The New Client

6.

They turned into the grounds. Watson watched as the gate passed by. Two tall pillars stood either side of the road, the great black gate was opened wide parting like two embracing arms. Trees slowly rose up forming an avenue, their bare branches scratching the grey sky above them like skeletal hands. John turned to try and catch a glimpse of the school but a sudden bump caused him to rise out of his perch and tumble into a heap on the driveway in the filth and mud tossed up by the tractor. Watson arrived a few minutes after Holmes had jumped down from the booth and thanked the driver who had just finished unloading their luggage. John gave a somewhat disgruntled but appreciative nod to the farmer as he trundled back into the countryside and got a middle finger waved out the window in return.

Holmes was already fishing in his jacket pocket for his pipe whilst taking in his surroundings. The school rose up on three sides like an open square, the architecture was neo-gothic and between late nineteenth and early twentieth century. At the far end was a squat tower rising out of the wall, the three floors of windows that surrounded them gave the feeling of hundreds of eyes staring out at them. Watson gulped as he took in the sheer size of the place.

“Don’t worry Watson my old friend no one will jump out and kill you just yet.” Holmes smiled, holding his pipe in his right hand.

“It’s not that, I just thought I had finished school forever. I left then ended up doing medicine for seven years and now I’m back in one again. And what do you mean just yet, I don’t plan on getting knocked off at all.”

“Maybe you’ll actually learn something this time.” Holmes grinned ignoring Watson’s latter comment. Watson proceeded to dust himself off which only worsened the mud already smeared on his jacket and trousers. Holmes spun around and looked at the man standing on the steps looking down at the messy sight before them. What he saw was not expected; a man smoking a pipe amid a pile of suitcases in various states of disarray, an inside out umbrella and a small man frantically wiping mud onto his trousers.

He frowned and tilted his head to one side, “Um Sherlock…”

“Holmes at your service my dear fellow.” Sherlock finished stepping forward, grabbing the bewildered man’s hand and shaking it eagerly.

“Ah” he said. “I am James Burton the…”

“Headmaster of this beautiful school.” Holmes finished again. “I understand you’re having a bit of a problem.”

“A bit of a problem?” the Headmaster asked incredulously. He looked around the quod before leaning towards Holmes and whispering through gritted teeth. “A girl has died.” Sherlock sucked deeply on his pipe before exhaling and whispering into Burton’s ear.

“No a girl has been murdered whilst in your care.” He placed his pipe between his lips once more pleased with the first impression he had left. The headmaster straightened up, an imprint of shock left on his face Holmes words still echoing through his head. In your care. Sherlock’s eyes flicked over him.

Place responsibility. Play the guilt trip. Watch reaction. Take note. Slight confusion on face. Disassociates himself with murder.  Brief change in face. Becomes welcoming. Military man. Afraid of opening up. There is horror behind his eyes. Secrets. Innocent.

He finished and smiled. “Forgive me where are my manners.” He gestured with his pipe. “This is Dr Watson my colleague.” John had been so preoccupied with the cleanliness of his attire he had not noticed the Headmaster, their employer, arrive. He hurriedly rushed towards Burton, stumbling over a couple of bags before presenting himself before the headmaster. Watson smiled and held out a muddy hand.

“Dr Watson. Pleased to meet you.” Burton looked at him and nodded, not shaking his hand which was left stranded in mid-air, alone and filthy. He turned away hardly acknowledging Watson and headed towards the door from which he appeared. It was labelled; Old House, Reception. Holmes looked at Watson and smiled.

“What did you do?” cried Watson. “We’ve been here all of five minutes and you’ve already made the Headmaster hate us.”

“As a matter of fact I did nothing. And anyways he doesn’t hate us he hates you. He shook my hand.” Watson ground his teeth and looked at Holmes, anger rising up from within. Sherlock then smirked,

“Be a good boy and take our bags up to our rooms will you please John.” He patted Watson on the shoulder and turned to follow the headmaster indoors. James Burton was waiting for Holmes at the doorway and raised an arm, his hand signalling Holmes to stop.

“I’m afraid we do not allow smoking on the school grounds.” He pointed at a sign to his right mounted on the wall confirming the school as a smoke free site whilst threatening a financial and legal penalty. Sherlock smiled politely before looking back at Watson who was struggling to carry the numerous suitcases left to him. Holmes waved the pipe at John and tapped out the tobacco onto the ground before returning it to his pocket. Watson had no time for this and all he could summon from within his was the simple muttering of the words;

“Piss off.”

Inside was decorated nicely but not too extravagantly. The floor was carpeted with a soft red, the wall consisted of wooden panels and the lights were gold with green casing, just like library lamps.

“This is the Old House which consists of the senior management’s offices and reception.” Holmes nodded already bored. “You will be provided with name badges as part of our new security system.” Sherlock stifled a laugh. “Ms Cliffe will show you to your rooms where you will unpack and then the Head Boy will escort you to supper. Unfortunately due to accommodation issues…”

“What accommodation issues?”

“Plumbing, and plasterwork, the entire guest wing is being refurbished.”

“Which means?”

“Which means you will be staying in Reds House.” He looked at the confused look on Holmes face and smiled at having found something he did not know. “One of our boys Houses, Ms Cliffe will take you. Now if you excuse me I have some important business to attend to I shall see you at supper.”

Sherlock stood still, he had just been left not in charge and the final say was not his. Holmes was no longer in control. He smirked. Very clever. Well Played Mr Burton, very well played indeed.

“Hello there.” Chirped a woman from behind a desk, obviously the Ms Cliffe. She jumped up and rushed round to greet the new guest. She stopped slightly confused.

“Sorry if I’m wrong but aren’t there supposed to be two of you.” Just as Ms Cliffe finished this sentence the door opened and a pile of bags and a muddy Watson fell through.

“Here he is now.” Grinned Sherlock.

“Oh my.” She rushed forward and helped John up. “Are you okay?” Watson laughed.

“Yes I’m quite alright thank you. I’m Dr John…”

“I know, Dr John Watson” she grinned, proudly looping what looked like a VIP badge around his neck. “I’m Ms Cliffe but you can just call me Jo or Jojo everyone does.” Sherlock’s eyes widened as he looked at Watson. “Oh I’m so sorry here.” She looked down at the badge, clearly not knowing who Holmes was. “Mr Sherl...”

“Yes I know who I am thank you.” He snapped taking the badge from her hands. Jo or Jojo as everyone called her looked a bit insulted and turned to Watson.

“Ok shall I show you to your rooms?”

“That would be lovely.” John beamed as she took his arm and began to walk off into the school. Holmes was left standing with the bags.

“Ahem. Watson.” John turned around “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he paused for a moment pretending to think and then clicking his fingers smiled and said

“Ah yes be a good boy and take our bags up to our rooms will you please Sherlock.” Then he continued in the direction of their rooms arm in arm with Ms Cliffe. Holmes turned to the bags and kicked one over before sitting on it and taking his pipe out.

“Honestly.” Sherlock muttered. “That man has no respect.”