"It's all fun and games, until someone gets hurt."

- various people and the moral for this chapter.

The Vengeful Jewel

Sunday, January 17, 1891
1:15 p.m.

"And you're positive that it was the sister?" Watson asked once more with obvious skepticism aimed at the man sitting across from him in the carriage.

"Quite so," Holmes replied breezily, his hands tucked languidly in his pockets.

"But you haven't even met the sister," Watson protested.

"A true fact that is, my dear Watson, but I saw the answer during the visit of Mrs. Jones and a little extra research only confirmed my deductions," Holmes replied proudly. "Today's visit will merely provide the proof."

"How?" Watson asked incredulously. "I was in the same room as you, saw the same Mrs. Jones, and heard the same words she spoke. Yet how is it that you have already come to a conclusive answer while I am still in the dark?"

"You say you saw and heard everything during Mrs. Jones visit?"

"Everything."

"You saw. But did you observe?"

"Observing is the same as witnessing is it not?"

"Why my dear Doctor, the two are different by far."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"Seeing as we have another five minutes until reaching our destination, I suppose I could spare an explanation."

Sherlock Holmes leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees; touching his fingertips together. He looked at Watson keenly as the carriage rumbled forward; the gray streets of London passing unnoticed by the windows.

"You see, Watson, by seeing or witnessing, you only examine the superficial layer of a thing. But by observing, you can dissect the object to find the holistic meaning within it."

Satisfied with his answer, Holmes leaned back smugly in his seat.

"That's your answer?" Watson asked disappointedly. "We still have another four minutes and forty-five seconds."

"Then I suggest observing the surroundings," Holmes replied with a flickering smile. "Never know when we're going to need an emergency exit. Knowing the emergency exit of another is helpful as well."

"You're incorrigible," Watson grunted as he leaned back into his seat.

Holmes chuckled lightly.

The remainder of the ride passed in silence as both Holmes and Watson gazed out the windows of the carriage, both mapping the streets in their heads in case such a map would be needed. At last, they arrived at their destination, paid the driver, and started for the front door.

The house was commonly ordinary. No lawn decorated its front and the steps that led to the door were made of wood. The bricks that constructed the building were old and cracked. A window shutter hung loose in its place. The house was in poor shape and seemed in no hurry to be fixed.

It was here that Mrs. Katherine Jones' sister resided.

Holmes and Watson ascended the steps, Watson's cane echoing dully against the creaking wood, and the detective rapped his fist against the door swiftly.

Footsteps sounded from behind the door and several locks slid out of place.

"Now, my dear Watson, I will prove that this sister is the current holder of Mrs. Jones' beloved jewel."

The door opened to reveal a rather tall and ungainly woman. A protruding belly stuck out slightly from her frame as well as the muscles that lined her arms. Her disheveled wispy, red hair was tied back loosely in a bun. She was certainly taller and fuller than her sister and lacked the same elegance and grace that the former possessed.

"Ms. Chloe Merrimirt?" Holmes asked with an air of someone who already knew whom he was addressing.

Chloe glared out at the two men with suspicious disdain and then her eyes suddenly widened with recognition and fright. She slammed the door shut and the locks bolted back in place to be followed by the flurried sound of running feet.

Holmes looked to Watson with a triumphant smirk.

Watson rolled his eyes. "All right. You were right. Can we go after her now?"

"As you wish, Doctor," Holmes agreed and unceremoniously kicked the door open.

Holmes bolted through the door first with Watson fast on his heels. Holmes didn't bother to look around but rather ran straight for an ancient staircase built from clay into the side of the house. The sound of something moving came from above.

"She's trapped herself," Watson said aloud as he followed Holmes up the stairs.

"Then this case just became that much easier," Holmes concurred as he reached the top floor and stopped. Watson came up to stop beside him.

It was strangely quiet now. The hallway spread for a short distance with two doors each standing along the sides.

"She's in here somewhere," Watson murmured, his sharp eyes weaving back and forth among the four doors.

"And our jewel with her," Holmes replied as he slowly moved forward.

He approached the first door on the left side cautiously as Watson took his place on the first door on the right. As one, they threw open the doors and rushed inside to search through the various tables and chairs. Everything was covered in a dusty white cloth and was devoid of any signs that someone actually used the rooms.

Finding no sign of the sister, Holmes and Watson moved to the second line of doors and repeated their actions.

Watson stepped into a bedroom that didn't contain the same covered furniture but a recently used bed. A small fireplace was built into the wall and a pile of cold ashes lay in its hearth. A table and mirror stood on the other side with an assortment of accessories and make up.

