My Dear Emma [Sherlock Holmes Romance]

Prologue

It was the year 1895, the year I was ten, when my father brought me on his visit to his old friend, Mr. Holmes. I had never gone into town; Mama said 'twas dangerous on the London streets, certainly not the place for a young girl of my virtue. To be sure, London was always crowded with people from all places; gypsies, beggars and vendors of all sorts. 'Twas a lot to observe, there were so many intriguing sights and smells.

"Come along, Emma," said Papa, pulling my hand gently. "Mr. Holmes is expecting us."

"Papa," said I, skipping alongside him. "Who is Mr. Holmes?"

"Mr. Holmes is a former colleague of mine," he replied as we approached the front door of 221B Baker Street. "I worked with Mr. Holmes for many years, but that was before you were born."

"What sort of work? Why did you stop working with Mr. Holmes?" Perhaps asking such questions was not the proper thing to do, yet my curiosity had the better of me.

"Mr. Holmes is a rather crazed fellow," said Papa, opening the front door. "I must warn you, my girl, whatever happens, henceforth, you must not mention a word of it to your mother. Do you understand?"

"Yes Papa," I nodded vigorously, smiling with excitement.

I wondered why Papa said I should not mention a word to Mama, but I was eager to find out. Upon entering the front door, an elderly woman came to greet us. Her blue eyes were much like Papa's, dancing as her smile shown, bright and friendly.

"Dr. Watson," said she, shaking my father's hand. "'Tis been some time since your last visit. And this must be your daughter, am I correct?"

"Yes," replied Papa with a proud smile. "May I present Miss Emmaline Watson? We call her Emma."

"'Tis a miracle that you have come, Doctor. I dare say I know not how much more I can take of this. With the newest member equally mischievous as Mr. Holmes, he has found himself with a companion in his madness."

"Mrs. Hudson, what new member has joined the household?" asked Papa, puzzled and surprised.

Before Mrs. Hudson could answer, the most dreadful noise was heard, rendering her startled. A gunshot, followed by another.

"A pot of tea shall be required, Mrs. Hudson," said Papa, removing his hat and coat. "And I shall send Emma down to you for some cookies in time."

Mrs. Hudson nodded uneasily, turning down the hall. Papa look up the stairs, hesitating before taking my hand. Another gunshot was heard; the sounds of grunts and laughter filled my ears as we advanced to the next level of the house. Pausing at the top of the stairs, at the first door, Papa looked at me as he placed his index finger to his lips. I nodded; I trusted Papa enough to know that he meant well. Opening the door with caution, Papa kept me behind him. I did not sense anything I was to fear; it was one of my traits, much like my father's.

"Holmes," said Papa as we entered the dark room.

"Find me," replied a hushed voice.

Papa sighed and motioned for me to remain at the door. He proceeded to the center of the room. A paper ball shot out of nowhere, hitting Papa in the back.

"Good shot!" the voice shouted. "We've got a young warrior on our hands, Watson."

"Holmes," Papa turned about the room. "Come out, you've got poor Mrs. Hudson scared of her wits."

"You mean the woman that tries to poison me in my sleep?"

"Mrs. Hudson does not make any attempt to poison you, Sherlock."

I scanned the room in search of the voice. On the far side of the room, the floor length curtains rustled with movement. I waited; a head of brilliant yellow hair appeared and out stepped a boy about my age. He smiled and disappeared behind the curtain again. I giggled when he reappeared. My father looked at me, then in the direction of the curtain. When nothing happened, Papa approached the curtain and pulled it away from the window. Light rushed in, brightening the dark room. Papa opened the other curtain, receiving six paper balls to his head.

"I give up!" he said, seating himself in a chair on at the end of the room.

"You have not yet noticed us," out came a man with crazed black hair.

The boy laughed as he, too, stepped into view. I contemplated whether the boy was related to Mr. Holmes, or perhaps not, for they were quite the opposite of each other. The boy called my attention most. His hair showed brighter in the light, glowing as that of corn. His brilliant brown eyes danced with excitement, eagerness and curiosity. His skin was fair and smooth like marble. The boy smiled, beckoning my approach, and how could I refuse such friendliness. 'Twas not often that I should come across other children my age, for I rarely left home.

"My dear Watson, how fortunate you should call upon me," said the crazed man. "I see you have brought a dwarf as company."

"I am not a dwarf!" I protested as I stood beside my father.

"My daughter," said Papa, resting a protective hand on my shoulder. "Emma, may I introduce to you Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the greatest detective in London."

I curtsied, the way my mama taught me to do when greeting people. Mr. Holmes nodded; he appeared to be observing me.

"This is my new charge," he said, motioning to the boy. "I knew his mother. This is Thomas, and it was his arm that shot you, Watson."

"A trait inherited from you, no doubt," Papa remarked; his smile showed a note of intended sarcasm. "I take it you are related, in some manner, to the boy. And, if I might ask, who is the mother?"

"My dear Watson, there are certain matters that should never be discussed whilst children's ears are present. Surely you know this."

"Oh, to be sure."

Papa looked at me, and then at Thomas.

"Master Thomas," said he, "would you be so kind to bring Emma to Mrs. Hudson for a snack?"

Thomas nodded, smiling eagerly as he took my hand. He led me out to the hallway and down the stairs.

"You will have to forgive Papa," said Thomas as we entered the kitchen. "Once he has made up his mind about a matter, he is most determined to keep it that way."

"Mr. Holmes is you papa?" I asked, questioning the lack of resemblance. "You don't even look like him! Your hair is yellow as corn. His hair is black like a raven and his eyes were like blue sapphires, which are much like yours. I reckon your mama is the reasoning for your appearance."

"Yes, Mama's appearance was much like my own. She brought me here before she died."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. There was nothing I could think of to say that would console Thomas. Thomas, however, was quite cheerful and did not seem to mind.

"You needn't worry," Thomas smiled, "Papa is quite diverting on a daily basis. Now and then, he takes me to see the circus and the gypsies."

"But not tomorrow," said Mrs. Hudson, placing a pitcher of milk and plate of cookies on the table before us. "Mr. Holmes has given me instruction to send you to school. In order to become a proper gentlemen of your position and class, you need a proper education."

"Yes ma'am."

The hours that passed were the most fun I had ever had in my whole of ten years. When it came time to leave, I felt as though I were leaving a part of me behind. With Thomas going away to school, I knew it would be quite a long time before we ever saw each other again.