Yes, I know, once again it was an awful long time since I last posted but there were several reasons – for one my mother unexpectedly told us that she had booked a holiday home for us and within a week we had to prepare everything which, with needing to take food and so forth along, was a bit more to think of than to simply pack a suitcase – but it was lovely and exactly what we had needed! Then summer hit and since we returned there has been a massive heat wave here in Germany and not only did my blood pressure play up, but also I had a summer cold and was flat out. - And on top of that we had some bad news once again, which kept us busy, but that is nothing new, so at any rate, here I am again, and slowly but surely this case comes to a close. Not quite yet, but it is getting there. So, I hope you enjoy this update and please read and review ;)

Thank you ever so much for your patience

Love

Nic

P.S.: This is not yet edited, so there will be mistakes...

Methinks the lady absent – part 9

Sherlock:

It was just as I had expected, the room was almost stripped bare which, on my side led to the conclusion that though Miller had lived here, it was not his actual home. Safe for the furniture that came with this room, there were but few personal items and those were rather commonplace at first glance. With some amusement I spotted an unbound romance novel on the bedside table with the particularly fetchy title of 'The bosom of love' by 'Anonymous'. Yes, of course, who else would have written such a work? There was little doubt that it was one of the more graphic versions of this genre, though judging by the quality of the paper and types, it was by no means a penny dreadful. Still, as the joke goes, Anonymous must be the most prolific writer of smut ever to have lived... In short, aside from that it wasn't a cheap book to buy neither title nor author held any clues. - And that a single man would read such stuff wasn't unheard of either.

But after all, that had only been my first impression. - Flipping through it, it was as smutty and uninteresting as one might imagine, nothing that would draw one's attention in the least safe perhaps that the bookmark was a piece of ugly green ribbon that looked as if it was meant to hold a curl of hair. In two places it was wrinkled enough to indicate that at one point or other it had been used to hold something together, but if it had been hair, there now was no trace of it left on the shiny fabric. I turned page after page in the hopes of finding anything in the margins, but alas, I did not and it was not until I was almost through with the book that I realised that several pages were severely smudged. There was no doubt, that what I held in my hands was a misprint, and while some businesses would sell them for less, the majority did not for fear of losing business and either discarded of them or gave them to their employees. So, if Mr Miller owned a misprint and was obviously a typesetter, then chances were high that the print this 'book' had been fabricated at, was the one he worked for. I checked the edition and year of print, found that it was recent and inwardly almost cheered. Writing down the address given, which was close by down Tottenham Court Road, I at last turned, under the curious glances of Inspector Hopkins and examined the rest of the room. Not that there was much more to examine for there was little more than the bed, a dresser and a chair alongside a tiny stove that was meant for cooking, though no pot was in sight.

The dresser held nothing but a spare shirt, a couple of socks and a set of clean cotton drawers, while on top of it, next to a severely cracked wash bowl and water jug minus the handle, neatly laid out, there was a comb, a pot of pomade and everything a man needed for shaving including a small hand mirror. Now that in itself was nothing unusual aside from the fact that the man had a beard – a neat one but it did cover the whole lower part of his face. I took this to be a clear indication of Miller having used this room as a temporary retreat where he could come and go during and change his appearance after the crime. A beard was as good a natural disguise as any man could wish for, I knew that much myself. This on the other hand meant, that he actually lived somewhere else. No man, no matter how Spartan his style of living was, had so few personal items in his abode. He obviously read, but if that was the case, there should have been more books, there should have been correspondence, even if it was only bills, there should have been an overcoat, a spare pair of trousers, slippers – anything. But there wasn't.

"It's not much to go on, is it, Mr Holmes?" Hopkins asked after about half an hour in which I had gone through the little there was.

"Not at first glance, Hopkins, but what there is, is most interesting," I replied, startling the young inspector.

"Really? I have to admit that I can't see anything that might give us a lead."

"And I bet that was exactly what Miller counted on. First of all, this is not the place where he lives, I think that one's obvious, isn't it?"

Stanley Hopkins nodded, a chagrined expression on his face.

"Well, it would have been too easy, wouldn't it?" he remarked, angrily stuffing his notebook, which he had held all the while I was searching, into his pocket.

"Ah, but it is, Hopkins. You see, due to this being nothing more but a hide-out, he didn't think twice about revealing his address to you, thinking he had covered his tracks most sneakily - but he was wrong."

"Wrong?"

"Yes, you see, this book, is most tell-tale..."

"It is?"

The young professional looked aghast. While I had searched the rest of the room he had flipped through it, blushing on occasion as his eyes had scanned the words.

"Not its actual content, of course," I stated, trying to hide my grin.

Relaying all that I had concluded, Hopkins' face went from disappointed to triumphant and jubilant in a matter of mere seconds.

"I swear, Mr Holmes, you are a magician! Who would pay so much attention to detail?"

