Hi everyone! J3rs3yG1rl here. I must take a moment to apologize for my absence. I recently lost my father to stage 4 lung cancer. So I had to take some time to collect my thoughts. I'd been feeling guilty every time I went to try and write these last couple of months so I had to work through that. It took a friend of mine giving me a writing challenge to snap me out of that guilty feeling spell.
Below is a comedic piece I started writing before all the chaos unleashed. I finally finished it and felt it was time to share it. This particular chapter is perfect for April Fool's Day. However, since I start a new job then, (no joke) I wanted to get it out of the way now else I'll forget.
I'm also using this as an opportunity to introduce an original character I came up with over thirteen years ago. I'm in the process of writing that epic novel now and hope it will be every bit the incredible piece my brain thought it to be. I plan to post the prologue soon if this character is well enough received. I always feel hesitant when writing original characters because I aim to make them feel as real and believable in the story's world as possible without being a Mary Sue / Gary Stu. So I hope you all enjoy this preview of my original character as well as this bit of slice of life.
Oh, one more thing. Shout out to trustingHim17 for fulfilling my wish for Understanding, the follow up to their story The Makings of Apologies.
Please enjoy and review!
Blowing Smoke
"Where is it?"
"Where is what?"
"You know what. Where is it?"
"I don't know."
"I'm not in the mood young lady."
"You usually aren't dear uncle."
"Then do quit prevaricating around the issue and answer me!"
"I did. I don't know."
Holmes finally threw his arms in the air with an exasperated sigh. He could not find his tobacco anywhere. Where it once occupied the persian slipper upon the mantle, it no longer resided. What was there instead was a lovely fragrance of potpourri. While it was pleasant to smell, it most was certainly not to smoke as Holmes found out very abruptly.
Elizabeth sat on the settee with one leg elegantly crossed over the other reading Dr. Watson's latest entry in the Strand Magazine. She could not wipe the smirk from her face as Holmes tore the room apart looking for the tobacco he was convinced she had somehow taken and replaced with the floral scented trap. She shook her head, biting her lip, trying to resist the urge to laugh out loud at her uncle's childish frustration.
"Damn it! Where did you hide it!?" Holmes growled, throwing random objects around. He tore apart the sitting room in futile search for his nicotine fix. The consulting detective was hardly a jovial person to begin with, so when one of his sources of stress relief was not in his immediate grasp, he became incorrigible.
"I told you. I didn't take it." The young lady replied with utter amusement. "Why do you assume I did it anyway? So rude."
"You must have! It is the only logical explanation of the facts!"
"No, that's only a logical explanation of some of the facts. You are slipping dear uncle."
She threw one of his many mottos back at him with a cocky grin. Oh how she enjoyed getting the better of her normally brilliant and observant uncle. It wasn't often she could, despite their shared family trait of keen deduction. So when the opportunity presented itself, she gladly leapt at the delightful chance.
Holmes did not take kindly to having his own words used against him, especially by a woman. Yes, he was proud of his young niece's skills in the field of detection. That did not mean however that he appreciated being outwitted by her.
"My dear Lizzie, if you know something that you seem to think I have overlooked in my conclusions, then by all means, do share." He said through gritted teeth with a forced polite smile. His hands clasped together in almost a pleading manner. Though he would never outright beg for anything, he was desperate to retrieve his precious tobacco.
"Well let's look at the obvious facts my beloved uncle." Elizabeth sat up straighter in the settee, absolutely loving every minute of this moment. "You are convinced I have taken it. Yet, what motive would I have? I don't smoke. I find it to be a repulsive habit. No offense."
She did not fail to notice the twitch in Holmes' eyebrow at her jibe toward his vice. She continued, still with a smug smirk upon her lips. "Also, it is evident by my fingernails I could not have possibly taken your tobacco anywhere at all as I have none of the residue embedded."
Holmes gave her a scrutinizing once over before taking hold of her delicate hands. He could see as plain as a pike staff that the young woman's fingertips were clean of any tobacco. However, she did have flakes of the potpourri embedded within her nails.
"Hah! You have traces of that dreadful potpourri inside your nails and some sprinklings dusted upon your blouse."
"But no tobacco. You accused me of taking the tobacco."
"Maybe so. But this new data confirms your role in the disappearance of my nicotine."
"Really? Then please, by all means, tell me what happened."
