Cecilia Holmes, Daughter of Minerva (Sherlock/Percy Jackson crossover)

Chapter 13

Mr. And Mrs. Watson stood when Sherlock came back, saying it was about time they went home.
“We’ll be watching out for news about the case,” Mr. Watson said, shaking his hand. Sherlock didn’t reply. And then Mr. Watson turned toward me, glancing me up and down.
“It was nice to meet you, Cecilia,” he said, slowly, holding out his hand. I took it.
“And you, Mr. Watson,” I replied.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” Sherlock said, opening the door for Mrs. Watson. He looked at me, wearily, before walking out. “I’ll be right back.”
They walked out, leaving Mr. Huxtable and I in the flat.
I took a deep breath and looked out the window. And then I looked around the messy apartment. And then I looked at Mr. Huxtable. He stared at me, suspiciously. Taking another deep breath, I bounced on my toes, and then walked toward the stairs. I exited the apartment, thankful to be out of Mr. Huxtable’s sight. Leaning against the wall, I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. Voices drifted up the stairs to my ears.
“She could be an assassin for all we know,” I heard Mr. Watson say.
“She’s not,” Sherlock replied.
“What else could she be, then? She’s too young to be in the military, and you said yourself that she has had years of physical training and has been in combat before.”
They were silent.
“You don’t really believe she’s your daughter, do you?”
“I don’t know,” Sherlock said. “I don’t know who she is or what she’s doing here… But I plan to find out.”
“Just be careful, Sherlock,” Mr. Watson said.
“I will, John. Don’t worry about me. Worry about Mary. That’d be a better use of your time.”
Mr. Watson sighed.
“Well, goodbye, Sherlock. And good luck.”
I heard the door open and shut, and I turned and quickly walked back into the flat.
“So, Mr. Huxtable,” I said as I entered, hoping to remove his suspicion of me and answer some questions I had about the case. “What is your relationship with Arthur? The boy who was kidnapped?”
He didn’t reply but stared at me.
“I think I will wait until the detective returns,” he said, haughtily, just as Sherlock walked in.
“You may answer her questions,” he stated, walking over and picking up the duffel bag he had packed. “She’s my assistant, please treat her as such.”
I looked at Sherlock, but he avoided my gaze.
“Well, perhaps I will be able to give you more details of the case on the train,” Mr. Huxtable said. “We’d better hurry or we’ll miss it.”



