The two of them led you quickly back to 221B Baker Street. As the buildings grew into taller, more solid brick homes, you relaxed. You felt safe again, at least for the moment. The walk had been quiet, but now Mr. Holmes spoke.
"I'll meet you here early in the morning," he told Watson. "We'll look into that safe house and see what we can find."
Watson nodded and then started to walk off. Before he got too far, he turned back around and said, "Don't forget that we're supposed to have dinner tomorrow. Mary would be quite upset if you missed it."
Holmes deflated slightly. "Right, wouldn't miss it for the world."
"Right," Watson rolled his eyes and turned back around. "Be there, Sherlock!" he called back as he walked away.
"I'll be there," Holmes huffed.
You pursed your lips and followed the man to the front door of 221 Baker Street. After a quiet moment you asked, "We still have half the day today. Why not investigate the safe house now?"
Holmes shook his head. "It's at the edge of town- quite the distance from here. By the time we get there the people inside will be up and about, ready to go about their villainous day. But if we wait until early morning, they will be mostly deep in sleep, having been up late committing whatever crime was set for the day, or traveling under the dark of night."
"Says the detective that does not seem to sleep," you noted the irony.
Mr. Holmes rolled his eyes. "Come upstairs. We have to prepare."
"We?" you asked, confused.
He didn't answer, but led you up the stairs.
"Home in time for lunch!" you heard Mrs. Hudson call from the kitchen. "You had luck finding information, then?"
"Yes," you called back before following Holmes into his room. He shut the door behind you.
He stepped into the room before turning to look at you. He put one arm across his chest to hold the elbow of the other, his hand resting on his chin. He narrowed his eyes and looked at you.
"What is it?" you asked after a brief moment, unsure of his motives.
"I may have just the thing," he told you, "Wait here." He turned and approached a chest by the door across the room. He opened it and dug through it, occasionally laying a piece of clothing on the chair behind his desk. When he was done he gathered up the small pile and walked over to you before holding it out. "They may be a little large, but they should do the trick."
With a furrowed brow, you took them. A pair of dark trousers, a button-down shirt, a vest, and a hat- the kind you had seen on the little boy trying to sell newspapers. "Why...?"
"Tomorrow," Mr. Holmes explained, "you'll be a boy. If we hide your hair in the hat you might trick some people." When you said nothing, he huffed. "Try it on!"
"Alright," you stood quickly, motivated by Holmes' lack of patience. You stepped across the hall and began to change. The pants were a little large at the waist, but nothing a belt wouldn't fix, the shirt fit over nicely, and the vest was made for a man's figure, but you were able to get it buttoned. The fit was structured enough that the closure didn't gape at your chest, though it was a little tight. Finally, you pulled your hair into a bun at the back of your head, put a pin through it, and then put the hat on. You looked at yourself in the small mirror hanging by the door for a moment and at first glance you were caught off guard. You could've been a young man, not yet able to grow a beard. After that brief moment you recognized yourself and the illusion was gone.
You took a deep breath before crossing the hall again. You walked in to find Mr. Holmes had been pacing. He stopped and looked up as you entered. His eyes looked you over and then he pursed his lips. "It will have to do."
"I think it's strong enough to fool whoever we run into," you told him. "They won't have seen me before. Do you have a belt?" You pulled up the pants at your hips as they started to gape.
Mr. Holmes raised an eyebrow and turned to walk away. He went into the door at the end of the room and emerged with a brown leather belt, which you fastened around your waist.
"I trust you have boots?" Mr. Holmes asked as he looked down at your stocking-ed feet. "Maybe the ones you wore yesterday?"
You hadn't thought your shoes were visible beneath your skirts, but you had worn your trusty boots to make the journey to London. You nodded.
"Alright," Mr. Holmes agreed with himself. "Very good. That'll be all. I'll see you tomorrow morning at sunrise."
"It isn't even lunch, yet," you said.
