Sophia Holmes and the Speckled Blonde (Sherlock's Daughter Fanfic) *Completed*

Chapter Three

Julia Stoner was still living with her stepfather, Doctor Roylott and her sister, Helen when she died, so we decide to call upon them at first.

"What was her stepfather's occupation?" I ask, quickly flicking through her file. "It hardly mentions him in here."

"Cosmetics," dad replies, looking out of the window at the passing houses. "Specialist, judging by location." I continue to flick through until I see her biological father's death certificate.

"Huh," I frown, showing dad, "look. Julia's father, Edward Stoner, deceased 1990 - twenty years ago -, unknown poison."

"I know," dad says grimly, and flicks to a page near the end of the file. "Her mother, died eight months ago. Guess what she died of ..."

"An unknown poison," I finish. "How did the police not see this - it's so obvious?!"

"They are known for their stupidity," dad remarks.

"Do you think money is the motive?" I question, looking out of the window. "Belgravia is an expensive area. Maybe someone's after the family fortune."

"No," dad replies. "Look at their parent's occupatons. Edward Stoner was a plumber, and Kathrine was a secretary. No, the money came from Dr Roylott." We pull into Belgravia, and the cab stops just outside number 39.

A few moments later, we climb out and head up the stone steps towards the front door. Beside the glossy black door, a plaque is attatched to the wall.

"For a specialist, I wouldn't have expected his business to be run from home," I tell dad as the doorbell rings out.

"He has another office in the centre of London," dad explains. "This is only for the elite customer."

The door is opened by a young female in a loose white tunic, her dyed blonde hair twisted into a bun on the top of her head.

"Hello," she says, eyeing our appearance with her heavily made up eyes. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," dad says, launching into his role at once and imitating Mycroft's accent. "I made an appointment for my daughter." I give the receptionist a smile, but she frowns and goes back to her desk and checks her diary. We follow her in.

"What was the name?" she asks, flicking through the pages and tracing her finger down today's list of appointments.

"Kensington," dad says in a heartbeat. The woman looks up, and frowns at us.

"I'm afraid there isn't anyone under the name of 'Kensington' with an appointment today, sir," she says polietly. "Can I suggest you -"

"But daddy, you promised!" I cry, stamping my foot and walking away, tears falling from my eyes.

"I'm sorry poppet," dad says, before he turns back to the receptionist. "Please, I made this appointement months ago for my daughter's birthday."

"Dr Roylott is in the midst of a personal issue at the moment, I'm afraid," she tells us. "His daughter was found dead in her bedroom a few nights ago."

"I'm sure we can pass on our condolences when we see him," dad snaps back. The receptionist pauses for a second and dad reaches into his pocket for his wallet. "Here's £50 towards your next botox injection," dad tells her, handing her a note.

"Dr Roylott is upstairs, first door on the right," she tells us, hastily tucking the note into her tunic.

"Thank you," dad says, and then takes my hand. "Come on, poppet."

Once we start climbing the stairs, we drop our roles. We would have never passed reception if we had said we were detectives, so we've passed first base. As we reach the landing, I notice and long line of framed certficates and pictures on the walls, one of them including a photo taken of a man who I can only assume is Doctor Roylott along with Connie Prince after the filming of her show in which he must have guest starred. We continue onwards, following the Receptionist's instructions, and open a door, causing an overweight woman, also wearing a white tunic to jump as she turns around and sees us.

"Helen Stoner?" I question and she nods. "My name is Sophia Holmes, and this is my father Sherlock. We're detectives and we're looking into your sister's death - do you have a moment?"

"Um, yes." she replies, directing us to sit down on two chairs which face towards another, single chair and a desk. The room looks like the room of any GP's office, with the bed at one side agaist the wall. "Sorry," she apologised as she began to cry again. "Neither of us have been able to work for the last few days - we just can't believe she's gone."

"Is there anything about your sister that seemed a bit strange?" dad asks, suprisingly gentle for once. "Mood swings, claiming she wanted to commit suicide - anything like that?"

"Do you think she committed suicide?" Helen ask, astonished.

"Just ruling out the impossible."

"My sister wasn't depressed," Helen tells us. "She was a little rundown, I suppose, these last few weeks, but I thought she was just stressed about the wedding."

"Yes," I say. "I noticed the little mark of where an engagement ring would be when we autopsied your sister's body." She looks a little horrified, perhaps because I just told her that her sister had been autopsied by a fourteen year old. "Do you have the name and address of her fiance, it's just he wasn't noted down on her file."

"Of course," she says, standing up from her chair. "Sorry, give us a second." She disappears out of the room. 

"What do you think?" I ask dad.

"She seems genuine," dad replies. "She didn't play any part in Helen's death." Our conversation is interupted as the door is opened again, but it isn't Helen who comes through the door, but the man from the photographs - Doctor Roylott himself.

"Julliette just informed me that you were up here," he says, engrossed in a file as he walks in. "Sorry, how can I help you?" He looks up at us at last, and the file falls from his hands. "You aren't clients."

"Well observed," I say. "My name is -"

"I know who you are," the doctor interrupts. "You two are the Holmes detectives. I've read your website, and your partner's John." Dad and I exchange glances. With John's blog becoming more and more popular, I guess we must have to get used to having a public eye, which isn't good if we want to remain as private detectives.

 "Yes, that's right," dad responds. "We just asking your stepdaughter a few questions about Julia."

"Ah, yes," Doctor Roylott replies. "Those two were very close. It's such a shame that I didn't get to spend a lot of time with Julia before she died. She reminded me a lot of her mum."

"She's dead as well, isn't she?" I question, asking what I already know to get his side of the story. "Do you know what happened?" 

"No," Doctor Roylott shakes his head and picks up the fallen pieces of paper. "I'm afraid the doctor who examined her couldn't say." The door opens again, and this time, it is Helen who pokes her head around the door. 

"Mr Holmes? I have the address for you," she says, walking in and handing dad a slip of paper. I can't help but notice how Helen and Doctor Roylott avoid each other's glances, as Roylott is taking his time with the fallen paper, and Helen has her eyes fixed on us.

"Thank you both for your time," I say as we stand up.

"Yes, sorry for your loss," dad finishes, and we walk back out of the house, ignoring the confused look the Receptionist gives us on our way out.