Chapter 2: Nightmare

A stinging sweat, a waking scream

Will cut away the room

And leave you there suspended in

A cozy nest of gloom

Holmes:

In most situations, I have found that my mind is liable to define the nature of a given predicament faster than most. Yet, before I had even registered the significance of the personage standing before me in a most worrisome manner, I felt my hand being squeezed tightly. There was a shift in the proximity of the child next to me as she backed away, slipping behind me, and tugging at my arm to indicate her uneasiness. A vain attempt at leading me back up the seventeen steps to our Baker Street rooms as a sort of protective measure. I was, of course, not about to allow this, but held my place, and studied our visitor with thorough yet conservative interest.

She was young, not of an age greater than thirty eight, with golden blonde hair that fell in light ringlets down her slender shoulders. Her features were even and I imagine they would be considered pleasing to the majority of earth's populace. Her eyes were large, grey and fastidious, flicking from myself to Rowland and then to Watson, narrowing a little more with each scrupulous glance.

These were not characteristics I would usually take note of on their own, but in this instance they were of supreme interest.

The lady's clothing was of rich material and her stately appearance was consistent with someone of great wealth. Her bearing, assured and strict, was that of one used to getting her way in all things. She was not accustomed to labour of any physical kind, as her carefully manicured nails and obviously soft hands made evident, and yet her shrewdness and physical fitness were indicators of discipline.

Add these surface deductions to the many others which I was able to make, and compare her physical attributes to those of the young lady tugging at my sleeve, and it was not a difficult leap to say that Sarah Leanne Rowlands was at present, face to face with her biological mother, the woman who had assisted in the abuse and destruction of a young and helpless life.

I felt my own hand grasp quickly around the wrist of the child, shoving her further behind me, it only occurred to me after I had done so that I was behaving almost...it was only logical, of course, after all, Sarah had saved my life, I owed her a debt. This was no doubt the reason behind what others may mistake for outward affection.

The sunlight was glaring through the lingering fog, and gushing past the occupant of the doorway into my eyes, aside from being uncomfortable, this affect also seemed to give our guest a disembodied appearance, like the sinister ghost from the past that she was.

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" purred the lady, she was obviously a native of England, and she spoke in a sweet and mischievous voice. I was instantly aware of a disconcerting clenching sensation in my gut. "My name is-"

I interrupted her: "Roxanne Alicia Rowlands, wife of Alexander Christophe Rowlands, former parent of Sarah Leanne Rowlands."

Her eyes grew wide, but then narrowed quickly once more; She clenched her hands, digging her nails into her palms to a nearly imperceptible degree. Sarah squeezed my own hand tighter.

"Former?" Mrs. Rowlands' tone was soft, venomous. Each sound carving the air as a carpenter might a block of wood.

"Pray correct me if I am mistaken, but last I reviewed the law, it was customary to remove custody of a child from their parent when the latter was a party to slashing open the former's flesh with a landscaping utensil."

I did not say any more, though I admit I wished too. It is far more intimidating to leave your adversary knowing there is more you could say, then to use up all your cards and have to pretend the contrary.

Her face suddenly lost all of the beauty it may have possessed, as the soft smile turned to an angry frown; thinning volumes red lips, pursing the large eyes, and wrinkling the white skin.

She reached her long, slender arm out and beckoned to the Sarah, who wrapped both hers arms around my waist from behind, securing herself to me rather like an oyster to a rock when the riptide is upon it. I felt her shake her head, and Watson, who had, out of respect for me, remained silent for the last few moments, stepped up to my right side, adding further support to our barricade.

The lady's face assumed an amused expression once again. "Come now dear." She nearly sang "you know how upset your father becomes when you don't do as you're asked." The arms around my waist gripped tighter and I struggled for a moment to breathe properly.

Mrs. Rowlands stopped for a moment and studied this predicament, the way Watson edged closer still to our charge, my whole attitude as well, was one of stern non-compliance. Her smile broadened. "We wouldn't want anything…unhappy to befall Mr. Holmes, now would we?"

Sarah is, overall, a very sweet and loving girl, fiercely loyal to everyone who is of importance to her; indeed, I have never been treated so tenderly and protectively by anyone, not even Watson, as there are lines he will not cross due to my own emotional barriers, indications of preference which Sarah seems deliberately blind to (I am not certain whether this is desirable or not). And yet, I have observed a certain trend in her behaviour towards violence at times, namely, a tendency to leap out at any character who may represent a threat to her circle of friends.

With her nails unsheathed and a glowering fire in her black eyes, she will lunge brashly upon the unsuspecting ruffian. It is quite a frightening thing, and happens so quickly that the poor soul who made the error of saying too much, ends up without a recognisable face before either myself or another adult is able to lay hand upon the her.

