Chapter 2: Not So Humble Beginnings
In the beginning stages of my detective career, I was studying at Cambridge. But nothing there could really hold my interests. Some days I would show up to class and on other days I would either skip them altogether or work at laboratories on campus. Much to the disdain of my older brother Mycroft. Even as a small child, I struggled with things keeping my attention. One day in particular I decided to spend my free time doing yet another chemical experiment when Mycroft of all people intervened. Or at least tried to.
"Sherly, I really don't understand this. With you skipping your studies, just what am I supposed to tell mother and father?"
"To be honest Mycroft, I really couldn't care less," I answered him. "Besides, father is only sending me to this stupid school to make me become a doctor, lawyer, or even better…someone like you."
I took one of the beakers and slowly poured my liquid in. I know I haven't really told you about my homelife Watson; but to sum it up: my brother was the golden child in my father's eyes. I was…shall we say controversial? Not only in his eyes, but it seemed in the eyes of everyone else. I never mixed well with others in my youth nor in my university days. But back to the matter at hand.
"Speaking of occupations, I've heard you started helping Scotland Yard with cases? Perhaps a future career in law enforcement perhaps?"
"Don't be daft brother. I've only helped with just a few cases. If I become a policeman, then you'll be the king of England," I said with a laugh.
Mycroft just shook his head.
"I also came to tell you that mother is in ill health at the moment," Mycroft said, putting up a hand before I could interject. "Nothing serious at the moment but father is looking into the best doctors to treat her current condition."
"Well, it's nice to know he's doing something for her." I said mixing my liquids together. "She's had that head cold for over a month now."
Mycroft was on his way out the door; again needing the last word uttered a singular response. "True." And with that he shut the door behind him leaving me to my work. While it is true that my father and mother had an interesting relationship. She was of the working class but my father was a big whig in Parliament. They met at some gathering where my mother was in a servant's capacity. Then they fell in love…yadda yadda and had me and Mycroft. Though their marriage was controversial due to their social standings and difference in classes, my father seemed to grow to resent her. He was always out of the home working and such. Just a bit of knowledge you may need to know for my story to make sense later on.
Anyway, after fiddling with some chemicals, I decided to head home. I wasn't living at the flat we currently reside in now. I was living in a flat that was closer to Cambridge that Mycroft and my father were always telling me that they were "allowing me to live in." It was aligned pretty much the same as Baker Street except it was in a bit rougher area of London. On my walks home, I was always greeted by peddlers asking for money. Or a drunkard that lay in the streets until a policeman showed up to remove them. Not the nicest of environments outside but the flat did its job. It was mainly my domicile of peace, a place to relax my mind for a short while. I walked in a laid down on a couch. My mind was racing and wouldn't turn itself off. This has always been a norm for me. I closed my eyes for a moment to get the wheels to stop turning but there was a small knock on my door. I wasn't expecting anyone so I knew it wasn't Mycroft. The landlord had a very specific knock - so it wasn't them. This light knock sounded feminine. A woman? I thought. She must have the wrong address. With my curiosity peaked, I walked over to the door and slowly opened it. A young woman stood before me. One with sandy brown hair, brown eyes, and a periwinkle dress and hat. She wore small laced gloves and kept her hands tightly around a small briefcase in her hands.
"Uh…may I help you?" I asked because she looked as though she was in need of help.
"Are you Sherlock Holmes? The detective?"
I beamed with pride.
"So you've heard of my deductive powers from Scotland Yard it seems?"
"Quite," she said with a smile. "You're getting to be quite famous around here."
I smiled at her. As you know Watson, women are not usually the sort of beings I deal with or have romantic attachments toward. But let's just say…I was young, naive, and was always up for showing off. I asked her to come in because I could tell from her shoes and the fact that there was no carriage waiting that this woman must've walked here. Walked - in this area of London. She came in and sat down in an armchair that was in my flat at the time.
"Mr. Holmes," she began. "My name is Lille Diamond. I know that name means nothing to you but I have no one else to turn to. I-"
"Your husband is the very wealthy business tycoon Edmund Diamond. And rather than going to the police you come to me. Not only because you believe I can help you, but because you are worried about your social standing and what this blackmailer could possibly have on you."
Lillie looked at me stunned. I was used to this reaction by many people when I would ramble off facts about themselves just by looking at them.
"Wow…you are good. But if you know I'm being blackmailed, then I guess you know that this briefcase contains all the documents you need to know. But before I show them to you Mr. Holmes…I need to know that I can trust you."
I looked at her calmly. Then I sat across from her on the couch and reached for a cigarette. With one swift light of my match, I began to smoke it and blew smoke into the air.
"Madam, you can trust me. I will do whatever I can to help you. But in order to do that I need to know…everything."
