Little Talks Chapter 3
After snapping out of her little daydream while eating her breakfast, Layla cleaned up her mess and made her way back out into the city of London. She needed to head back over to Baker Street. She wanted to go through some of the other books and things that she had found among the shelves.
After arriving at 221B Baker St, Layla noticed a man standing on the front steps. Getting her switchblade out of her pocket she took in the man's appearance. Expensive three piece suit, carefully manicured nails, perfectly clipped hair, stern features, sharp nose, and hawk-like eyes. After what she saw the other week, back at her friend Flavia's apartment she wasn't taking any chances; she kept her switchblade hidden, tucked into the bottom of her jacket sleeve.
"Can I help you Mr…..?" Layla asked wearily of the stranger.
"Mycroft Holmes, former owner of this building."
"OK. Mr. Holmes. How can I help you?"
"You can start by putting away your knife. You won't need that."
"How about I hold onto it until I know what you're after."
"Very well; although I must warn you….even if you were to try to attack me, that man back there at the car would be capable of killing you in less than fifteen seconds."
"That doesn't exactly restore my comfort levels. What can I do for you?"
"I think we should go inside and talk." He noticed the way she looked around carefully; it wasn't totally lost on him how she had been studying him since she first saw him.
"Miss Adler, I know who you are, I know where you are from. I also know that you are currently living in London after the murder of your friend. I want to speak to you."
Layla backed away slowly. "What do you know about Flavia's murder?"
"I know that it was a message for you. You had overlooked the warnings that were sent to your email address among others. This was the next step…."
"Do you work for them?" She was starting to breathe heavily and feel a bit nauseous, like that day when she found her friend's body.
"Definitely not; I hold a minor position in the government…."
"It doesn't matter. They've paid people off before….." She was feeling faint and seeing spots before her eyes; she grabbed onto the lamp post to try to keep herself upright. That is the last thing she remembered before she blacked out.
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Layla came too in the sitting room of 221B, she was reclined on the sofa; without sitting up much she looked around to try to get her bearings.
"Oh good, you're awake."
Sitting up now, she rubbed her forehead, 'What happened?"
"It seems as though you became overwhelmed and you blacked out. Are you feeling better now?"
"Mr. Holmes…."
"I will come straight to it since you seem to believe that I have been sent here to do away with you. This property, 221B, had been in my family for generations. The last couple of generations, we haven't used it, and I am afraid it was left to stand rather derelict. You will need to get the building up to code so far as the electrical and the plumbing are concerned. That much I am sure of. I would like to aid you with that. I would be able to arrange for a crew to come in and see to both issues. And due to your recent problems with safety concerns, I would be able to assure you that the people who do the work would be above reproach. They do a lot of work for our government buildings and due to that they are required to have extensive background checks.
After the plumbing and electrical is taken care of it would only be a matter of you deciding how you would like this old place to be refurbished and I can arrange to have that taken care of as well. You would just have to meet with my contractor and explain what you would like."
"You would do that for me?"
"Yes. You are coming from America. You don't know so very many people in London just yet. It seems as though you have kept close to home except on your morning excursions and your forays down to the café to have a bite of lunch. You haven't even been to a grocer yet, mainly because there is no power in this home yet. But at the flat that you lived in when you first moved to town, you had your groceries delivered so you wouldn't have to make the decision to take a taxi, tube, or bus. You don't trust taxis at this time, because you are afraid that if you are alone inside of one that perhaps the driver has been sent to kill you. But in truth, you don't like the idea of leaving the house much because you are trying to lessen your chances of whoever is after you being able to find you."
"You're quite good at this game Mr. Holmes."
"It is no game madam. It is simple deduction. I have been alerted to your presence in the country. I have contacts in America that were quite impressed with your work. When your friend was found murdered and you disappeared so suddenly, word was sent out that those of us that were able should keep our eyes open in case you entered our….jurisdiction. And I suppose that if I was not of my rank in the government and had people to help me see to my personal safety, I would take many of the same precautions as you have. I must say that without getting terribly high tech, you've done quite well keeping yourself out of harm's way.
But I must ask you…What possessed you to buy a house, especially one that is in such disrepair?"
"When I was a kid I made up my mind that if I ever had the chance I would move to London. I always wanted a home that looked like London threw up all over it….I wanted a home that was so 'London' that it was almost painful. As soon as the real estate agent brought me here, I felt it. I didn't even have to walk inside to know. But I waited until I came inside….We hadn't even made it up the first flight of stairs when I turned to him and told him that I wanted to make an offer. I didn't need to see the rest of it. I didn't care what condition it was in. I wanted this place.
I've never had a real home. I grew up as an orphan. My parents both died while I was still quite young. No foster or adoptive families ever kept me. Nobody wanted me. In America, I had my apartment. It was small…tiny even, a lot like the one I took here. It was just big enough for a bed, a bathroom, a small kitchen, and not much else. But it was all I needed to live. But it wasn't really home.
I had a few friends, but I have never been close with other people, it's something you learn to live with when you grow up in foster care. You don't get attached very easily because it never lasts.
