"Julia, go to your father; at once." Holmes ordered calmly, seeing the young girl before him begin to shake terribly.
She limply nodded and ran back into the museum as fast as her legs could carry her, which was quite fast. "Papa! Papa!"she cried as she neared him, barely withholding tears. "Papa, there was a body!" She cried into his shoulder when Watson picked her up and cradled her to him.
"Dear God." He mumbled to himself. "You should not have had to see that Julia." He soothed before turning to the direction his daughter had sprinted from. "Holmes!" he called before he got anywhere near the recently arrived swarm of officers, knowing that that was where the body Julia had spoken of was.
Holmes slid through the gaps in the throng and came to his friend and goddaughter's side. "I'm very sorry about that, Julia." He apologized earnestly. He truly did care for the girl in front of him. As far as children were concerned, she was quite content with silence, very intelligent, and was rather self-enclosed. "Watson, I had no idea that there would be a body. I thought there would simply be a murder weapon, not the murder victim."
"I assumed that much. I am going to take Julia and Rowan back to the inn. I don't think I could be of much help, what with all these officers running around." Watson explained, knowing how Holmes felt about the terrified girl with her head tucked into his good shoulder.
"Nonsense, Watson! You are always of use. Especially when I have no clue which of thirty-eight sharp force traumas caused the actual end of the poor fellow back there." Homes jokingly threw his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the room.
Julia relaxed slightly when she realized that the man she had seen did not die how her mother did. "Alright." Watson sighed. "I will send the girls back on their own. But we will leave here at three to go back to them: done or not."
Holmes nodded, so Watson set off for the front of the museum where the carriage should still be parked with Rowan still inside. It was indeed. Watson set Julia on her feet and told her to take care and to behave back at the inn. He gave his instructions to the driver to be back at the museum at three that afternoon. He stood on the curb as the carriage pulled away before returning inside to help Holmes solve this unexpected case.
The girls arrived back at the inn quickly, and ran inside immediately to get something for lunch. When they arrived, Mycroft was nowhere to be found. Which was odd considering Julia and the carriage driver, named David, both agreed that he would most likely be there.
After the quick meal, Rowan dragged Julia out into the garden to show her some of her favorite plants and to ask about what it was like to live in London. Mycroft had apparently left a gift for Julia on a garden bench. Julia tediously untied the string that encircled the gift, for it was made of a very interesting wash of leather. After unwrapping it, she saw a very odd bow and arrow set. Except the only thing odd about it was the fact that instead of sharp tips, the arrows' ends were miniature plungers. Julia immediately formed a hilarious plan. After conversing with Rowan, it was set.
Two hours later, Holmes and Watson pulled up in a cab. They saw only Rowan playing in the garden. "Where is Julia?" Watson asked.
Before she could answer, a soft twang was heard from above. Then a plunger tipped arrow came whizzing into view. Holmes didn't have time to react; the projectile hit him squarely in the backside. The sight was followed by stifled laughs from all, even Holmes.
After Holmes succeeded in prying the plunger off, he turned to Watson and said one word, "Julia." Immediately following the accusation, the suspect tumbled out of a nearby tree in a fit of laughter. "What was the incentive behind your first, but certainly not last, attack?" Holmes asked with quizzical smile; he was still holding the arrow in his left hand.
"Opportunity." that was her giggled response.
"Show us your weapon of choice." Watson accused jokingly.
So Julia climbed the tree again; except this time, she came down holding the bow and the remaining four arrows. "Apparently Mr. Mycroft left it for me."
"Speaking of my confounded brother, where is he? Hiding in another tree with another toy arrow?" Holmes said, his usually expressionless face showing as much annoyance as his vocabulary.
"Actually, he has not yet returned." Rowan had finally gathered up the courage to chime in on the conversation.
"I am sure he will return for dinner." Holmes said as he started up the walk to the door of the inn.
While walking to the inn, Julia began to question Rowan to try and tie up all the loose ends in the current case. She learned that the local glass maker and blacksmith was Rowan's father. And that his metallic specialties are medieval type weaponry, especially throwing daggers.
However, when dinner came around, Mycroft was still nowhere to be found. The same thing was to be said by breakfast. By now, all were worried.
They decided to retrace Mycroft's steps, to try and find where he had gone.
They went to the post office and "interrogated" the clerk; a jittery middle aged man who could not stop fiddling with the letters and packages in his hands.
"The, the man you described, he came in yesterday and retrieved letters for a, a Mr. Allen Vanderhoff." the man said, his eyes darting between the two men He had not yet noticed the small form leaning over different mailboxes. That is until it cried out in delight.
"I found it! I know where Mr. Mycroft is! See, here is a letter; well it's made up of numbers. But we should be able to decipher it. Should we?"
4519 18593632,
9 155 2812 763 814566354 45 4911957. 46 562 6952, 752. 1-4- 91 6321945. 6954 47 15366, 154 763 49336954 45.
4-3-8
Holmes snatched the letter out of Julia's hands. "It's rooting, he has written in rooting! This first part, it means 'Dear Sherlock'. We used rooting when we were children. '4-3-8,' that is his signature.
Watson interrupted Holmes' jovial deciphering. "Well, let us get this back to the inn so you can translate it, and then we can go get your brother out of whatever mess he is in."
All nodded and they quickly left the post office; leaving a very confused clerk in their wake.
To all the fans of this series out there; I'm very sorry this took so long, but school got in my way. And my editor/sometimes co-author had me working on other stuff.
If any of you have any ideas as to who the murderer is, send it in a review and I will tell you if you're right or wrong.
As with any story: reviews are cherished and always reviewed.
Sincerely,
C M (the mysterious half of idkaname)