I would have thought myself imagining things if I were not myself, but as it is, there are indications that this behaviour increases in intensity whenever it is in direct connection with my person. So it was with previous experience that I latched my fingers more tightly around Sarah's hands as her arms released me, as held her back with all my not inconsiderable strength.

"I thank you for your concern madam" I said loudly, more to Sarah than to our visitor "However, I assure you, I am quite capable of looking after myself."

The smile remained affixed to the face, Watson's voice echoed my own "If you will excuse us, Mrs. Rowlands, we must be on our way, we have a rather pressing appointment and are already late." His tone, I noticed, was careful, his face was resolute. Though I could not see it from where I stood, I knew his eyebrows had been drawn into a determined glower.

"Oh, by all means." She stepped out of the doorway, "I will stop by again another time."

Without another word, she turned and walked with dainty precision off the front step and across the street, whereupon she climbed into a black hover limousine that I had noticed when she'd first attempted to introduce herself to me. Her blue suit and skirt, and matching high-healed shoes adding to the surrealism of the picture as the car door slammed, and she was gone.

I felt Sarah slump behind me, and turned now to look at Watson, I felt the child, her hands once again round my waist, move with me, so that she was still behind my back. "Watson" I said, formally, to indicate my seriousness "contact Lestrade and the irregulars, they are to come to Baker Street at once, tell them as little as possible via video, I have no doubt our line is being monitored. When you are finished, please assist me in searching the house for eavesdropping devices. Sarah and I are going to have a little chat after which I shall be right with you."

I reached down, and scooped the child uncharacteristically into my arms, not entirely certain of what I was doing, and yet I had a vague memory of Mycroft enacting a similarly domestic scene involving myself in my early youth.

I took her upstairs, Watson behind me, as Sarah wept silently into my shoulder, and held onto me tightly, as though she were afraid I would be taken right out from under her. I sat down in my armchair, and kept her against my shoulder, sitting her on my lap. "There, now." I soothed, awkwardly "no harm will come to you, I give you my word." She grabbed my hand "ITS NOT ME IM WORRIED ABOUT." She explained, hurriedly.

Watson and I will set everything right" I assured her, "you needn't worry."

"YOU DONT UNDERSTAND THEYRE DANGEROUS."

Looking back, I am unable to recall when I first started calling her Sarah, all I knew was, one day it had slipped out, and she had not seemed to mind.

"Believe me Sarah, I do understand, I have a file devoted solely to the endeavours of Mr. and Mrs. Rowlands. I realize that their criminal tendencies are not to be taken lightly, but you must understand that I am more experienced in these matters than Mr. Colehurst, I am far less likely to disappear."

At the mention of the name, Sarah's tears grew more vigorous, and I instantly regretted using it. She and I had worked for a good month to establish a dialogue with the old gardener with regards to the past injustices they had both suffered, and two days before the scheduled meeting, he had died under mysterious circumstances, the Rowlands' had paid the funeral expenses and given a substantial grant to his children, the connection was obvious, and yet they received positive publicity as a result. Sarah had been despondent for days.

I felt my palm tickle familiarly. "THEYLL TRY TO TAKE ME FIRST IF THEY CANT. THEN THEYLL KILL YOU." With was stated with great intensity, her face red with crying and her eyes desperate. I could hear Watson on the video phone behind me, making arrangements, and then a repetitive beeping noise as be began searching the inner structure of our apartment for any unwelcome devices.

"I will be fine." I promised, not certain whether I was lying or not, but hopefully I appeared confident. "And no one will take you away from…"

The words had simply come out of my mouth without premeditation, no doubt a result of my lack of sleep over the past few months, ever since that little incident during which I lost my sight for a short time I will admit that I have not been quite myself, temporary though it was, it was still an inconvenience. That was it, certainly, all I needed was stronger discipline, this new century was making me soft.

And yet as I looked into the troubled, terrified face of the girl situated on my knee, I remembered her as the signs she had imprinted into my hands, somewhat akin to an invisible tattoo, as she had endlessly given me everything her starved, mistreated and neglected soul had to offer, asking nothing in return.

Watson had told me how she had defended me when I had finally surrendered, against my will, to unconsciousness, how she had stayed with me in the police cruiser and waited for me at the hospital.

I sighed, shrugged off thoughts of that dreaded institution before they seeped into my brain, and to my own disbelief, I let my lips form my earlier thought, completing an irrevocable sentence. "No one will take my…sister from me." For that was the relationship, I knew, though how I don't know, that of an older brother to a younger sister. I'd never had one before, a female sibling to care for, and fend suitors off from, and I found myself loathed to entertain even the idea of parting with the experience.

Sarah burrowed deeper into my shoulder in response, and I heard her sniffling. Every soul has one fear they fear above all others, and while they may be brave when opposing any other obstacle, there is always left that isolated indescribable terror that cannot be faced, I had survived mine but Sarah, sweet, incorrigible Sarah, was just now in the very middle of hers.