He looked at you in surprise.
"I mean, Isn't there something productive we could be doing?" you asked, hoping to help the case along if you could.
"I'm going to continue my research," Holmes told you. "You are free to do what you wish, though I advise against leaving the building."
You didn't know where you would go, anyway. You glanced back at the machine by the door. "You're going to work on that cannon?"
"Yes."
"Would you like some help? I'm fairly good with machinery- small hands," you held up your dominant hand and wiggled your fingers. You were always able to reach the closed-in places your father couldn't.
"No, thank you. I'm capable on my own."
You turned to the machine. "Then you're aware that the gears you've shoved into the hand-crank system are tearing at each other when you pull back the spring? And that it's keeping the projectile from reaching its full velocity, what with the friction of the teeth against each other..." You looked back at Mr. Holmes with a small smirk.
"Very aware." He frowned at you.
Your lips formed a full smile. "Ah, you're just impatient then. You know, I bet if you corrected the issue you could throw a bocce ball into the fireplace from here. Maybe even bounce it off the stonework on the mantle."
"Yes, that was my thinking as well." Mr. Holmes sighed, clearly annoyed.
Feeling proud at your victory over Mr. Holmes' attitude, you stepped toward the machine and reached inside. Your fingers found the bolts that held on the gears and started turning. They weren't even fastened all the way on.
"Wait! What do you think you're doing!?" Holmes rushed at you and grabbed for your arm. When he pulled it out of the machine, you held a gear in your hand.
"You didn't even have the patience to fasten the bolts all the way?" you asked cheekily. You turned from his frustrated face to the gear in your hand. Sure enough, the teeth were being ground away by the gear it had been connected to. "Some things, Mr. Holmes, are worth taking the time to make right." You reached in and freed the other gear. "If you keep using this as it is you'll need to go out and find yourself a new pair of gears."
Mr. Holmes huffed and took a step back, though he was still within an arm's reach. "And I should let you work on my machine because...?"
"I know about a lot more than just hay and horse dung, Mr. Holmes," you told him, remembering what he had said to you at your meeting. "What else do I have to occupy my time, anyway? Maybe if I help you perfect this machine you can focus more wholly on my case."
He pursed his lips. "Fine. But if you get in the way you'll have to find something else to distract yourself with."
"Fair enough," you nodded.
Mrs. Hudson brought you both lunch upstairs, which you took a break to eat and made sure Mr. Holmes did the same. As you cleaned the gears and tuned the teeth to each other you watched the detective mess with the spring and how it was attached to the system. He seemed calm, compared to his normal attitude, when he was focused on the task.
You replaced the gears and the mechanism ran more smoothly. Next, you took a look at the latch that released the spring and shot the cannon. Mr. Holmes had installed a long, flat piece of metal. You commented on it, pointing out that a small hook feature might be better. Holmes huffed at you, but didn't protest when you pulled the piece out.
By the time Mrs. Hudson was calling for dinner, the two of you were able to shoot a bocce ball so far it put a hole in the front of the detective's desk. After that you had piled pillows in front of the furniture.
You joined Mrs. Hudson for dinner, but Holmes refused, stating that he wanted to keep working. You brought him a plate of food after your meal and found him sitting in an armchair shooting bocce balls at the wall where he had managed to hang several pillows. The ammo hit its mark so hard that goose feathers exploded out of the cushions and covered the floor.
"I suppose you'll be buying Mrs. Hudson new pillows?" you asked, watching as feathers danced to the floor.
"Of course your concern is with the pillows," Holmes muttered.
"What do you mean, 'of course'?" You looked over at him with an eyebrow raised.
"You've missed the point," he told you, standing excitedly. He crossed the room to the machine, cranking it back up. "I've created an entirely new form of home protection. It could be sold to any homeowner looking for added security. If an unwanted visitor presents itself at your door you could fend them off with a simple press of a button."