The young lady's smirk grew into one of a mischievous imp. She challenged her uncle to prove he had the facts straight this time. Holmes' eye twitched again, grumbling under his breath about her obstinate behavior.
"You may not have taken my tobacco, but you certainly were the one that put that cursed potpourri in the slipper. Now I just need to understand why." The sleuth's voice trailed off in deep contemplation. He would usually never theorize without sufficient data. He did, in this moment, make the mistake of deducing based on the little he had, mostly out of frustration.
From what he could ascertain based on current evidence, his niece appeared to be playing a prank. She had often done so many times to him and Mycroft in her youth. What eluded him is how she did so this time when there was no trace of tobacco on her person, only the potpourri. Holmes walked back over to the slipper, examining it and the surrounding area. Perhaps he had missed vital points of interest in his haste to satisfy his craving.
Holmes scanned the vicinity of the mantle and fireplace with more care this time. His sharp eyes finally noticed the tobacco leaves on the carpet right below where the slipper hung. Following the trail, he saw how it led to the still very roaring fire. He did not fail in his reinspection to notice the distinct aroma of the tobacco flavor burning in the inferno. The detective's jaw slacked, his blood beginning to boil anew. He had many questions pressing in his mind, the most important being is why the scent of his tobacco was coming directly from the fireplace and how it got there.
"Starting to understand what happened, Uncle?" Elizabeth chided.
"Indeed. Which only means you have a great more deal of explaining to do." Holmes gritted his teeth tighter, trying not to lose his temper on his young charge.
"I have explaining to do? Surely, you can't pin this on me. You already saw my hands."
"This would explain only why you had no tobacco residue upon your nails."
"Oh Uncle, perhaps that's true. But certainly I would still have residue on my clothing."
Holmes considered this fact and knew it was true. In his anger, he was jumping to erroneous conclusions. That meant he still had to figure out how it got in there. He at least pieced together the reason for the potpourri. It was not done as a prank, but a cover up. Tobacco somehow ended up in the fire and the guilty person tried to hide what they did in order to avoid the volatile wrath of the amatuer sleuth. He also knew Elizabeth had a part in this, that of being an accomplice aiding the culprit by trying to hide the crime. She knew who did this and was protecting them. The question remained who was she shielding and why they did it.
The consulting detective considered who else had access to the room and would have had reason to touch the mantle. Perhaps it was Mrs. Hudson and her infernal habit of trying to tidy about when Holmes had made it clear numerous times in the past that his possessions were not to be disturbed for any reason. Being an untidy man, he never cared if dust accumulated all around the place. This was cause for many an argument with his long suffering landlady. Naturally, Elizabeth would feel a strong need to shelter the kindly woman whom she saw as a grandmother figure. She had constantly reminded him that he was too harsh with the good lady too many times to count.
Holmes called for Mrs. Hudson with a resounding bellow. Elizabeth flinched, rubbing her inflamed ears from the piercing ringing that resulted. Naturally, Holmes took no notice or interest as was typical when he set his mind about solving a case. He hollered in that deep booming tone a few more times, impatient as ever when she did not come calling when first summoned. A few minutes later, Mrs. Hudson entered, carrying a tray of fresh hot tea and three cups. She did not acknowledge Holmes on the instant which further irritated the sleuth.
"Mrs. Hudson-"
"Yes Mr. Holmes?" She replied with a gentle but stern tone. She had heard him loud and clear. The patient landlady greatly respected Sherlock Holmes despite his faults. That didn't mean she would always tolerate his tantrums. He just needed to work on his manners and learn to have a bit more patience.
"Mrs. Hudson, my tobacco is missing!" Holmes growled with agitation.
"That it is a shame sir. Do you remember where you last put it?"
"Of course I do! It sits where it always has! Now it is smoking in the fire!" Holmes started to pace while Mrs. Hudson set the places on the table.
"Now Mr. Holmes, I don't know what to tell you. I certainly don't know how it managed to get in the fire. Perhaps you shouldn't be throwing things about like a temperamental child." She said this so matter of factly, Holmes could not deny her innocence. Her clothing had no trace of nicotine on them as he observed pacing past her. Mrs. Hudson, being an exceptional housekeeper, would not be so careless as to mistreat her tenants' belongings. She would never risk it, else she would have to deduct from the rent to recompense. This was certainly something she could not afford to do.