*

    Sherlock refused to even glance at me for more than a second. And I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
    So much for a kind and loving father.
    We took a cab to the train station and I had never felt so claustrophobic in my life. I was glad that we ordered first class tickets, though I was a little bit embarrassed that Sherlock had to buy it for me. When we were seated on the train for Mackleton, Doctor Huxtable gave us more details about the case. Well, gave Sherlock more details about the case. I could tell my presence made him very uncomfortable, so I pretended to be oblivious to their quiet talk while I stared out of the window. I don’t think he realized I caught every word.
    Arthur Saltire was a student at the Priory Boarding School, which Doctor Huxtable praised was the finest boarding school in England. And of which he was the director.
    Doctor Huxtable babbled on and on with many details that, in my opinion, were unnecessary. But what I got out of it was that a few months ago, at the beginning of the school year, Arthur had enrolled at the school and was accompanied there by Mr. James Wilder, Doctor Saltire’s secretary. Arthur apparently was very happy at the school and got good grades. But, according to Doctor Huxtable, he had a very troubled family life. Doctor Saltire’s wife had left him when Arthur was very young. She now lived in France and Arthur doesn’t remember her. As he got older, Arthur became more and more depressed about their family situation. He wanted to meet his mother, but that wasn’t possible. That was why the Doctor thought it would be best if he sent him to the boarding school— to give him a change of scenery and to hopefully get his mind off their circumstances. It seemed to work and he was quickly at home there.
    “He was last seen Monday night two days ago. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, Arthur simply wasn’t there. Connor, his roommate, didn’t wake up or notice he was missing until the next morning. So I think that Arthur must have left the room before he was abducted. But his room is on the second floor at the end of the hall, Mr. Holmes, and the other boys that have rooms on that floor said that they didn’t see or hear him,” Mr. Huxtable said. “So I believe it is nearly certain that Arthur didn’t go that way. I believe, Mr. Holmes, that he escaped out his window. There is an ivy plant leading to the ground and it could hold up a small person like Arthur.”
    “Were there any signs that he climbed it?” Sherlock interrupted.
    “I-I-I don’t know,” Mr. Huxtable said. “There weren’t any visible footprints on the ground that I could see. But I am sure that it is the only way he could’ve escaped.”
    “It doesn’t sound like Arthur was kidnapped, Doctor Huxtable,” Sherlock said. “It sounds like he ran away.”
    “We have searched all over the countryside, Mr. Holmes,” the Doctor said. “He is nowhere to be found. We thought that he might have gotten homesick and gone back to see his father, but they haven’t seen him. There is one last important piece of information, however, that I have yet to reveal to you. When Arthur’s disappearance was first discovered, we at once held a role call of the entire school— students, teachers, and servants. It was then discovered that one of the teachers, Professor Heidegger, was also missing. His room was on the second floor, a few doors down, but facing the same direction as Arthur’s. We searched his room and it was apparent that he had also apparently gone down by the ivy, for we found his footprints on the ground under the window. They led to a shed that is not far away from that side of the building, where we keep the bicycles and other supplies. We looked and Heidegger’s bicycle was gone.”
    Sherlock folded his hands together, appearing lost in thought.
    “What can you tell me about this Heidegger?”
    “Well, um, he was a young man, just twenty-six, but he was already an expert in linguistics, especially Greek. He hadn’t been teaching at the school for very long,” Doctor Huxtable hesitated, “He started teaching this year, actually. But he came with the best references and is a friendly, kind man. I don’t like to think he would’ve done something like this, but…” he sighed. “There has been no trace of either Heidegger or Arthur. And here we are, two days later, just as ignorant as we were on Monday. What do you think, Mr. Holmes? Doctor Saltire is very anxious and so am I. Please, put all your effort into finding him. Arthur was a bright young man and I’d hate to see any harm come to him.”
    “What was the relationship between Arthur and Heidegger?” Sherlock asked, ignoring the Professor’s pleas.
    “They were very close,” Doctor Huxtable said slowly. “Arthur was in several of his classes and Heidegger payed him special attention. I think that is one of the reasons why Arthur has been doing such a good job in school.”
    “I see. Did Arthur have a bicycle?”
    “No.”
    “Were any other bicycles missing?”
    “No.”
    “One last question, Doctor— did anyone come and see him before he disappeared?”
    “Yes, actually,” he replied. “His father and his secretary came Sunday night to visit. But that wasn’t out of the ordinary. They visit most weekends.”
    “Did Arthur ever receive letters or emails?”
    “We don’t allow electronics, Mr. Holmes, for we are a very traditional school. But he’d receive a letter from his father occasionally on the weekends he couldn’t visit.”
    “Had he ever received one from his mother?”
    “No, Mr. Holmes. I believe she cut off all communication after she moved to France.”
    “Did he receive any letters from anyone else?”
    “No, sir, just his father.”
    “Hm,” Sherlock said, leaning back again.
    “I don’t see why it matters,” the Doctor said, frowning.
    “Don’t you?” I blurted before Sherlock replied. “There are only two options. Either Arthur left of his own accord or was kidnapped. If the former, you would expect prompting of some kind. But since he had no visitors or letters that would suggest such an action, he was most likely kidnapped.”
    Mr. Huxtable looked at me with surprise.
    “Well, his only correspondent was his own father,” he said after a long moment.
    Sherlock was quiet for a long time. Many minutes passed before he spoke again.
    “You should’ve come to me sooner, Doctor Huxtable,” he said, placing his hands on the arms of his seat. “For now I have a very serious handicap.”
    “Don’t blame me, Mr. Holmes. Doctor Saltire was extremely anxious to avoid a public scandal. He is a very prestigious man, you see, and not many people know of his family problems. He wants to keep it that way. And, actually, he doesn’t know that I’m putting you on the case.”
    “Um… May I ask a question?” I said, glancing at Sherlock. They looked at me but didn’t respond, so I took the liberty of asking it.
    “How was the relationship between Arthur and Doctor Saltire?”
    Doctor Huxtable glared at me for a second longer, but then sighed deeply and shook his head.
    “Not very good, I’m afraid,” he said. “Doctor Saltire is a solitary man and keeps to himself for the most part. I don’t think he ever made much of an effort in growing his relationship with his son. But he was always generous to Arthur and loved him… in his own way.”
    “Interesting,” I murmured. I pretended to look out the window, when really I was looking at Sherlock’s reflection in it. I wished I knew what he was thinking. He probably already had several theories. Maybe one of them was right. Sherlock was brilliant enough to be able to solve a case without even leaving his flat, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he already knew where Arthur was.
    All the same, I couldn’t wait to investigate with him.