Back at the orphanage, Jackie had been the quickest and cleverest of them all.

She was quiet and small enough to hide anywhere, and brave enough to actually do it. She had no problems sneaking around the house at night, and she had never, ever been caught. Whenever one of the children would be denied a meal because they hadn't done well in class or didn't complete a chore, Jackie would simply sneak into the kitchen at night and fetch them some bread. Over the nearly thirteen years Jackie had been living at the orphanage, Harland Ludwig had spent thousands of dollars trying to get rid of the mice that supposedly plagued the kitchen. Jackie wondered with a sly smile if he had finally figured out that they had never really had a mouse problem at all. She concluded that he wasn't smart enough to ever figure that one out.

But even with all her practice snooping and slinking around the orphanage late at night, her previously unrivaled talent and cleverness proved to be no match for the great Sherlock Holmes.

He had, in fact, spotted her after she crawled a little too close to the edge of the staircase. Unbeknownst to Jacqueline, he had been carefully watching the top of the stairs even while listening to his visitor (who ended up having one of the most uninteresting problems ever; something about a discontented maid who threatened to quit). He had, of course, managed this feat by gazing continuously at the large, spotless silver medal pinned onto the chest of the duke, which very nicely reflected everything that was happening on the staircase behind Holmes.

After the visitor had left, Sherlock had, as kindly as possible, told Jackie to stop peering at him from behind the banister and come downstairs. The poor girl, looking extremely upset and confused, slowly made her way down the stairs, obviously realizing that she had been caught listening into his conversation.

Holmes was not angry, per se. In fact, he actually felt a little bit of pride for the young girl. She was very clever for her age, and he admired that. When he looked down into her bright blue eyes, he actually saw a bit of himself in them. He saw a girl who, just like him, had a keen desire for mystery and adventure. But just the same, he didn't necessarily want to have his thirteen-year-old niece involved in his cases.

Jackie was very used to getting into trouble, as she was constantly being yelled at by all the adults at the orphanage. But instead of her usual cold and insensitive appearance during these times, where she would give a very distinct air of "I don't care", she felt more or less completely embarrassed for being caught.

Sherlock didn't yell at her. He didn't smile, but she still thought she saw something in his eyes, almost like amusement. Still, she could tell he didn't want her listening in on his conversations anymore. Although he certainly didn't appear overly angry, the cold voice he used when he asked if she would "kindly stay out of his casework" left her feeling very unnerved.

"I'm very sorry, sir," she said in a whisper, staring down at her toes, which were nervously digging into the Persian rug. She could feel his eyes staring down at her, and it was making her feel extremely uneasy.

As they stood there silently for a few moments longer, Jackie was beginning to get even more anxious. She hated being studied as though she was some sort of criminal who just couldn't be figured out. She wondered if he wanted some sort of confession. What did he want her to say? The tiny wry smile that was playing at his lips gave her the very unsettling feeling that he was reading her mind…

"Holmes!" a voice cried, and both the detective and his niece turned as the door burst open. Sherlock caught her breathing a sigh of relief as Dr. Watson stumbled into the room.

"Good, good, I wasn't sure if you'd finished working," he said, looking slightly out of breath. "I figured I'd invite you both over for supper if you wanted to join us. Mary makes a delicious meatloaf…"

"Thank you kindly for the offer, my dear Watson," Holmes replied, walking over to the table and lighting his pipe. "But I must say that I already had something to eat. How about you, Jackie? Care to spend an evening with the Watson's?"

Jackie offered a weak attempt at a smile. "Thank you very much, sir," she said to the doctor. "But I'm not very hungry."

Watson looked her up and down disbelievingly.

"Very well then," he said with a sigh. "So how is everything going around here? I swore I saw a large carriage parked outside the house not long ago…"

"Oh yes, the duke," Holmes replied. "Although his case was extremely simple and dull, he did have an interesting story to tell."

Watson raised a thick grey eyebrow. "Oh? And what was that?"

"Perhaps Miss Jackie can tell you," the detective responded, giving the girl an amused half smile.

Jackie's face went from ghostly white to bright red in barely a second, and Watson gave her a strange look.

"Oh… well, yes," she began, clearing her throat. "I think I'd better go up to bed."

Without another word, she took off up the stairs and scampered back into her bedroom.

Watson watched as she disappeared into the darkness. "What was that all about?" he asked. "Did she have a run-in with the duke?"

"No quite," Sherlock said, still grinning. "I would tell you what happened, but I'd prefer not to since she's still standing up there on the landing."

Watson and Holmes both looked up, and Jackie stepped out of the shadows and gave her uncle her best ice-cold glare before turning on her heel and running back into her room, slamming the door behind her.

The doctor turned back to Sherlock Holmes, a quizzical look on his face. Holmes merely sighed and sat down in his armchair, clenching his pipe carefully between his teeth.

Watson glanced back up at the stairs once more and then sat himself down in the chair across from Holmes. He watched his friend for a very long time.

"Well?" he said finally, waiting for Holmes to say something.

But Sherlock Holmes had nothing to say.