Watson moved closer to examine the jewelry laid out on the table; the gems casting rippling rings of light against the table from the sunlight provided by a single window. He bent down to peer closer at the jewels.

Priceless rubies and intricately cut diamonds gazed back at him. Judging by the fact that such rich jewels resided in such a poor house, Watson concluded that Mrs. Jones' necklace was not the first jewel to be stolen by Ms. Merrimirt. The woman was a seemingly accomplished thief and here were all her spoils, not doubt waiting to be sold for a better life.

Watson straightened and was prepared to report his findings to Holmes when he happened by chance to look into the mirror that hung over the table.

His eyes widened at the sight of a woman looming behind him with a fire poker grasped firmly in her hands.

Watson turned abruptly and lifted his hands to defend himself just in time to see the glinting bronze rush towards him.

Cold metal collided with his temple and his head snapped to the side with a gasp. All he could see was white as he felt his body collapse heavily to the ground and a dull pounding started in his temples. He blinked several times and was able to make out a shadowy figure running for the door.

Ms. Merriment didn't make it far.

Before she could even reach the door, Sherlock Holmes was standing before her. Standing at his full height, he towered menacingly over her, his cold dark eyes glaring at her with a burning hate.

With a cry, Chloe raised the metal staff to strike at the detective but Holmes' reaction was faster. His hand moved in a blur and gripped the poker; tearing the staff out of the woman's hands and throwing it aside as he would an extinguished cigarette.

The woman sniveled in fear and withdrew as Holmes stepped forward, pushing her further back into the room. The bed hit the back of her legs and she fell back onto it; her scared eyes never leaving Holmes.

"You will stay where you are," Holmes ordered in a seething voice. "If you move, I will have the police take you to Scotland Yard within your next breath."

Chloe swallowed audibly and sank further into the bed; her shivering form proving that she would obey.

Satisfied that his query would remain where she sat, Holmes hurried to Watson's side.

The doctor was moaning on the floor as the full-blown headache hit him. His hand was pressed tightly against the left side of his face. His eyes were tightly closed to escape from the dancing black dots that swam before his eyes.

"You all right, Old Boy?" Holmes asked gently, tapping his friend's unscathed cheek.

Watson turned in the direction of the voice and blearily opened his eyes, blinking back the reflexive tears and squinting past the dots.

"I think I'm losing my touch," he muttered drily.

"You have been leading a fairly pampered life with me," Holmes replied with a sigh of relief.

Watson laughed at the sarcasm but grimaced as the action agitated his throbbing head.

"Did you get her?" he asked weakly.

"Yes. Now let me look at that," Holmes ordered gently as he eased Watson's hand away from his face.

A thin gash marred Watson's temple and cut into his brow. Blood trickled slowly from the wound, dripping down over Watson's eyelid to curve around his eye. Holmes used his thumb to carefully remove the blood, much to Watson's discomfort.

"You'll live," Holmes stated confidently.

"Thank you, Doctor," Watson muttered; words dripping with sarcasm. But his smile was sincere.

Smiling gently, Holmes stood and helped Watson to his feet, offering the staggering man support as they moved to stand before Chloe.

"Can you see?" Holmes asked, experienced enough with head injuries to know that vision could be slightly impaired if inflicted with one.

Watson blinked. "Well enough."

Holmes reached forward – disregarding Chloe's cringing form – and removed from her tightly bound hair, a dazzling red ruby fastened into the body of a hair clip. Chloe's fiery hair fell round her shoulders as Holmes lifted the hair ornament for Watson to see.

"Then allow me to reveal to you the missing jewel of Mrs. Katherine Jones."

_._._._._._._

That little quote at the beginning was just to show that this fanfic isn't all about humor. There's some violence and seriousness in here too. You'll see more of that in later chapters.

Anywho, I wanted to give a shoutout or two while I have your attention:

I am quite honored and surprised that one of my readers would scar her – I'm pretty sure she's a her, judging by her profile – teacher for the me. Thanks so much Isis the Sphinx for your review.

And Siibi for making me laugh with a review about you laughing. ^_^

And a thanks to Uncanny-dreamer for setting my mind at ease with your compliment and assurance.

And there's an Anonymous person out there – I hope you know who you are – that gave a rather exceptional review and a beautiful compliment. I don't know who you are o' whisper in the night; figure of the shadows, but thank you so much for the review.

Thanks to all my readers and reviewers. I love reading your thoughts. It really makes my day.

Until next time then,
Hobey-Ho!