A/N: Yay! I finally finished re-editing the second chapter. Thanx to Jilla For betaing for me and also to for the review, I'm glad you like it. So without further ado I present the next chapter featuring Holmes and Mikael.

Chapter two: The First Case

Mister and Miss had been dropped between Holmes and myself, we found formalities got in the way of research and findings; that and it was easier to argue without the burden of extra words. Perhaps I should turn the word argue to yell since more yelling happened then arguing, our personalities did not always match.

I had spent almost an entire summer under the tutelage of Sherlock Holmes. Two and half months of reading, studying, drilling, and being scrutinized; I did nothing right as far as he was concerned, and I was sick of him.

In reality, I was sick of both him and my aunt but since I couldn't get away with yelling at her Holmes bore more of my frustration then he should have. However, he did deserve it in some ways. The day after he announced that I was his apprentice he decided that I needed to be worked harder, and that requires more time with him. Aunt Martha on the other hand, was all ready unhappy with the hour and a half that I spent with Holmes to begin with. So while Holmes was pressing me for more time studying, my aunt pushed for more time doing the things a young lady is supposed to be doing.

Needless to say, I was exhausted after two and a half months of this, and Holmes wasn't the most understanding of people.

His present mood wasn't making him any more likable either. He had solved his latest case; spending several weeks in Norway investigating a smuggling operation, and was now in an after case depression.

My poor aunt had suffered much in the last few days; you could say that the air hung a little thick in the house. Holmes sat deep in his chair smoking his pipe and looking somewhat sinister, while I fought off a large headache and attempted to put the pieces of one of his first cases together with very little evidence and so far no success.

"Surely you were given more evidence than this by the police when you started the case Holmes, this is impossible."

"I had less then what I gave you, now think of what is in front of you Mikael."

Sighing I turned back to my work. After another five minutes of staring blankly I groaned in frustration and started rummaging through the papers, talking my self through each step. Looking up, I caught Holmes glowering at me.

"What?" I asked, wondering what I had done to so obviously offend him.

He didn't answer so I returned to my task. Seconds into my second audible run through of the case, Holmes cleared his throat. I jerked my head up, glaring.

"You have had me sitting in front of books and microscopes for three weeks, if my talking bothers you so much then you could at least give me one small hint. My brain is not use to this kind of work and you sitting over there clearing your throat at me does not help matters." By the time I finished yelling at him I was on my feet.

Holmes jumped out of his chair sending the book that was on his lap flying. The look on his face and the suddenness of his moves made me jump back in surprise.

"I seriously believe you have not flexed your brain in a long while since I have yet to find a trace of one in your skull."

My jaw dropped open in disbelief. "Holmes, that is unfair. I..."

"Life is not fair Mikael, when you prove to me that you have a brain and can use it, I will believe that you have one; but until then you are just a silly, stupid teenager."

That stung. Not knowing what else to do I stood up, gathered my papers and went down to my room.

By mid-afternoon I had relaxed but was still somewhat afraid to go and face Holmes. When my Aunt returned home from her day at the market, a middle-aged woman followed her through the door. Holmes came out of the study and led her into the library. My curiosity overcame my apprehension of what Holmes would do if he caught me spying on him.

Aunt Martha had brought them tea, then I waited until I was sure it was safe to walk out in the open. I crept down the hall to the door and pressed my face up against the keyhole. The lady was sitting on the edge of her seat relating her problem in very hushed tones; I had a hard time hearing all she had to say. Holmes sat in his chair with his hands pressed together, smoking his pipe.

Enable to find out all that was going on I alternated pushing my eye and my ear against the door. I managed to overhear her say that someone in her family had been kidnapped, although I couldn't make out whom. I also saw her hand a paper to Holmes, which I assumed to be the ransom note. Holmes looked very troubled and sounded sympathetic and sincere, making me believe I was not spying on the same man that had yelled at me earlier in the day.

I watched Holmes crouch down in front of the womanand start talking to her in a way that made me switch to using my ear. The tone of his voice was the most reassuring thing I have ever heard.

"Mrs. Banks, I will find your son. I will hit the streets tonight to gather whatever evidence the police have missed. Now I want you to go home and try to think of anything that might help and meet me in a fortnight at the Simpson's restaurant at seven o'clock."

Upon hearing this, I quietly backed away from the door and into the kitchen with my Aunt.

As I had expected him to, after Holmes had escorted what was now his client to her cab, he entered the kitchen to inform Aunt Martha of his plans. The look that he threw in my direction told me that he knew I had been spying on him.