"I doubt Mrs. Hudson wants this giant machine sitting next to her front door," you told him honestly.
Mr. Holmes rolled his eyes. "It may not look very homely now, but it could be improved..." he struggled to think of how it could be improved, "...add some crown molding or--"
You laughed and he stopped. You seemed to have caught him off guard. "I'm sorry," you said, reigning in your giggles, "I shouldn't laugh. Let me know when you've finished the aesthetics of the design. Maybe I'll buy my mother a decorative home cannon."
The detective eyed you with a frown.
"Here's dinner," you put the plate down on the table by the door with a smile still on your face. "I'll see you in the morning, Mr. Holmes." You left the room after he didn't respond.
----------
The next morning Mrs. Hudson woke you before dawn. She had prepared a small breakfast for you, some eggs and toast, which you ate as you dressed in your men's clothes. You put on your own boots. You had been worried they would be too feminine, but with the mud you had managed to gather on them it was difficult to tell. Finally, you pinned your hair to the top of your head and put on the hat. When you looked at yourself in the small mirror you thought you could maybe pass for a younger brother.
Holmes was waiting for you in the sitting room by the front door. He stood by the window and looked you over as you came into view before nodding. "You'll answer to Billy."
"Oh- alright," you were caught a little off guard by his statement before you understood what he was telling you. Your tired morning brain had expected some kind of greeting from the detective, but then you remembered who you were dealing with. "Are we waiting for Dr. Watson, or--?"
"No," Holmes walked past you before exiting the house and holding the door for you. You followed. "Dr. Watson will be collected on the way."
The early morning air was cool as you stepped toward the street. The sun hadn't risen yet and the gas lamps on the sidewalks were still lit. You had thought it would be quiet so early in the morning, but several carts still made their way down the road and young men walked here and there, probably running errands for their fathers' businesses. You wondered if London was ever quiet.
Holmes led you down a few well-kept streets full of townhomes before he made his way toward the front door of one. He used the brass knocker on the door and you heard the noise echo through the quiet house. You noticed one light on upstairs and another on the ground floor, but creamy curtains covered the windows and obscured your view of the interior. The door opened and Dr. Watson stood in the opening.
"Good morning," he greeted both Holmes and you. When his eyes found your form he paused before recognition crossed his face. He looked back at Mr. Holmes. "Your idea, I presume?"
Holmes nodded. "Watson, meet Billy."
"Good morning," you smiled.
Dr. Watson nodded with a grin. "I'll just grab my coat."
Mr. Holmes turned to you. "You can't be smiling at everyone on the street, that won't fool anyone. Try to look more angry."
"Angry?" you asked with an eyebrow raised.
"Yes, women are generally polite, and your smile is too sweet to be mistaken for a man's. Young men are angry, or indifferent."
"Uh, alright," your cheeks heated a little at the casual compliment.
When Watson was done shrugging his jacket on, a woman came down the stairs. She was fair with strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes. "You're not leaving without saying goodbye to your wife, John," she smiled and kissed him on the cheek.
"Of course not," he smiled and turned to her as she held a hand to his face.
"Be safe," she said before glancing at Mr. Holmes. "Do your best, anyway."
"I will," he kissed her on the cheek and then exited his house.
"Lookout for my husband," Mary Watson said, looking Holmes in the eyes. Then she turned and saw you. "Oh, hello."
"This is Billy, and now we're leaving," Mr. Holmes told her, turning to walk back toward the road. "Good day, Mary! John is in good hands."
"And yet he comes home beaten and bruised," she called back before shutting the door.
You hurried after Holmes and Watson.
Dr. Watson turned to glance back at you as he walked. "I see you've decided to join us against our better judgement."
"Yes, well, Billy is joining you today," you told him as you caught up.
"I see. Where did you find the clothes?" Watson asked.
You gestured to Mr. Holmes.
"Ah, of course." Watson's expression told you that he could have guessed.