"Will you be needing anything else sir?"
"No, no… not unless you can restore my nicotine."
"I cannot sir. Surely you have other sources." Mrs. Hudson pointed with a gesture of her head toward the cigarette case on the end table next to Holmes' chair. She smiled when she heard a very distinct huffing come from her tennant.
"Thank you Mrs. Hudson for your thoughtful suggestion." Holmes replied with a gentle but indignant tone that all but screamed get out.
She left the room concealing her own smirk. Sherlock Holmes did not like being brushed off when he was having an overly melodramatic crisis over the most petty of things. If he wanted a cigarette, he would have smoked one already. This came down to more than just his addictive need to satisfy his craving. It was the principle that his tobacco was lost to him by someone careless or vindictive, possibly both. Perhaps that was a bit harsh, but in the heat of the moment, he did not care. He wanted to smoke his pipe and could not do so at present because of the actions of this third party.
Elizabeth watched the scene unfold doing her best not to break into a hysterical fit of laughter. Her poor uncle was growing even more desperate in his frustration. She read his expressions as he resumed pacing the room. In his mind, he must be thinking this was some elaborate scheme to wrong him. He always went overboard when he let himself become lost to his immature tantrums.
This fascinated her how mercurial her formidable uncle could be. Sherlock Holmes was the image of calm, collected reserve. He could enter a room and easily understand the history that lay within after just a simple glance. This gentleman commanded respect from all ranks of society wherever he went just in his stride and the way he held himself. So it was mystifying that this same man could in the next turn become such a prat over the most simple things. Yet he had the nerve to say women were fickle.
Sherlock Holmes was just about on his last thread of patience when Dr. Watson had entered the room. He held in his hand a small box wrapped in brown paper. When he saw his dear friend in one of his dark moods, he froze and made to turn around as quickly as he entered. Luck was not on his side; Holmes looked up right as Watson reached for the door. "My dear Watson! Thank goodness you've returned! You're just in time to help me."
The normally sharp tone in the detective's voice always had a way of softening, even when angry, the moment his good friend, the doctor, entered the room. Holmes' eyes lit up and on the instant was at Watson's side, leading him over to the fireplace. He acted as though his problems were soon to be over, now that his trusted companion was with him. Elizabeth took notice of this and smiled warmly at the sight. She was grateful for the physician whose mere presence alone seemed to alleviate her uncle's cold nature. Whether Watson or anyone realized it or not, all it took was for the good doctor to walk in any room Holmes was in and his mood lightened then and there. Even if it was only to the slightest degree, it was still an improvement.
Holmes showed Watson the area by the fireplace. His hands were active in their gesturing, pointing to the slipper, the floor, and the hearth in one sweeping motion. "It is a crisis my dear fellow. I don't know yet who has done this, but she…!" Holmes then gestured to his smirking niece. His tone darkened for the briefest moment. "Yes… she knows who is responsible and is protecting them. Though Heaven knows why. Do you see Watson?" Holmes grabbed the slipper and in the blink of an eye held it to Watson's eye level. "That little trickster even tried to cover up the crime!"
Watson raised a curious brow. He had heard his best friend rant over dramatically in the many years spent as the detective's biographer, yet this felt ridiculous. He could only simply shake his head at what he held beheld before him. The infamous persian slipper was filled to the brim with potpourri. It took every ounce of restraint and tact to not laugh in the great detective's face. Surely there were more important things to get worked up over than this petty trifle.
"My dear chap, surely it is not as horrid of a crime as you are making it out to be?" Watson replied calmly, while moving the box he carried in to hold behind his back.
"How can you say that!? You know how expensive those particular tobacco leaves are! My boy, this just will not do. What puzzles me is how it all ended up in the fire..." Holmes' voice trailed off yet again, contemplating the mysterious chain of events. The explanation was staring at him right in the face yet he could not put a finger to the missing link.
Watson carefully walked past Holmes; his eyes gazing briefly at Elizabeth who in turn shrugged at him. He gave a long sigh, placing the box on his desk, simultaneously taking a seat. "Well pray, what have you been able to ascertain about the crafty crook cunning enough to pull this off and convince the young lady to betray you in favor of gaining her protection?"
