illustrator had painted on him.
But most of all, he was most distraught at having to actually bring the girl. He had planned to simply leave her with Mrs. Hudson, but the landlady simply would not have it.
He suspected it had something to do with his constant teasing of her small fears such as spiders and spirits.
Touché.
And yet while he subconsciously admired her utter stubbornness and sense of sport, this really was not the time for such childish games.
"You'll need her anyway Mr. Holmes. Children grow like weeds and there no telling what size she might take"
Yes, she had brought up a very valid point, and yet while he recognized the logic used, he could not even begin to think about the impossible task of changing the child. This really was a woman's world and he felt like an imposter.
No matter, he decided, he would simply play the part.
The cabby came to a halt as Sherlock got his first glace at the brightly colored shop he had come to on Mrs. Hudson's suggestion, he had no idea where she got her information, though he supposed it was a womanly thing and should not be picked apart by the likes of man.
Aside from exercise, walking is an excellent way to think, but before long, the tired and hurt Watson was all thought out.
Though perhaps due to some sort of cosmic coincidence, this occurred at the exact moment he happened to be passing a children's apparel shop in the East end of London's finest shopping area.
If Watson had been walking a pace faster, he would have still been pondering over recent developments and not even taken notice of such a place. If he had been walking a pace slower, he would have given up and taken a left at the corner immediately behind him and headed back home to face the inevitable.
But whatever fate that had been thrust upon them all had had its way this lovely July day, and the good doctor found himself drawn into the quaint shop.
His friend was positively inept at child keeping, and while he himself did not practically enjoy the thought of a small addition to their makeshift family, he supposed it would not be too much of a burden to see what sort of clothing was available.
Glancing about the small boutique, he idly wandered to the section of the store that he supposed would best suit his purposes.
Oddly enough, once he found the proper section, he was unable to see any merchandise due to a large man blocking all from view.
The clerk in attendance who had worked at this small shop for over five years was utterly beside herself. Men were a rare occurrence in a children's store, mostly some sort of maid or governess did this sort of thing, and yet now she had two of them in the same section!
Three very odd men actually…there was another who had come in not fifteen minutes earlier with a small child she only assumed to be his daughter. They were presently in the back struggling with an adorable new navy blue dress that had only just come in yesterday.
Normally she would not have recommended it to such a young child seeing as it was very expensive, and children tended to out grow or dirty expensive clothing, but this man had seemed so uncomfortable that when he came in and asked for anything she thought might fit the child, she couldn't help but take advantage of the situation.
And yet while the man seemed positively inept at clothing the child himself, he refused any assistance.
Men were so proud.
The woman scoffed and headed over to the two gentlemen browsing the 11-18 month old section.
"Excuse me gentlemen, but can I be of any assistance?"
Both Watson and the other fellow turned to see the woman, and for the first time, they saw each other.
Watson positively yelped, while Mycroft Holmes remained not only calm, but polite.
"No thank you, we are merely browsing."
The woman huffed and shuffled her frilling skirts away.
Watson looked at Mycroft a moment before speaking, "I went to the Diogenes club but…" remembering his less then proud moment "I was unable to find you"
Instead of answering the doctor's question, Mycroft's brow creased.
"Where is Sherlock?"
Being so used to Holmes way of changing the subject without a moments notice, this hardly fazed him.
"Well, I suppose he is back at Baker Street…." He was becoming frustrated. He was not Holmes keeper, at the moment; he was hardly even Holmes confidant.
"Oh dear…"
"Why? Is something wrong?" While he was not any sort of baby sitter, he did acknowledge that something could go wrong at any moment with his friend, add a child to that equation and he suppose the odds were you could go three hours at most withouta small disaster.
"No…no I suppose nothing is wrong, though I had rather hoped you would have stayed and helped Sherlock, my brother is not the best with young children…"
Just then a wail was heard from the rear of the store the clerk from before looked up briefly from her newspaper before quickly running off in that direction.
Watson shrugged before say "Yes well, I needed a moment to think…I was taking a long stroll when I happened upon this shop, what may I ask, are you doing here?"
Mycroft looked puzzled a moment before responding.
"I'd imagine the same thing you are, shopping for Marie of course."
