The Flower Seller ( WAYHAUGHT)

Chapter 8

Nicole sat on a train heading to Norfolk. Her nephew and niece had been joined by another addition to Freddie's family. Florence, now three, as boisterous as Samuel, with Matilda's delicate features. She scanned The Times newspaper for something to occupy her restless mind, the scenery outside of little consequence, the weather dreary. She rarely thought of Sherlock Holmes these days, her mind focused on her own adventures.

It had been almost a decade since she parted company with her mentor, the one who introduced her to a crazy world she had so very much wanted with all her heart. That is, until one fateful night when Sherlock chose to abandon her and her dreams. She had had plenty of time to think about her decision not to accept his offer to return to Baker Street. There were moments when she regretted not taking up his invitation, realising there would not be another.

She received one letter from Waverly a few months later. Hand delivered by an unfamiliar flower girl, Nicole sobbing as she read it. It told her she was missed, that Wynonna was angry with herself for having done what she did. Waverly too, begging Nicole to forgive her for ruining her work. Nicole wanted to write back, explain this no longer had anything to do with the fight. She knew that now. She knew this was between her and Sherlock, his way of telling her their relationship had run its course.

Nicole suspected it might have been Dr Watson who counselled his friend to stop indulging her fantasies, mindful of who she was, whose daughter she was. It was one thing to have his wards involved in his crime-solving enterprise, something Watson was not comfortable with. It was an entirely different matter to have the daughter of an Earl, a prominent politician at that, running around London dressed as a beggar boy in order to assist with the solving of grizzly cases of murder.

On occasions she would slip out of the mansion at night, walking the two miles to stand outside their building, careful not to be seen. Sometimes she would see Sherlock at the window, pipe in his mouth gazing down at the street below. She would hide in the shadows, out of reach of the light cast by the streetlamp, simply watching. Back then, it had not occurred to her Sherlock might have spies everywhere, many she would never know being employed for her protection, some tasked with keeping an eye on her, others to keep her safe while she roamed the streets at night in search of her own adventures.

Sherlock was nothing if not observant. And, intuitive like her. He sensed the temptation to be invisible, the freedom to go where she pleased would remain with her long after their friendship ended. He would make sure no harm came to his protégé, having taught her as much as he was able in the short time they had had, hoping she would find her own way without his further guidance.

He too had been careful to keep to the shadows in the years that followed, not make his continued presence in her life obvious. Like his wards he missed her life force at Baker Street, her passion for all things only he could teach. He occasionally placed experts along her path, those he trusted sufficiently to impart their knowledge without taking advantage of her gender, or her status in society. It was his way of making amends for his decision.

A small advertisement caught her eye. A request for a domestic cleaner. Must be petite, with red hair. Nicole circled the advert, intending to investigate further on her return to London. Seated in First Class, she continued to scour the newspaper for anything unusual, the upper part of her body obscured. She heard the compartment door slide open, then close, someone positioning themselves opposite. A woman, she deduced, given her delicate Parisian perfume and the lighter tapping of shoes on the carriage's wooden floor. Lowering the paper she found herself in the company of an attractive woman, wearing the most exquisite scarlet dress.

Her prolonged gaze must have embarrassed the woman, who lowered her eyes. "I believe we are to be travelling companions," the young woman said, her voice soft, her accent that of someone within Nicole's social sphere.