When I saw this place, the bones of it, it was everything I had wanted. I know it will take some work to make it livable again, but I think it will be worth it. I don't want to lose the Victorian charm of the place. I would like to, wherever possible keep the woodwork….it's quite lovely. There are some rooms I would even like to keep the wallpaper or have it recreated if possible. Some of it will have to go just because the pattern is too hideous even for me to find something to love about it….Replacement windows will be needed to help make this place a little more energy efficient. But other than that I love the place as it is. I wanted to buy a piece of London's history when I came here, why would I destroy it now?
And then when I finally came up here and I saw some of the books, furniture, and other things that were left here….my favorite thing is this."
Layla went over to a table by one of the windows and lifted up an instrument case, opening it she revealed a violin that was almost 200 years old.
"I know it is completely out of tune and I don't even know how to play an instrument anyway…but I loved it. I suppose it must have belonged to one of the people who used to live here. The only thing that could possibly come close to topping that is this…" she opened the drawer to the little table, picking up the old journal that had belonged to Dr. John Watson.
"Yes, the journal of Dr. Watson. He was a colleague of my great-great grandfather, Sherlock Holmes, he was an army doctor before he was invalided out…it seems he was shot in the leg. I myself am named after Sherlock's older brother Mycroft. I have a younger brother who is named, at least in part after the Sherlock of old. My family is one of those that has a thing for recycling old family names."
"Oh. What was the old Mr. Holmes, Sherlock I mean….what was he like?"
"He played the violin, poorly most of the time. My brother Sherlock plays quite well actually when the mood suits him, but then his moods are so changeable sometimes. The Victorian Sherlock was a consultant with Scotland Yard. My brother has been known to consult with them on their investigations as well. It seems as if he has followed in our ancestor's path. Right down to the drug addiction. The elder Sherlock preferred a seven percent solution of cocaine. My brother, Sherlock, has been known to do whatever drug he chooses just to prove he's immortal, I assume. My brother is a genius you see, and his mind is a wonderful tool that he uses to help the police. But at times his thoughts can get crowded and he used the drugs to quiet his mind just so he could sleep. He's better now. He hasn't used at all that I am aware of since he met his friend John Watson."
"Oh wow. Another John Watson. What are the odds?"
"Yes, it seems as history is repeating itself. This man, John was an army surgeon. He was invalided home from Afghanistan after being shot through the soldier by an enemy sniper. He does some work in a local clinic to keep up with his medical degree. And, when he's not too busy with that, he races around London with my brother chasing criminals. Although, I must say that the devotion between my brother and his Dr. Watson seems to run a bit deeper than the original model. Our ancestor never could quite give up his cocaine solution. Of course, perhaps the level of crime in the Victorian era versus the crime in today's world might have something to do with that."
"I loved reading this journal, well what I have seen of it so far. It's quite an interesting read. Apparently your ancestor was a handful."
"Yes, and it seems as though my brother has followed completely in his footsteps."
"I wonder what all of these other books are."
"Likely some of them are more journals that belonged to Dr. Watson. Some of them were writings that belonged to the original Sherlock, different notes he made on cases and experiments that he would run on various things that would aid in his crime solving. Some of it is actually quite boring unless you have a head for science or for crime solving. Which, apparently you do…at least for the crime solving."
Layla looked around the room, admiring the shelves upon shelves of the old dusty tomes. There was a sadness in her eyes that Mycroft just could not define.
"Will you be wanting any of these old books back, or the violin? I mean, really they belong to your family anyway, I have no right to them. I bought the house not the…."
"Madam you are free to keep any of them that you would like. My parents are both a bit older and they have no use for them. My brother conducts a lot of his own experiments and such, although I am not certain he wouldn't trouble you to read some of these old journals at some point, especially when he is bored as so frequently happens."
"Tell him that he is free to do so."
"Be careful what you wish for. He is known to break into the homes of his friends and acquaintances at all hours of the day. Ask poor Dr. Hooper in the morgue, he thinks nothing of waking her at 3AM to try to get her to open the morgue up to him to perform another experiment or to give him body parts from corpses that might lead him to a clue on a case. He has a problem with personal space and social cues."
"I don't care. This place is really mostly yours, meaning the both of you, anyway. I'll even give him a key to keep him from having to pick the locks, once I have one made for him that is."
"Madam…'
"You may call me Layla if you like."
"Layla, I couldn't help but notice that your last name was Adler."
"Yes, what of it?"
"I didn't know if you knew how you came by the name."
"It's just my last name; it's the one that my parents gave me."
"I only mentioned it because back in the lifetime of my ancestor, Sherlock, he was in love with a woman named Irene Adler. Ordinarily he didn't give in to his inclinations towards women, he considered the work he did more important than relationships, his friendship with Dr. Watson notwithstanding. But, this lady was quite attractive, and she had the added benefit of being quite intelligent in her own right. That was a commodity that wasn't usually admired in women in those days; they were supposed to just sit there and raise the family and defer to their husbands to make serious decisions. Irene was totally different; a breath of fresh air in Sherlock's world I think. They were only together, in the physical sense, a few times. I could probably count on one hand how many times they were intimately involved. But from what I am to understand she eventually had a child, reportedly Sherlock was the father. Soon after she gave him the news she disappeared and Sherlock could never find her again.
