Return to the Solution

Behind Cold Steel

Piercing gray eyes looked sharply into a matching set of equally determined pupils; pure stubbornness had taken hold of both sets of owners and the end of this impromptu staring competition was not in either's line of vision.

And yet, perhaps due to wariness or utter defeat, the larger of the two turned away. He was not, nor was he ever, in the mood for games. He had a simply problem, with a simple enough solution.

It was, as it usually is, the actually operation that made things difficult.

But Holmes was hardly an orthodox man, and his methods could be easily adjusted for proper results, and Watson had always claimed he had a flare for the dramatic…

Putting forth his very best gentlemanly droll, he said in a most refined manor "I do say madam, but you really should try some of these mushy peas and cold porridge, tis most delightful."

Marie looked a bit confused, if not humored, but opened her small mouth to let out a childish laugh all the same. This was exactly the result Holmes had been hoping for and took the opportunity to shove a spoon full of the pea and porridge concoction into the young girl's mouth.

He could hardly blame her for not wanting to eat it, but they had been at this for two hours already, the flat was a mess, more so than usual, there was more food on her than there was in her stomach, and somehow, though he couldn't for the life of him deduce how, he had gotten a spoon full of peas stuck to the ceiling.

Add to this the fact she was beginning to tire made the process all the more difficult, and while he reveled in a challenge, he also longed to be out of his porridge soaked attire.

He had no idea children slept this much, though he was rather glad they did for he had no idea how to entertain a child when it was awake.

A knock sounded at the door, with an exasperated sigh Holmes turned

"Come in Mrs. Hudson! You never bothered to knock before so you might as well exercise your usual amount of freedom!"

A small 'humpf' was heard and then a gasp from behind.

"Mr. Holmes! I do hope you won't object to me cleaning off this….this…whatever it is!"

Standing and brushing off a stray pea or two, Holmes merely chuckled. "Now, now, Mrs. Hudson, what sort of tenant do you think I am? I would never dream of denying you the joy of cleaning up after a meal, but now if you'll excuse me, I do believe a certain young lady is in dire need of a bath."

A look of shock crept across the older woman's face. "Why Mr. Holmes, you're not saying you're going to be giving the lass a bath?"

"Well, I hardly expect you to do it, and seeing as Watson is currently….out, I suppose I'm the only one left. Why, you act as though I've never bathed a child!" A look of mock hurt showed in his face as he lifted Marie from his arm chair.

"To be perfect honest Mr. Holmes, I wasn't aware that you had ever been presented with such an opportunity."

But Holmes had already disappeared behind the door and she could faintly hear the sounds of a tub being filled with water.

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After the meeting in the children's boutique Mycroft and Watson exchanged a few words and it was soon decided that after luncheon, Watson would meet the elder man in his private study that he held at the Diagnoses club.

Watson felt that Mycroft must have been feeling extraordinarily social as to have made such an offer, but this only worsened the dread he felt. For, if a Holmes was going out of his way to make one feel it necessary to socialize then one could be quite sure that something very serious indeed was about.

And so it was with this in mind that Watson, for the second time today, ventured into the grand entrance way of one of London's most prestigious clubs. He was slightly embarrassed to see the same doorman as before, but after apologizing profusely and listing all the requirements on the entry form, the man's demeanor began to change slightly so his professional courtesy wasn't quite as forced as it had been previously.

However, after being shown into Mycroft's study all thoughts of the doorman or any other related topic fled from the doctor's mind. Sitting with his head back in a large over sized chair was the elder Holmes. Not only were his eyes closed, but he looked so still that Watson feared he had fallen asleep.

Watson must have stood and stared one moment too long, for Mycroft opened one eye and gestured him into a chair adjacent his own.

With no small effort, the older man moved closer to the end of his chair and poured himself a glass of brandy, as well as one for Watson himself.

Taking a quick drink of the deep red liquid, Mycroft decided to break the silence.

"No, I did not know I was an uncle any sooner than you yourself found my brother had become a father. He, on the other hand, has known from the beginning and has led quite the double life ever since."

Watson, not entirely surprised that Mycroft had known his question even before he had had an opportunity to ask it, simply sighed at the answer.

"Certainly, the young woman knew Holmes was not who he claimed to be?"

"Tell me Doctor, was my brother ever away on a regular bases for long periods of time?"

Watson thought a moment. Yes, Holmes did have a habit of leaving at the most unusual times, but there was never a pattern to such a thing, and his sojourns were never long.

"No, no I suppose he hasn't."

Mycroft nodded knowingly, "Well then you have your answer. My assumption is he told the young lady not long after the conclusion of the case, unfortunately that was not soon enough to save the heartache and embarrassment he put on her."

Watson began to speak but was cut off by a wave of Mycroft's hand.