"Mrs. Hudson don't bother making my dinner tonight I will be away for the next few days."

My aunt just nodded her head, "I thought as much Mr. Holmes."

Holmes left the room and went up to his room to pack his bags; paying me no further heed.

"Aunt Martha will you excuse me I have a letter I must finish."

Before she could ask me to stay and help with dinner, I ran down the hall to my room to pack a few of my own things.

Digging through my trunk that I had been neglecting to unpack, I pulled out a small russack, some trousers I had found useful on more than one occasion, an old shirt and the other things that I knew I would need on the streets of London. I slid out the window, which unfortunately faced the street, to hide in the bushes in the front of the apartmentWhen Holmes finally emerged for the house, he had adopted the look of a construction worker after a hard day's work. He was almost a block away before I pulled my cap down tighter on my head and chased after him. It was difficult for my short legs to keep up with his long, purposeful strides.

As he entered the crowds getting off work, I had to run to stay close enough so as not to lose him. At one point, I made the mistake of bumping into a rather large man when I stopped suddenly to avoid being too close to the unsuspecting Holmes. Quickly dodging his curses and swinging hand I apologized and moved on my way. Thanking my training when I heard then fat man call me 'lad'.

Eventually Holmes walked into a pub that was definitely on the wrong side of town. I slid in behind him and melted into a dark corner in the back. Holmes mixed in with the regulars appearing to be no different then they were. After about an hour I ordered something to eat and contemplated telling the waitress that Holmes was my father to make him foot the bill. It was because of him in part that I was here instead of eating my aunt's delicious food.

In four hours the main crowd had drank around fifteen beers each, except for Holmes who had only drank six. You would never know how little he drank however, because he acted more sloshed than everyone else put together.

Not long afterwards, a few brawls were about to happen and the pub owner started thinning out the crowd. I was forced to leave with the second group of men enable to prevent blowing my cover; although I had the feeling that Holmes knew he was being followed. Holmes was the last person to stagger out of the bar. He stumbled down the road, drunkenly singing the most vulgar song that I had heard since entering London (it fit his present persona perfectly I must add).

By the time we had gotten five blocks away the singing had stopped and the stumbling lessened. He ducked down an alleyway and quickened his step; I crouched at the entrance to watch where he would go next when a burly man stepped out from behind a garbage can with a gun in his hand.

Holmes froze as the gun was held up to his head.

"Well, if'n it isn't Sherlock Holmes. Oi 'spected Oi would see you 'ear. You stay offa this case if'n yer wanten t' live gov'ner." Cockney was the easiest accent to identify.

While to man was talking, Holmes had slowly withdrawn his own gun. Suddenly he whirled around, punching at the bigger man as he did so, but the stranger was faster than his size suggested, that and Holmes was not wholly unaffected by his half dozen drinks.

The two men began to struggle and Holmes' gun was knocked from his hand. As they fought over the remaining gun, I started wondering why there wasn't a bobbie patrolling the area.

Unfortunately, with the alcohol in his system, Holmes was no match for the Cockney.

I had been slowly creeping down the wall, trying to get as close as possible to the fracas. Holmes was thrown to the ground and I heard the gun cock. I screamed and jumped backwards, tripping over something and falling against the alley wall. The sound distracted the Cockney allowing Holmes to get the upper hand. Holmes jumped to his feet, punching the man squarely in the jaw causing him to crumple to the ground.

As I untangled myself from the rubbish I had tripped over, I stole a glance in Holmes' direction. He wasn't happy.

"Mikael, why on earth are you here?" he snapped.

I reached back to explore the knot on my head while I answered, "I just thought that… well actually I didn't really think I just did. Ow"

Holmes opened his mouth to give me the berating that I deserved but he stopped when I brought my hand forward and he saw blood on it. His face softened slightly and when I started to get up, he pushed me back down.

"Stay where you are while I dispose of our friend." Holmes pocketed the man's gun and grabbed the him unceremoniously by the ankles, dragged him out to the street where he would most likely be found by a patrolling constable. Returning to my side, Holmes handed me his handkerchief and instructed me to hold it to the gash in my skull.

"Come, let's get you patched up." He said gruffly.

Holmes was about to lift my nearly unconscious form when suddenly what little pride I still had over came my dizziness and my head cleared enough for me to insist that I could walk. Holmes helped me to my feet, offered his supporting arm and led me off through the night.