Author's Note: Hey there, I know I didn't update as regularly as you and myself as well want me to, but since I had and still have my final exams over the next weeks please forgive me for I do what I can. I hope you enjoy my stories though. Sincerely M. Shelley
Watson's POV
Of course Mrs Hudson was right. I too, didn't remember anything of one of the murder victims having a family or a child.
My thoughts drifted off. I would actually like to know more about this girl. How would she look? Did she inherit her fathers intelligence? Or would she end up like her mother, a prostitute in such a dirty quarter?
Mrs Hudson waked me with a suddenly "Doctor". Hastily I replied "Yes, Mrs Hudson?". "Please try to talk to him. I really fear for his sanity, after a whole day..."
I remembered my friend being in harder constitution a few times, but I followed her wish and walked up to my friend's flat.
I knocked at the door with the stick that almost never left my side and spoke "Holmes". As everything remained silent I repeated my actions a second and a third time before I finally decided to just open the door.
As I came into the living room I could see what caused Mrs Hudson's angst. My friend sat on a small table as pale as chalk just staring on an old sheet of paper, the letter apparently, not moving an inch.
"Good Lord Holmes!" I shouted, eventually freeing him from his paralysis.
"Watson" he stared at me with wide, red eyes. Did this man, who has ears like a dog normally, really not hear me coming in, knocking three times ?
I saw him shudder and heard him speak with a flat, quiet voice "Watson, do you know ?"
He looked at me with an expression on his face that I never saw before on his face: shame and guilt.
"I know about your daughter, Holmes, but we can't sit around here, we have to do something! At least change your clothes, Mrs Hudson will go insane if you continue like this." I said, trying to calm him down.
"Watson, I left her. Her mother wanted me to care about her and I didn't do anything. I didn't even find her mothers murderer, I never cared about this women's families, if they could live without them, no-one actually cared. And I just left her alone in Whitechapel, Watson, in Whitechapel, Good Lord, Watson she was four when her mother was murdered, terribly murdered. I saw the corpse Watson. Everything normally in was out. Spattered and spilled about the whole room. Everywhere was blood and the corpse was incomplete. Watson, the heart was cut out and gone. What if the girl saw what I saw? Oh Watson the girl, my girl is probably dead by now, only because I left her, maybe even Jack the Ripper killed her too..."his voice faded slowly.
Trying to get him out off this constitution I said "Holmes, please! We can't even be sure that it is really your daughter. This woman was a prostitute. Anyone could be the father of this child."
He turned at me with an angered expression. "No, Watson. Mary Jane would've never lied. Never! And by the time I knew her she was not in Whitechapel and not a prostitute neither. She was just the daughter of a shop owner, selling plants and flowers. That's probably what made me fall for her, maybe even what made her what she became later on. But as the love faded I left her going my own way, leaving her alone with a child. I owe her to search for this girl, to find her, care for her like a father should do. Therefore I probably need your help for my father wasn't really around when I grew up. He was in India and there was just my uncle and Mycroft. But I cannot find her! I have no idea what her name is, just her last name "Kelly" and the half of the kids running around this quarters are Kellys. It's hopeless!"
And with this he fell back into the armchair in which he was sitting in before while I just stood and stared.