𝑀𝓇. 𝒮𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓁𝑜𝒸𝓀 𝐻𝑜𝓁𝓂𝑒𝓈
In the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the University of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course prescribed for surgeons in the army. I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as assistant surgeon. Soon thereafter, the war broke out and the rest as is now said, was history.
I had returned to London a rather changed man after sustaining a bullet to my left leg that shattered the tibia of my left leg like glass. I had been sent home. Though home was nothing as I remembered it and the ache in my leg never ceased to remind me of a security and life that now seemed lost forever.
Retired from my military service and practically dying of boredom, I had taken up lodging with another medical student and had sustained a small consulting business ( for a modest monetary fee ) aiding the Scotland Yard in cases I was assured would be of a mundane variety. I had not yet received notice of any work in the matter and it seemed that perhaps the police force had forgotten me all together.
As I sat on a small bench wallowing over these things in bitter contempt and self pity, I rather neglected to notice the woman who was hurrying towards me at great speeds until it was too late. Like a storm of leaves blown from the ground to the winds her red and brown skirts and overcoats came into the air, jumping over the leg which I had so carefully place outwards before me like a horse over a hurdle in the races.
I could not help it, in a moment of surprise I gave a yell of anger and supposed pain.
This effectively stopped the woman who was already several yards away from me, and had I not yelled would had no doubt continued journeying on at great speed.
She turned on her heels and asked in a demanding but by no means inconsiderate voice, "Have you some pain sir?"
I sat stupefied a moment, my hand to my leg and my eyes to the brunette before me.
"Well?" she said again cordially, and it was then she shifted a rather large portfolio of something from under one arm to the other, "How are you? You have been in Afghanistan I perceive."
"How on earth did you know that?" I asked, in astonishment.
"Never mind," said she, chuckling to herself. She gave a small nod as if to excuse herself away and left me bewildered. As she walked she mumbled something under her breath along the lines of;
"The question now is about hemoglobin. The significance is revolutionary-"
At the time, I did not think much of the encounter for it did not seem much of anything except for its few peculiarities. But I accounted her knowledge of the war and my part in it to some old forgotten acquaintance forgotten on my part and the jumping over my leg in a much unconventional manner to simple run of nerves or greatness of exuberance of spirt in her part.
I wish now I could back and truly appreciate the significance of the encounter, for it was one which would alter the course of my life.
But as it often is with things that come to mean most to us, we do not cherish them at the time as we should.
At around supper, Ms. Hudson informed me Detective Lestrade had called about ten past asking for my presence at a scene on the corner of Fifth and Elm Acre. As always, she supplied me with the utmost care even going so far as to polish my cane a bit before I was rushed out the door.
As I called for the cab, my cane raised to the air I was struck by the truly entrancing quality the noise of horse shoe again cobblestone made. It was as if sparks flew from beneath their feet. unaware of what scene I was to face on my arrival, I found myself with a a chill running down my spine as my brain recounted that pale rider upon the horse; death.
It had rained earlier that evening and I found my coat quite marked with the distinct scent of London Fog. It was peculiar smell but it brought a smile to my face as I remembered the many early mornings at university I had found myself perfumed with the same aroma, reveling in a good book or talking with a good friend. I took the Coach as far as the corner of the road and then called out with a loud voice:
"Stop, driver, stop!"
No. 3 Lauriston Gardens wore a cloak of grey, and its very first impression was not a pleasant one. Several windows were boarded, one shattered. Bricks lay in untidy piles outside the footpath, and from the open door I could see several officers holding their handkerchiefs to their mouths, a cloud of dust swarming like a plague of locusts in the air and no doubt penetrating their lungs with a stinging and relentless attack.
Lestrade awaited me at the door and I was quickly rushed in after a clipped, "How do you do Doctor Watson, thank you for your diligence."
He led me to the back yard where a small garden sprinkled over with a scattered eruption of sickly plants separated the house form its neighbors. The garden was bounded by a three foot brick wall, with a fringe of wood rails upon the top, and against this wall was leaning a figure in the shadows, silent and yet confident in the demure; as if they had become part of the scenery themselves.
