Finally.
Holmes reread the article. Just under a day after guiding young Timothy to the Irregulars, he had a lead.
"Margaret 'Daisy' Hatmire was born on Sunday," announced the newspaper dated last year, "to Jenny and Daniel Hatmire. Grandparents Charles and Lila Faldon and Uncle Timothy, age four, excitedly welcome their new family member."
Two cross-references quickly produced an address, and the newspaper landed on the table as he hurried down the stairs.
"George!"
"Sir?" The boy promptly left his alcove across the street, expertly ducking and weaving through the traffic to meet Holmes in front of the flat.
"I have found Timothy's sister," Holmes said with a pleased grin. "You should have just enough time to retrieve him and whoever is with him before I return with Mrs. Hatmire."
George sprinted away, his speed failing to hide his own wide smile, and Holmes waved down a cab. Gregson would be furious that Holmes had found Timothy's family first, and besting the weasel was nearly as good as reuniting the boy with his family. This was the first time in months that the inspector had refrained from comment during an investigation.
Holmes did wonder if Timothy would want to leave the Irregulars, however. The boy had fit right in with the other children, immediately acting as if he had lived with them for years. When Charlie had come for an update earlier, he had mentioned that Timothy was running and playing as if all was normal. The grief would probably hit him later, but that lack of sorrow—or perhaps simply lack of understanding—might make him want to stay with the Irregulars instead of moving in with his sister and brother-in-law.
Holmes would find out soon enough, and he pushed the conjecture away as the cab stopped outside of a small house. A toddling girl wailed somewhere inside, but a young man answered on the first knock.
"Can I help you, sir?"
"Are you Daniel Hatmire?" The man nodded. "My name is Sherlock Holmes. I work as a consulting detective, and I have been searching for a Mrs. Jenny Faldon Hatmire. Is she your wife?"
"She is." The door opened wide enough to allow Holmes to enter, and he reflexively scanned his surroundings. Mr. Hatmire probably worked for the Underground, based on the work boots peeking from a closet and a couple of scuffs on the floor, and while the house was clean, it was also cramped and slightly run-down. The income that was barely sufficient for three would stretch painfully for four. They would struggle to feed another growing child.
"Jenny?" Mr. Hatmire called as he led Holmes to the parlor.
"Coming, dear."
The wailing grew louder, then abruptly silenced, and a young lady carried a tiny girl into the room. Golden curls framed a pale face, but sleepless shadows announced the trials of an infant. The child sat up on her arms, sucking a toy instead of crying though tears remained.
"Mr. Holmes," Mr. Hatmire introduced as she claimed the other half of the settee next to her husband. "My wife Jenny."
"Madam," he said with a nod. "Your parents are Charles and Lila Faldon?" A superfluous confirmation, to be sure. He knew who she was, but the lack of black in her clothes announced she had no idea her parents were dead. Watson had been stressing the necessity of breaking news like this gently, and he wished his friend were here for yet another reason. Watson had chosen the wrong week to visit a friend in Scotland.
"Yes," she answered. "What is wrong? Are they alright?"
He slowly shook his head, wishing he knew a better way to convey this than to state the blunt truth. "There was a cab accident yesterday. A horse panicked and bolted, and they and one other man did not survive. Mr. Faldon was already injured and could not get out of the way in time, while Mrs. Faldon saved her son at the cost of her own life."
Her expression crumpled, and she bowed her head, sobbing into the child's hair as Mr. Hatmire sadly wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Holmes sat quietly, hiding his discomfort as she rode the first painful wave of loss. Several minutes passed before her cries slowed, and she wiped her eyes on her husband's handkerchief before looking up at Holmes.
"You said Mum saved Timmy? Is he alright?"
"He is perfectly fine, though understandably confused. He has been staying with the Irregulars while the Yard and I searched for you."
A tremulous smile lifted her mouth. "The Irregulars. I never thought to hear that term, but—" She broke off, tear-filled eyes widening slightly. "Mr. Holmes," she remembered. "Sherlock Holmes?"