"Now before you completely damn my brother, you must realize that while he may have one of the biggest brains in London, he truly does not understand delicate matters such as these. No, in his mind sending almost his entire income to the young lady was sufficient. I'd even go as far as saying he visited the child on more than one occasion."

Watson's brandy was almost entirely gone, but before Mycroft had the chances to replenish the glass, he was waved off. He needed to have his mind clear, and could not risk letting the warm liquid numb his senses.

"You're saying Holmes has actually seen this child?" He didn't know if he was angered that his friend had been moonlighting in such a way under his very nose for so long, or ashamed at the fact he had not noticed a single indication.

"Yes, though I'd hardly say they had any sort of a relationship. Half an hour here, an hour there, he was never left alone with the child for any reason, and never held responsible for any of her daily needs. As we were made witness to earlier today, he is no more experienced with raising a child than he is with cooking for royalty, he is perhaps more suited for the later."

Mycroft Holmes was a drinking man, though never so much as it might have impaired his judgment, and he had a remarkable tolerance that Watson could not even begin to define. And yet, as he poured his third glass of Brandy, Watson was beginning to wonder if perhaps he was trying to calm his own nerves rather than be a hospitable host.

"While I must admit to being thoroughly disgusted with my brother right now, I can not deny how wretched he must be feeling. I hardly assume him to be in a stable sort of mind and I rather fear for his safety. I had hoped you would be there to keep him away from any sort of danger he may inevitably put himself in, though I suppose you are entitled to know what you've been thrust in to."

To say in the least, Watson was very confused. Yes, Holmes had asked for his help on several instances in which danger may be present, but Watson had always suspected that was as much for help as it was so Holmes to keep a good eye on his trusty Boswell.

"Excuse me, but I hardly see how I could be of any service protecting Holmes from something he himself can not defeat. He is, after all, a skilled fighter and I with my limp and troublesome arm, am hardly any help at all." He left out the fact he could still shoot a gun with the same accuracy as he had been able to before such injuries, but seeing as Holmes could do the very same thing…

"Forgive me Doctor; I must have been in remiss with my wording. I did not mean you need protect him from anything the outside world has to offer, though I dare say he could use some, but from what he might inflict upon himself. You, perhaps more than anyone, are aware of his vices."

Watson was beginning to wish he had let Mycroft poor a second glass of Brandy.

"You don't mean to say that he would resort to such measures as that damn syringe during such a time?"

"My brother is currently dealing with the pressure of being a newly appointed life line to a small child, something I'm sure he thought he'd never have to face. The grief of being responsible for both the conception of a child under false pretense and the grief of being responsible, though indirectly for the mother's death."

Watson looked up quickly; he had completely forgotten this one large detail.

"Please, what exactly befell the young lady?"

Mycroft's eyes looked downward, a show of pain spread across his face as he began to speak.

"You are, well aware, that my brother has many acquaintances in the lower portion of London's society." Watson nodded his head in acknowledgement. "It is for this very reason, I believe, that Sherlock remains so aloof and solitary."

Noting the look of confusion of Watson's face, he dug deeper into explanation.

"You see, with each relationship he begins, a new threat has been born. It is not an exaggeration that he posses a certain amount of danger to each and every one of his friends, if only for his enemies constantly looking for a weakness."

"So what you mean…" Watson began, "Is that he purposely kept away from Marie and her mother in order to protect them?" Holmes had always been one step ahead, and Watson was always jumping to speedy conclusions that all too often led to the wrong results. He was beginning to fear he had made a terribly mistake in leaving so quickly.

"Yes, that is exactly what I mean. It is my belief that he desired, or perhaps even longed to be a larger part of Marie's life, but knew it to be far to dangerous." In an almost whisper he continued "And he was right. Someone, God only knows who, discovered the relationship between the three and saw it as their golden opportunity to get back at a detective that was merely doing his duty."

As he finished the statement, a large grandfather clock that had previously gone unnoticed chimed ten. Mycroft stood and Watson felt obligated to do so also, ashamed to have acted in such a hasty and childish manner.

"Now please Doctor Watson, I beg of you to return to Baker Street and keep an eye on him, for I fear soon the shock induced behavior will wear off soon and his mind will begin to eat away at his soul."

With that Watson was quickly ushered into the night.

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This chapter is mediocre, at best, and for that I am sorry. I do believe next chapter will portray a bit more of my original intentions.

Now, here's were I'm going to need your help.

I'm going away to camp that will last all through the beginning of August starting next Saturday, I believe I have a suitable ending I can post before then, or, if you like, I can do my best to come up with a longer more complex plot and take up from wherever I leave off in the early fall.

Its all up to you.

Thanks so much for the awesome reviews.

Also, I just realized how stupid I was being as far as the page breaks go. You see, I'd put them on there, but then when I'd refuse the errors I would forget to put them back up, so half of you have been reading the story with out the breaks in there. I guess it didn't bother anyone too much as no one told me, but I've fixed the problem.