"What do you make of it Doctor?"
I was snapped from my observations of the shadowy character and my eye returned to the subject which thus far had remained invisible to my notice.
A young woman no older than seventeen lay sprawled out on the garden path before me, a single daisy was clutched between her fingers and her lids were closed as if she slept peacefully.
I knelt down beside her and felt a sick knot tying tighter in my stomach. I had seen many things on the battle field, but something about the way the pale face looked struck my heart cold and forced me to look away.
"Well," Lestrade said, pulling the brim of his hat a bit further over his eyes. I looked up and noticed the strange way he was looking at me, as if whatever I said was the contingency that would decide the fate of nations.
"Well," I said a bit quietly, "I put time of death around four hours ago, no marks of an altercation but-"
"But?"
I turned over the wrists and looked at the peculiarity of what I had first perceived as a bracelet. Two frayed shoelaces had been tied in symmetrical and orderly bows, one to each wrist.
"The uh- shoe laces, along with the placement of the body and lack of abrasions would seem to suggest someone placed her here, that she was killed elsewhere."
"You think she was killed then?" Lestrade asked and somewhere in the corner the shadowy figure stirred, "definitively?"
"Poisoning," I nodded, my eye drawn to the ghostly figure, "Terrible business I-"
"Everyone out!" Lestrade said in a booming voice, almost pushing me out of the way, "Jim, get him for me once everyones cleared out."
"Should I go?" I asked as the garden was filled in pandemonium officers rushing this way at that and filing out like ants that had just seen the first raindrop fall from the sky.
"Yes Doctor I think you'd better-"
"He may stay," a cool voice said as a gentleman in a suit stepped out form the shadows. Lestrade seemed a bit startled but not at all surprised, for he made a small gesture for 'Jim' to leave us three alone to our work, though I wasn't sure what there was left to do except dispose of the poor girl and gather what evidence remained.
The gentleman kept his back to me and knelt beside the body. He had a strange aura about him I couldn't quite place, a familiarity as well as an air of intelligence.
"Doctor I can rely on you utmost confidentiality I assume?" the man asked as he looked through the overcoat of the young woman and felt under her collar and sleeves.
"Yes," I stammered, "Yes, of course."
"Sherlock-"
"It's alright," the man responded, rising to his feet and to his full tall and thin stature. He still faced away and the setting sun lent a amber color t the small bit of brunette hairline I could see from under his cap.
"I trust you are familiar with Mr. Holmes, his fame has spread quickly," Lestrade addressed me.
"I'm afraid not," I responded truthfully, "though I will take your word for it. I haven't been in London for nearly three years."
Lestrade was quiet for a moment before putting a hand to his grey mustache and frowning severely. "Holmes I really don't think it's wise-"
"Listen now," the gentleman snapped, "the Doctor has proven himself wise by his observations if...lacking in some details but he's already found out more than all you imbeciles. You know how I work Lestrade, and you know I am selective about whom I work. So if you too wish to bumble around the scene like a fool be my guest, but the Doctor stays or I depart with him."
The mans declaration astounded me along with the sudden brashness of his tone against this figure of authority I held in such great esteem and honor. Who was this man that he could speak to a head Detective like a child, that his word was law!
Lestrade sent me a look almost of anger and stepped aside with a shrug, "What you are about to know Doctor Watson must never leave these walls."
"It won't," the man said removing his gloves and placing them into the belt of his waist coat, "I trust this man and his habits with my life."
"How so," I laughed at the strangeness of his confidence in me, "I haven't met you before in my life."
"Ah," said the gentleman spinning around and meeting me with a brilliant grin of two shining rows of teeth, "My dear Watson, I believe you have."
And reaching two slender fingers to his cap, he removed it, letting down a long cascade of brunette locks.
My legs for a moment failed me and I stumbled backward. It was she! She who had baffled me earlier and she who for a moment had addressed me so factually.
"Hello Watson," she laughed cheerily, extending a hand and shaking mine vigorously, "How do you do?"