It took some time to get to the edge of town. Slowly there were less carts and less foot traffic, then the houses started to spread out, and then for a time it was just road and fields. During the travel Dr. Watson talked with Mr. Holmes about what they might find at the house, and they tried to strategize how they would enter and search without losing sight of you. When they suggested that you be look-out, you told them there was nothing to look out for out here, except for maybe a stray cow. The short argument they had after that devolved into Dr. Watson inviting you to their dinner, knowing it would upset Mr. Holmes, but that he would accept for you out of spite. By the time you had gotten to the house the sun had risen.
It was an old stone farmhouse with two stories. All of the windows were dark, but you saw smoke drifting out of the chimney. The front door sat on a rickety old porch, but the three of you quietly made your way to the back.
"I'll enter first. Once I've made sure the coast is clear Miss [Last Name] will enter, followed by Watson." He turned to look directly at you. "Don't disturb anything. If you find something, point it out."
You nodded.
The back door sat above some stone steps whose edges were worn away from time and use. There were no windows on the lower level at the back of the house. Holmes climbed the stairs and tried the door. It was open. Slowly he swung it open and looked inside. After a tense moment, he waved a hand forward and you both followed him in.
Watson shut the door quietly behind the three of you. The back room appeared to be some kind of store room with wooden shelves affixed to the walls. They were stocked with dried and canned food. A couple of wooden crates sat against the wall. Two open doorways stood before you. One led into a kitchen and the other into a small sitting room. It was dim in the house, but you could see a man slumped at the kitchen table, breathing steadily.
Holmes turned around and held a finger to his lips. When you had both acknowledged him he turned back around and crept forward into the kitchen. You watched as he approached the man at the table carefully before relaxing and ushering you forward. You followed and found that the man's large shoulders had hidden a bottle of whiskey and a half eaten piece of bread. He was dead asleep. There was a note next to him. Holmes picked it up and read it before passing it to you and moving on.
The writing wasn't good and it was a short note. You read, "Go straight through to Bristol. Tell them they'll get what they want in installments or they won't get it at all. Don't 'lose' any more goods or you'll lose your hands." There was no signature.
Your eyebrows rose as you handed the note to Watson. There was a small sink and some cabinets, and there were hot coals in the fire at the corner of the room. Holmes had already moved onto the sitting room and you found him looking at one of the side tables. He turned when you entered.
"Have you found anything else?" you whispered as you stepped next to him.
He shook his head. "But I'm sure whoever runs this house has your father."
You nodded. "Should we search upstairs?"
"Stay down here," Holmes told you. "Don't move. We'll look upstairs."
You glanced at the sleeping man in the kitchen and then nodded.
Watson followed Holmes up the small wooden staircase. You turned to inspect the side table Holmes had been standing next to. There was nothing on it except water marks from past drinks. On the opposite wall there was a bookshelf and you walked over to look at what it held. An old bible, a couple of mostly empty glasses, and a notebook. You picked up the notebook and opened it. It looked like a registry of sales, but the prices didn't match the goods. Meat and crops were listed, but the seasons they were sold in were odd and someone was paying way too much for wheat. It must be code for whatever they're actually selling. You put the book back. You stepped back into the kitchen and opened a cupboard. It squeaked, and you stopped as the man at the table shifted. For a long moment you stood there stiffly, but his breathing returned to a soft snore and you turned back to the cabinet. You found a moldy loaf of bread and a bottle with some unknown liquid in it. You left the cabinet open as you moved to the one next to it. This one you opened more slowly and found completely empty.
You heard the knob on the front door jiggle and froze. You looked at the man at the table as he started to stir. Not sure what else to do, you ran on your toes into the back room. You crouched behind the largest crate and waited.
The door opened and footsteps sounded into the kitchen. Something hit the table hard and you jumped.
"Hey! Wake up!"
"What!? What do you want?" You assumed this was the man at the table.