Years later, after Sherlock retired from his work, he took a wife. She was some years younger than Sherlock. They had several children, possibly five, I think. It is from this marriage that my brother and I are descended.
In case you were wondering, the old Dr. Watson married a lovely woman named Mary, she had been a nurse. As it turns out she had cared for him briefly when he was wounded during the wars back then."
Mycroft walked over to one of the cases that lined the walls and opened a drawer. He produced a double frame.
"On the left is a picture of the elder Sherlock and his wife, Alexandra; on the right is photograph of Dr. and Mary Watson."
"Oh, they're lovely."
"Do you think it is at all possible that you could be somehow descended from Irene Adler?"
"I honestly don't know Mr. Holmes. My parents died in a car accident when I was maybe six. I barely knew them, let alone to know enough to ask them a bunch of questions about their families. I just know that I was an only child. I have no family left that I am aware of."
"Would you be open to allowing me to look into these things to help you find out?"
"I don't….If you dig into my life, be careful. I already have one friend that has turned up dead."
"Oh madam, I am ever so much harder to kill. But thank you for the caution anyway."
"Of course. When should I expect your people to come through to do the plumbing and electrical?"
"They should be here tomorrow morning, bright and early. As a matter of fact, while the work is being done would you be amenable to staying at my home? It's quite spacious, I'm rarely there…my work keeps me rather busy and even out of the country at times….You would have free reign over most of the place, and it's quite secure so your safety would be assured."
"I don't know…."
"Come now, it would be ever so much simpler than having to go back and forth to your flat to take care of your basic needs. You wouldn't have to worry about getting out in the public eye and having to deal with public transportation. You would have every need seen to."
"Alright, when you put it like that, perhaps I could manage to stay there a few days anyway. It couldn't hurt I suppose. I wouldn't be troubling you?"
"Hardly. As I said, I am rarely there anyway. When I am it is only for a few hours of sleep and little else. If you want to grab some clothes and come along I can take you with me now as a matter of fact. I have already taken the liberty of sending a message to one of my people to have a suite made ready for you."
"Presumptious?"
"I had hoped that you would see the common sense in the arrangement. I promise you that once the work is completed here at Baker Street you will be allowed to return on your own accord."
"I thought our arrangement would last as long as it would take to get the plumbing and electrical seen to."
"It is. But, if you would like to stay longer, while you wait for all of the work to be completed on the refurbishments around here. It's just an idea. I would also like to suggest a state of the art security alarm. Although, I am sure you won't need it."
"Why is that?"
"I have also taken the liberty of having a security detail attached to you."
"When did you do all of this?"
"While you were unconscious. And also, I have an acquaintance at New Scotland Yard, a detective….well he is really my brother's acquaintance…but we have a working relationship. He keeps an eye on my brother's well-being, along with John, when I cannot. I can ask him to check in on you from time to time."
"Why are you doing this for me?"
"Quite simply, because I can. Since I was alerted to your case and found out that you were, indeed, in London, I took the liberty of having my people look into who might be hunting you. If our intel is correct, and it usually is, you will need all of the assistance you can get. Why shouldn't it be me?"
"Very well. Give me a moment to throw some things together and we can go."
As she left the room she grabbed old Dr. Watson's journal and took it with her to go pack her bag.
Noticing her quick theft, 'You're bringing Dr. Watson's journal?"
"Yes. He was the first real friend I made in this town."
Turning to the blank pages in the back of the journal, she showed Mycroft her writing.
"I asked him to try to watch over me. I told him I needed someone to watch over me. And he sent you. Now, give me ten minutes, I will be right back."
With that Layla dashed off to go up to her room and gather a bag of things that she might need for the next few days at least. She knew that the refurbishment of the home would take more than a few days and she would need to come back and get more things….at least she figured she would. Packing some of her favorite pieces of the new clothes she had bought before leaving America, she placed Dr. John H. Watson's journal on top of her thing; she would never dream of leaving it behind. Looking around she saw an old pipe sitting on a shelf. She recognized it from the picture of Sherlock and Alexandra Holmes. Grabbing Mr. Holmes' old pipe she stuck it carefully into the suitcase beside the journal.
Picking up the journal, she kissed the cover and sent a nearly silent 'thank you' to the universe before replacing it among her things and zipping the suitcase shut.
Grabbing her bag she made her way down to the sitting room where she had left Mycroft waiting. As he ushered her to the waiting car, he locked up the front door for her as the driver helped her load her suitcase into the car. As she turned to look back at the window to the sitting room, just before ducking into the car, Layla would swear on a stack of bibles that she saw the sharp, hawk-like features of one Sherlock Holmes and the much kinder, gentler visage of Dr. John H. Watson watching her departure.