He nodded warily. Watson's stories had their positives—most of which Holmes would never admit aloud—but Holmes rarely enjoyed being recognized because of them. Was she about to try to hug him?
No, thank Heaven. She merely smiled a little wider. "It is good to meet you, sir. I have been reading the doctor's stories since he first started publishing. I never expected to be part of a case, but I am glad to hear that Timmy is safe." She looked around, obviously considering where best to put her little brother in their small home. "Where is he now?"
"He should be nearly to Baker Street," Holmes replied. "I sent one of the others for him before I came here."
She gained her feet. "Then give me just a moment to prepare a bag for Daisy, and we will come with you."
"Jenny—" She left the room before Mr. Hatmire could finish, and with a quick "excuse me" for Holmes, he followed his wife from the room. Low voices carried as she put together a child bag.
"…another mouth?"
"…little brother," she hissed. "We are not leaving him alone on the streets!"
"…voice down…not alone…Irregulars…group?"
"…rather…strangers…priorities…screwed."
Silence reigned for a long moment.
"…right. Sorry. Still—"
"I will give him the choice," she promised, footsteps returning to the parlor. "He has never liked Daisy, and he may decide to stay with the Irregulars, but he is five. He might change his mind in a few days or weeks, and this home is always open to him."
The steel in her voice dared him to disagree, but Holmes did not hear his answer. They reentered the room a moment later.
"My apologies, Mr. Holmes," Mr. Hatmire said, now holding the child. "Shall we?"
Locking the door behind them, Mr. and Mrs. Hatmire claimed the bench opposite Holmes in the hansom, and she eventually broke the silence.
"How is Timmy handling it?"
"Well enough," Holmes answered, "for one so young. He seemed to understand the concept, comparing it to grandparents that had died, but he showed very little reaction aside from two questions."
"What did he ask?"
"If they could come back and if it was because of him. When I told him that he could not have changed anything, he asked how long it would take to find you."
A sad smile twitched her mouth. "That is why he did not react. Mum always told us to only worry about what we could change. You mentioned Father was already injured, so that discussion would have arisen yesterday at some point."
That would explain it, he agreed, but the cab stopped before he could say as much. He led them inside, smothering his amusement when happy laughter quickly silenced at the opening door. Whispering carried down the stairs.
"Who is with him?" Mrs. Hatmire asked as they climbed.
"Probably Jacob. Charlie prefers to assign new arrivals to a 'buddy' for the first week, and Jacob was next up." Gleeful laughter came from the sitting room, and he allowed a chuckle as he corrected himself, "Unless they decide to try to confuse me. Tom is with him, not Jacob."
The laughter abruptly stopped, and the Hatmires grinned widely. They said nothing, however. Holmes opened the door to the sitting room to find Tom and young Timothy sharing the ottoman.
"Jenny!"
Timothy bolted across the room, quickly burying his face in Mrs. Hatmire's skirts, and she dropped the child bag to wrap him in a hug.
"Mummy wouldn't wake up," he muttered into her neck. "Father either."
"I know, dear. Mr. Holmes told me. I'm so glad you're alright." She squeezed him for a moment longer, then gently pushed away to put her hands on his shoulders. "You were not hurt, were you?"
He shook his head. "Mum shoved me hard. I landed on my seat and went back to her, but she wouldn't wake up. Then I couldn't get to Father, and the policeman shouted, so I ran. Billy says it's no good to be in trouble with the police. I'm not in trouble, am I?"
"You are not in trouble," she promised. "The policeman was just trying to help you. You probably scared him when you ran away." She glanced up at Holmes, and he nodded. Gregson had shown uncharacteristic worry in his urgent message requesting Holmes track a lost young boy. He had not expected the prickly inspector to be that concerned. Fatherhood had changed him.
"Policemen don't get scared," Timothy protested.
"They certainly do," Mrs. Hatmire countered. "Everyone gets scared at some point, adults and children, but you do not need to be scared right now. Have you enjoyed your time with the Irregulars?"