"You should. It is always the little things that matter, not the blatantly obvious ones – though on occasion they are one and the same thing. In this case the emptiness of the room was a good indicator that it wasn't a home, as I have already said – but it made the context of the little we did find the more important. And at least, even if, against all odds, Miller is no longer working at Peterson's Press at Tottenham Court Road any longer, it does give us a starting point."

xxx

Harriet:

I have to admit that while I like being well dressed, my husband and his father had been perfectly right in stating that I didn't much like the experience of shopping for clothes. I liked making them, but though I could manage a few items each year, it was impossible to take care of my whole wardrobe all on my own and at any rate, with a sewing machine at hand, a skirt was easy and fast enough put together while a waist or blouse was another matter. At any rate, though I had no trouble making a 'normal' skirt, I was not sure how to go about making one that would accommodate my growing midsection without making me look like wearing a potato sack – and since we had been invited to a dinner and my brother planned for a garden party, by which time the dress I had bought in January would under no circumstances fit me anymore, I had little choice but go to a shop and then see what alterations I could make for the dresses to fit properly. - Ready made dresses never really did, I have to add, and having them made would take time, which I obviously didn't have seeing that I outgrew my clothes practically overnight. With a sigh I stepped out of the house only to decide on a whim, that perhaps Mary might come with me.

She still didn't much like to venture out, but it wasn't good for her to be always indoors keeping to herself and only a very few friends. Halting a cab I gave the Watsons' address and barely a quarter of an hour later was on my friend's doorstep.

"Hattie!" Mary exclaimed happily as soon as I had entered the parlour. "Oh, it is so nice to see you and see that you are so well. You know, I was extremely tired when I was in the family way... - Oh, but never mind!"

"I am exhausted most of the time as well," I could not help laughing, sitting down on the sofa she indicated.

"As you can see, I am very busy making gowns..." Mrs Watson grinned widely holding up a tiny dress and a matching cap. "I hope you like it?"

The question in her statement was hard to miss and almost moved to tears, I could only nod. A couple of weeks ago I had been so worried about breaking the news to her, considering her terrible loss, and while she had undoubtedly thought about little Henry, her face had lit up nonetheless with only the slightest hint of sadness in her eyes.

"I have to say that John was quite surprised that you are so far along already – and you are tall. Much taller than me. John told me that your husband thought you had a miscarriage somewhen in November, but I take it that was nothing but a ruse? I know that sometimes can be the case, but you, of course, would know better than I."

"No – yes... Well, I wasn't expecting then and there is still time until the baby is due in September."

"September? Are you sure?"

I nodded: "Yes, pretty sure, though there is a slight chance that I might be mistaken – there always is. But I rather think that..."

I hesitated to speak the words.

"That?" Mary prompted after a couple of minutes.

"That it will not just be one baby..."

At first Mary seemed to be in shock but then, all of a sudden she started to laugh until tears ran down her face and she had to hold her sides.

"I don't know what is so funny about it," I wondered aloud.

And really, I had some trouble finding what was so hilarious.

"I'm sorry, neither do I actually, and still I find it so," she answered wiping tears from her eyes. "Does your husband know?"

"Not yet. As yet it is only a suspicion and I rather wait until I can confirm it. You are the only person who knows and truth be told, for the time being, I would perfer to keep it that way."

"Now that is understandable. You know, I think me laughing was due to knowing your husband before he travelled, and he was very different then. Never in my life would I have imagined that one day he would get married and have a family and the fact that he did warms my heart. He is a good man, always has been – and he always had a knack dealing with children. Did you know that shortly after John and I got married he took care of a little girl for a couple of days? Her father had disappeared and had left her at Mycroft Holmes' doorstep. He, too, is good with children, and I presume it has to do with them having grown up with Mr Aldwin Holmes."

"Yes, me too."

"At any rate, though he was good with children I think it is safe to say that without him travelling the world for three years, he never would have gotten around to seeing that there is more to life than ones work."

That, too, was indisputable as far as I knew, though for me, it was hard to imagine just how closed up Sherlock had been before that time and especially considering that I could hardly imagine a better husband.

"I have to admit, that I am curious to hear more about the 'old Sherlock Holmes' but I have some errands to run and I have to admit that I have come here not without purpose, for I wanted to ask you whether you like to join me in getting a couple of new dresses?"

I had expected her to recoil at my words, but to my great surprise Mary did not.

"Actually, I have been pondering on getting a new gown for the Stanfords' dinner, so if you would bear with me, I would be most willing to come with you – though we have to take Mrs Spencer, for obvious reasons. - Can you believe it, but it has been years since I got a new dress and I have to admit that I am heartily sick of wearing the same thing day in day out."

That was promising and a good sign at any rate that slowly but surely Mrs Watson was ready to join the outside world again, and so it was, that all three of us set out in search of some new dresses.

Four hours later, sitting in a tea parlour off Oxford Road, we had everything we needed and I was glad to find with the waists on my maternity gowns being adjustable, for once in my life I did not need to trudge on to a seamstress or alter the dresses myself. They fit perfectly and since my old clothes had begun to look rather awkward on me, I was already wearing one of the gowns I had purchased – a greyish-blue one with a trim of white flowers at the hem and sleeves.

"Thank you!" Mary smiled over the rim of her teacup.

"Whatever for?"

"Had you not turned up today, I would have thought too much about going out and eventually would have decided that I don't need any new clothes. I would have wondered how people would react to me sitting in wheelchair and would have thought it to be horrible to be stared at."

"And?"

"I have to admit, that while some where looking, the majority was not and consequently I enjoyed our outing very much."

"Amen!" Mrs Spencer piped up and had us chuckle.

We sat for a while longer, chatting, laughing and simply enjoying ourselves. If only running errands could always be so enjoyable... - But at last it was time to part and when I returned back to Baker Street, I was tired and worn despite the pleasant day I've had.

"Mrs Holmes, there is a lady upstairs waiting for your husband," Tom greeted me when barely I had crossed the threshold.