"Boss wants to see you in town. Says you got too handsy with the last haul."
"I'm watchin' the house. It wasn't me, anyway. If anyone got handsy it was Knocks."
"I don't think he cares."
There was some huffing and grumbling before the man at the table stood up.
"I'm wakin' up Knocks," the man who had been at the table announced before climbing the stairs. "If anyone's having their hands cut off, it's him."
Eyes wide, you wondered if your companions upstairs had been able to hide or escape. You wondered if you should wait for them or try to sneak out now. The man in the kitchen rummaged around as you sat tensely hunched up on the ground, frozen by your indecisiveness. As you looked around for an answer, you noticed a metal skillet on the shelf by the door. There was only one man still downstairs. Holding your breath, you stood and grabbed the skillet. When you peeked through the door frame you found the man at the sink, his back turned to you. He was average height, but with wide shoulders and muscular arms. You clutched the pan tighter with both hands and crept forward. You lifted the pan, and then swung down with as much force as you could. The attack reverberated on the pan in a ringing tone and the man fell to the floor, clutching his head. He groaned and writhed on the ground and you put a hand to the pan to try to silence it.
It was too late. Your attack may as well have been an alarm. Footsteps raced down the stairs and the man you had originally found sleeping at the table rushed through the doorway, followed by a taller, lankier looking man. They both stared at you and the man on the floor in disbelief, then rushed forward.
You screamed and threw the pan at them, successfully catching one of them by the cheek. The lankier one continued forward and you ducked as his arms reached for you. Sharply, you turned toward the back room and ran. His long legs caught him up to you quickly.
His arms trapped your arms to your sides and he picked you up off the ground. You kicked and shouted as he pushed you back through the doorway into the kitchen. "Let me go!"
"What are you doing here, boy?" the man that held you said through grunts as he continued to restrain you.
The man you had hit with the thrown pan held a hand to his face as he glared at you. "What the hell is he doing here?"
The man on the ground was slowly getting up. "Christ," he said as he braced himself on the wooden countertop. "He got me good." He glanced at you, rubbing his head.
The man that held you laughed. "Thought you always kept your eyes open, Kent."
"At least I keep my hands off the goods, Knocks." The man spit the other man's name.
You continued to kick.
You heard a voice from the other room. "Gentlemen, I ask that you take your hands off of Billy."
Everyone turned and you found Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson in the other room.
"Who are you?" the man holding you asked incredulously.
After that, the two men not preoccupied by restraining you jumped forward at your companions. You kicked and wiggled before throwing your head back. The back of your skull made contact with Knocks' nose and it startled the man enough to loosen his arms. You pushed out of them and jumped away. You stumbled, still dizzy from the headbutt, before grabbing your head and finding your feet. The man made to punch you, but you threw your weight back. He missed, but you stumbled backwards again, grabbing the chair to support yourself. It was a poorly made wooden assembly that felt light enough, so you picked it up with both hands and tossed it at Knocks. He shouted as it broke apart on top of him.
You found your hat on the floor and quickly picked it up, putting it on. You could feel several pieces of hair falling out from underneath it, though.
Knocks found his feet again but stopped. He looked at you and said, "Wait, you're a--"
You were sure he was going to say girl, but he didn't get the chance. Mr. Holmes hit him over the head with a bottle and he was out cold. Panting, you looked up at the detective. "We should probably leave now," you said, standing.
"Yes," Mr. Holmes looked annoyed, but that changed to something else as he looked down at Knocks. The detective reached down and pulled something out of the man's shirt pocket. You saw a white handkerchief with laced edges and a cursive capital I on the corner before he shoved it into his own pocket.
"What was that?" you asked, holding a hand to the back of your head where you were sure there was a large bruise forming.
Holmes just shook his head, looking curiously down at Knocks. Then he straightened up and turned towards the door. You followed, stepping over the unconscious men that your companions had managed to take out.