He nodded quickly. "Tom and me went esplorin' yesterday! And Doris and Jimmy were teachin' me a new game when George said Mr. Holmes had found you."
"Good." She brushed his hair out of his eyes, making sure he was focused on her. "You have a choice, Timmy, and whatever you choose, you can change your mind later, alright?" He nodded. "Mum and Father are gone. You know that means they can't take care of you. Do you want to stay with the Irregulars, or do you want to come live with Daniel, Daisy, and me?" He hesitated. "Whatever you choose is alright," she stressed, "and you can always change your mind later. Do you need a minute to think about it?"
He made no answer, looking between her, Mr. Hatmire, Tom, and Holmes, and Holmes purposely kept his expression blank. Timothy would probably be happier with the Irregulars, but this was the boy's decision, young though he was. He might have been a touch too young to fully understand this decision, but Mrs. Hatmire was right: he could always change his mind later.
Tom spoke up when Timothy hesitated for too long. "Stop worrying, Tim. You will not make anyone mad, and you can change your mind later if you want to. Where do you want to go?"
He glanced between Tom and Mrs. Hatmire once more before turning a hesitant gaze on his sister. "Can I go with the Irregulars?"
She nodded immediately. "Of course. If something changes or you need to reach me, for any reason, Mr. Holmes has my address, alright? My home is yours, too. You are always welcome."
He wrapped her in a hug, muttering something about the courtyard not having "stinky, noisy babies," and Mrs. Hatmire laughed.
"Daisy will not always be a baby, but you will always be my little brother, Timmy. No matter what. I promise. Never be afraid to come to me. If Mr. Holmes will agree to play middleman, I will write you letters occasionally so we can keep in contact." Holmes nodded again when she glanced up, and Timothy grinned.
"I can write back! I wrote a letter yesterday!"
She laughed again and congratulated him. "Remember that I am here for you?"
He nodded, and their conversation lasted only a couple more minutes before Tom and Timothy slammed the door behind them.
"You will contact me at need?" she asked immediately.
"Of course." He quickly copied names, address, and other information into the index he used for the Irregulars. "The Irregulars range from around age four through late teens," he told her, "with most of the children between five and twelve years old. He will have about fifty others nearby, and they take care of themselves, though Watson, Mrs. Hudson, and I are available should a situation require an adult. He will learn to read, write, and count, and most children find themselves an apprenticeship by age fourteen or fifteen. Send letters here, and I can get them to one of the children to pass on to Timothy. Charlie keeps a few sheets of paper and a pencil in the courtyard, at Watson's insistence, so Timothy will be able to write you in return when he wants." He paused, considering. "I suggest you write frequently for a few years, lest he forget you. He is of an age that he will likely forget about his parents in a year or two—except for certain prominent memories."
"Like the last two days," she finished sadly. "Did he truly see them like that?"
"He did," Holmes answered. "Inspector Gregson found him next to his mother and tried to prevent him from seeing his father, but Timothy dodged around him too quickly to catch."
She shook her head in regret. "I wish I had made more time to see them. With so many years between us, I have always been another grown-up more than Timmy's sister. I had hoped he and Daisy could be friends, but he seems more irritated with her than anything."
"That might change in a few years. Give her time to get out of the toddling stage, and when Timothy is about seven, meet for an afternoon at Regent's. He might be willing to get to know her then in a way he is not now."
She made a noise in the back of her throat in answer. "Thank you," she replied instead, "both for keeping him safe and for finding me. With Daisy sick, I would not have noticed something amiss for a few more days, when we were supposed to have supper together. Daisy is the only reason we were not involved in the accident as well."
"It was no problem at all."
They exchanged a few more pleasantries, with Mr. Hatmire remaining silent the entire time, before the door shut behind them. Holmes sank into his chair, back where he had started before Gregson's message had arrived.
However would he pass the time until Watson returned?
And so ends Tim's portion. What did you think? Do you have another Irregular you'd like to see here? Drop them in a review :)
thanks to cc, MHC1987, Jean-Moddalle, and PrinceJai for the reviews