It rained heavily for the 3rd day in a row on Baker Street that evening. For the first two Sherlock Holmes had been busy working with chemicals, but he had finished with satisfactory results hours ago and was now board yet again. Forbidden from the syringe by Watson, he scanned the several newspapers spread out across the table all turned to the agony column. To his dismay there was nothing that could hold his interest, it was as if the whole city was taking a break from interesting crime.
He let out a long sad sigh as Watson sat down in his customary chair next to Holmes's with a cup of tea in hand. The detective watched keenly as his friend put down his tea for a moment to pick up a newspaper, and began to read.
Outside a young girl was standing in the heavy rain. As sad and tired as she appeared, her keen features showed that she would have been quite beautiful if it showed the joy of happier times. The rain was the least of her troubles, if she even bothered to consider it one. Anyway, the sun had been covered in clouds for two weeks by then as far as she could tell.
The rain barely hid the tears that had been running down her face almost continually since her mom died 2 weeks ago. She was now off to live with her dad who her mom had left, while pregnant with her, "So that his friend could return without trouble." As her mom had always said when Elizabeth asked her reasons for leaving. She didn't ask often; she could tell it pained her mom to think about it, though she had never spoken a bad word about her dad or Mr. Holmes, as she called him, for as long as Elizabeth could remember.
She shook her head to clear her mind, sending a spray of water droplets soaring from her long, drenched, brown hair. She wiped her eyes, then, summoning up all the courage she could muster, lightly knocked on the looming wooden door of 221B Baker Street. After what sounded like much motion, the door was opened to reveal a face she had only seen in the few old photos her mother kept; that of her father.
Watson stopped in his tracks, staring at the face so familiar yet so alien, that he hadn't seen in ages, though there was something different about the eyes.
"Who is it?" a masculine voice she assumed to be Mr. Holmes called from inside, sounding board yet hopeful.
The truly familiar, friendly voice returned Watson to his senses, she was just a young girl, he told himself, she's not Mary Mortasan.
"What is it?" he asked, obviously, to Elizabeth's trained eyes at least, nervous.
"I'm Elizabeth Mortasan, my mom; Mary Mortasan, died 2 weeks ago so I was sent here to find my dad; John Watson." She explained, holding out a letter and handing it to him "I assume you are he."
Watson numbly opened the letter, she was telling the truth; it was obviously in Miss. Mortasan's handwriting, if he had ever recognized it. How had he never known he had a daughter?
"Come in." he finally managed to say.
Awkwardly, Elizabeth followed her… father, the word sounded odd in her head, maybe because she had never had one before then. Inside was a cluttered, though cozy common room. Mr. Holmes was lounging lazily in a chair in front of the fireplace, curiously examining her, he was obviously confused as to exactly what was happening.
Once they were inside and she had put down her bags Watson realized exactly how long she had been standing out in the rain; she was thoroughly soaked "Go and take a bath." Watson ordered "Or else you'll probably catch a cold."
She found a bath ready filled with hot water and once undressed soaked, listening to the conversation in the other room.
"So, what happened?" a voice she recognized as Mr. Holmes's asked, seeming worried.
"Well," her new dad sighed "it appears I have a daughter." He seemed exasperated.
"Really?" Mr. Holmes asked seeming curious.
Elizabeth heard some rustling around, then some noises as if someone was reading something interesting, probably the letter her mom had sent with her.
"This was not the type of excitement I was looking for; we could stage your death somehow." Mr. Holmes's tone seemed teasing, joking, very different from how her mom had described him as a cold genius who had somehow managed to befriend her dad.
"No, I have to take care of her, she's my responsibility. Anyway, it can't be all bad having a kid." Her dad sounded slightly teasing, but honest, it was pretty nice of him defending her and all, especially after he had only known her for a few minutes.
"But she's Miss. Mortasan's," Mr. Holmes sounded, could it be, jealous, "and anyway, what about our secret?"
What secret, she'd have to look into this, things already weren't adding up and she had only been there for a few minutes, this would be interesting.
"She's also mine, and we'll just have to be more careful." Her dad sounded very genuine, kind of apologetic.
This was getting more and more interesting.
"Okay, but don't expect me to help." Mr. Holmes seemed tired, not exactly malicious, though Elizabeth couldn't help but be a little offended; he seemed to dislike her for no reason, except it seemed her mom, and why would he dislike her mom.
They fell silent and Elizabeth finished her bath thinking over what she had heard.
She returned to see the two men sitting calmly in their chairs by the hearth, her dad was drinking tea and reading the paper and Mr. Holmes was staring into the fire board.
"You may stay." Holmes remarked gruffly, not looking up from the dancing flames.
She curtsied in reply and turned to her dad.
He looked up from the paper "You may as well take my room; the couch is no place for a lady."
He quickly glanced at Mr. Holmes reproachfully, who smiled smugly in reply.
"Let's get your bags unpacked." Her dad stood slowly and took her bags up the stairs into his room.
They unpacked her bags into an unusually empty cabinet in silence, Elizabeth wrapped in thoughts of what she had seen and heard.
"From now on you'll be called Elizabeth Watson, okay?" her dad spoke suddenly, though he seemed like he was trying to be nice and like he had an alternative motive of some sort, one that he was trying very hard to hide.
Either way, Elizabeth understood, and with that she began her new life in a new home.