"You left the comforts of your club to go dress shopping? Surely there is someone more apt at doing such things." This behavior was not common at all; it might even go as far as being spontaneous. Watson was about to ask if there was an impending tragic event he should be aware of but he was cut off.
"True, there may well be more qualified people for such missions, but Sherlock is my brother, and Marie is my niece, and I do occasionally venture out from the heat of the club for family." There was a glimmer of amusement in his eye,
"Also, had I asked someone to do this chore for me, it meant compromising Sherlock's privacy and Marie's safety, and at least, for the time being given the circumstances, I believe those should remain our highest priorities.
Before I could ask just what he meant by Marie's safety, and given circumstance, yelling could be heard once again from the back of the store accompanied by a child's wailing.
"Sir! If you please would let me assist you!" pleaded the clerk who had attempted to help Watson and Mycroft earlier.
"Confound it woman I told you I require no assistance!" A very angered voice emitted from behind a closed curtain.
"Yes but sir! You're hurting the child and the dress is not supposed to look like that!"
As if on cue a small whimper was heard.
"Well if she'd stop moving her arms about it would be much easier! Perhaps you got me the wrong size and that is why it does not look correct?" It sounded more like an acquisition then a suggestion.
The clerks tone took on more of a forceful nature. "Sir, I assure you there is nothing wrong with the size of the dress, it simply was not made to be worn backwards."
Four beats of silence were heard before a muffled "Oh."
As the outburst past, I turned to Holmes's elder brother only to find him standing in a stupor.
"Are you feeling quite alright?" Perhaps he was feeling faint, it was a rather hot day, and for someone so unused to physical exertion this must have been a very trying experience.
"He wouldn't…." muttered Mycroft
"Sir, please if you are not well I beg of you to take a seat…" he was growing paler and paler by the second.
Another shout was heard from the back "Woman! Get back here this instant! She's begging to fall asleep and I can not get her arm out of this bloody sleeve!"
Sighing, the woman who was secretly glad she had finally been permitted to enter, ducked behind the curtain.
As the trio emerged and the woman stepped aside as the man uttered a final insult of "If you had simply has the sense to tell me the zipper went in the front we could have avoided all this trouble."
The woman sighed responded with a well mannered "Of course sir, then you'll be taking the dress?"
"Yes, I'll take three now that I know how to put the blasted things on" He shifted the sleeping child from one arm to the next.
"And in what colors would you like those?"
"Hm? Oh, I don't care. Blue I suppose"
She turned around with a look of surprise on her face "You'd like all three to be in blue? Certainly you'd like a bit more variety then that…"
"I really see no need for variety, but if it will get me out of this damn shop any sooner I suppose I shall humor you, now what options do I have?"
She gestured to a rack right behind the man and for the first time I could see why Mycroft had gotten so pale.
"Bloody Hell" Mycroft murmured under his breath as Holmes spotted us.
It was one of the few times I had ever seen my friend frightened, though it was only for a moment, he was utterly humiliated.
Walking over to us, the younger Holmes snarled out "And to what do I owe the honor of seeing my dear elder brother at such an odd location?"
"Well Sherlock, I hardly expected you to take the responsibility of a child and actually purchase her clothing." The absolute vehement tone he took was shocking, even to Watson.
"You gave me money, did you not?"
"Yes, but I hardly assumed you'd use it for its required purposes."
"Tsk, tsk, Mycroft, you, of all people, assuming? I had thought you more intelligent then to make assumptions, especially those that involve human nature. And now, if you'll both excuse me, I must be getting back to Baker Street, as you can see, my companion is in dire need of a nap."
And then it was Sherlock who did the leaving.
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Alrighty! I kinda like this one, though on the last one I got so many reviews! Its amazing! It's been said that calling Sherlock Sherlock is a bad idea, I'm willing to go back and change it so please tell me if you'd like it to change or remain the way it is.
This chapter referred to him as Holmes; if you found it better that way then it's a good comparison.
I've read in several places that Watson didn't despise children; merely didn't find them completely charming, one of these was the Wikipedia site, just Google Sherlock Holmes and you'll find it. Watson will be becoming more and more kind hearted as the story continues though.
Its in there somewhere. Trust me. Oh, and just so no one is confused, when it says "your hurting her" I didn't mean he was abusing her, I simply meant he was not used to handling a child and was a bit rough.
Please continue those awesome comments! Thanks so much!