The way Watson posed the question nearly made Elizabeth burst into a hysterical fit of giggles. She was bubbling over and covered her mouth in one last futile attempt to keep firm hold of her composure. Holmes was not amused by this in the least.
"I know this much, friend Watson. Whoever is responsible, they are held in the highest regard for my dear niece would not so easily go against me otherwise." Just like that, something clicked in the rapidly firing brain of the world's only consulting detective. Between the glance that Watson and Elizabeth shared, to the way his colleague posed the question, and finally the box that sat upon said companion's desk, it had finally become clear.
"Watson, my dear friend, may I see your hands for a moment?"
Again, the doctor raised a brow. "My hands Holmes? Whatever for?"
"Please. Indulge me old fellow." Holmes insisted gently which unnerved both Watson and Elizabeth.
"Very well old man. If you must." Watson held his hands out for Holmes to inspect. Sure enough, the evidence was as plain as day. The tips of his fingers were smudged and his nails held residue beneath.
Holmes stared for a few speechless seconds. Watson let out another sigh, bracing himself for the wrath that was sure to explode from his flatmate. No volatile explosion came however. The consulting detective's eyes held confusion. He was flabbergasted to think he didn't see the obvious conclusion from the start, What still perplexed him is how this all came about and of all the people, why his dear Watson would do this. At least now he understood why Elizabeth was so fiercely adamant about keeping silent. His Boswell was as important to her as he was to Holmes' himself.
When the silence became unbearable, Watson found his voice. "Holmes, shall I explain?"
A calm shake of the head was Holmes' only reply. He did not visibly appear or behave indignant. Watson could not tell what was going through that sharp mind. The only thing he could definitively discern was the sheer puzzlement on his friend's features. Yet, Holmes' insistence of nay showed his determination to uphold his pride. Of course Sherlock Holmes did not need anyone to tell him what happened. Especially in this instance, it must have been some kind of accident.
The cold, calculating reasoner could not tell at this point if logic or sentiment were speaking these thoughts. For the good surgeon's case though, the detective's sentiment had logic to back up the reasoning. The former army surgeon turned private practitioner was not the type to be so thoughtless of his fellow lodger. Coupling this line of reasoning with the fact he observed Watson carrying a box, his fingers stained with nicotine, told him all he needed to know. The simple chain of events was an innocent case of some kind of clumsiness. His dear friend righted the situation with the obvious replacement to his supply.
With that in mind, Holmes' eyes began to survey the area once more. He took note of a pile of medical textbooks that had been moved recently. They sat on the bookshelf edge in a disorderly stack. This was a sign they were put down in haste. Holmes could also see the edge of the top few books had flakes of tobacco leaves. This meant they collided with the slipper in transport causing it to be knocked from where it hung. Watson must have panicked. Hence why he had no time to set the set of books neatly. He reexamined the slipper once more and saw there were some small burn marks. In order to save the slipper, the doctor had used the poker to knock it away from the flames. With that abrupt motion, a large portion of tobacco spilled out.
Elizabeth smiled knowingly seeing the understanding in her uncle's eyes. "So are you going to tell us what happened? Or shall I?" Her bumptious grin grew with the roll of Holmes' eyes.
"No need my dear. I believe I have constructed together the inferences of this afternoon's unusual escapade. I dare say, this is precisely why I say without question that sentiment is a dangerous thing. However…" Holmes turned to Watson and flashed the briefest of softened smiles before letting the unreadable mask fall into place once more. "It can be helpful in certain circumstances."
Elizabeth once again smiled at this rare soft hearted display. "Are you sure you're not just blowing smoke again?"
Holmes glared lightly at her. One thing still puzzled him. "Why the potpourri?"
Elizabeth shrugged. "To buy time?" She really didn't have a reason. Seeing the doctor in such a panicked state, she wanted to think of a way to ease his nerves. They agreed that while he dashed off to buy the replacement, it was best to leave things looking like they had been left undisturbed. Though Elizabeth knew the charade wouldn't last long, she figured it would be long enough to complete the quick errand. When Holmes did reach for the slipper, she knew there was no way she could stop him. So why not turn the situation into a deductive exercise instead. If the young woman were to be completely honest, that was her intent all along. The action just happened to include the additional bonus of easing Dr. Watson's stress over the folly.
Holmes shook his head, somewhat amused. He knew better and was not at all convinced. "Now who is blowing smoke?"
Fin