Gathering the Threads

“I am conscious myself of a weight at my heart and a feeling of impending danger-ever-present, which is the more terrible because I am unable to define it.”

—Dr. John H. Watson, The Hound of the Baskervilles.

I jolted awake to thin early morning daylight. Sudden piercing screams reverberated nearby and service revolver in hand, I rushed out my door. Holmes leapt up the stairs to stand with me.

“Holmes, what was that?” I whispered. He was barefoot in defensive stance, he put his finger to his lips, listening, and we heard it again.

It sounded like Rachel was calling in her sleep. He opened the door, “Nooooo, Mama, Papa, no, no, no, no!”

He waved, and I pocketed my gun. “Watson, she is thrashing about the bed.” He softly sang a lullaby stanza and she awoke.

She didn’t know where she was but did recognize Holmes. “Papa, I had a horrible dream.”

“Child, you are safe at home in your own bedroom as Mrs. Hudson crafted it.”

“It’s all right, Watson, just a vociferous nightmare.”

“Good morning, Miss Rachel do you remember your dream?”

“Good morning, Doctor Watson. No not a thing. But it’s good to forget bad dreams, isn’t it?” She said and jumped out of bed. “What time is it?” She looked at her watch. “Oh, forgive me. I’ll be indisposed for a few minutes.”

Holmes and I looked to each other as she ran out. In the sitting room we lit our morning pipes. Holmes said through his odorous fumes, “Watson, her protestation was in a much younger voice. Did you hear it? This mystery is begging to be solved. Would you join me, my dear partner? I understand if you choose not to, as it is a personal trifle.”

I’m sure the concern showed in my eyes. “Holmes, any way that I may help you or Rachel, know I’m there, and, yes, it is personal, to me!”

He smiled.

“But how do we solve the mystery of a bad dream? Do we go to Vienna?”

He laughed, knocked out his clay pipe and put it on the mantelpiece. I had opened the window, as was my usual morning practice, and now closed it. “Interesting proposition, Doctor, but I question whether Doctors Freud and Brewer would be able to deduce more than we old sleuthhounds. Facts are what we want,” he said as he dressed. “I have an appointment at Bart’s, should be back by breakfast.” He ran out.

“Good morning, Holmes.”

He returned an hour later and vigorously brushed off his frock coat, hat, gloves, and washed his face and hands. Drying his hands on a towel, he said, “Watson, I have been in Bart’s dusty hospital record rooms. One thing hospitals have to their merit is they are largely open. I was investigating cadaver records. They did acquire two infant cadavers early Sunday.” He sat at the table and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Such cadavers are highly prized, Holmes. They are an absolute necessity for medical schools. And well paid for—two would free a man from half a year’s labour. But surely the Anatomy Act put an end to the resurrection men. Who would accept these?”

“Precisely, Watson! But why would men who have just earned a half year’s wage in the delivery of these diminutive cadavers leave their mother’s bodies decomposing a few steps away? Where in a matter of days they would be discovered? Isn’t that suggestive to you?” He refreshed his coffee.

“It’s fairly callous of them, Holmes.” I held up my cup and he filled it. “Indicative of hurry. They wouldn’t have to break into a church to achieve their murderous ends. With the crypt and the construction, all of their tracks and some of their movement would be hidden, so the chapel was a very good choice.”

“Superb, Watson, your time spent at the Yard has led to a refined corruption, you’re thinking like a criminal. But were they surprised, afraid of being caught or callous, as you say? If you wanted to cover up something of dire necessity to you and your hospital, yet it is of questionable legality, what would you do?”

“I would have some official person do the covering up.”

“Doctor, your powers of ratiocination are coming along nicely. Who would you suppose this person could be at Bart’s?”

“That would depend on what’s being covered up.”

“At Bart’s this morning, I found the infant cadavers had been sold by the Bush Brothers, most likely a pseudonym. They were paid, yet no one had signed for them. So the cover-up is the purchasing of the infant cadavers.”

“I could find you those names, excuse me.” I ran upstairs and entered again with my yearbook. “Here it is Holmes. It was an easy find and one of my old cards is in the place.” I dropped it on his end table.

“Thank you, Watson.”

Rachel emerged dressed on the landing. The doorbell rang.

“Child, resolve that summons.”

She returned immediately with two telegrams. “For you, sir.” She ran back downstairs.

He opened them. “Capital!” And put them in his pocket and chuckled. “What do you think, Watson? She’d give Wiggins a run for his money!” He shared the telegrams with me as was our way.

“One from Rita:—

RACHEL’S PARENTS BROUGHT HER TO MARCELLOS SPRING 1886. DISAPPEARED. GLAD YOU ARE TOGETHER GOOD FOR RACHEL. GOING WEST. GIUSEPPE ON HIS WAY TO YOU. THANK YOU, SHERLOCK HOLMES. MISS YOU BOTH. RITA

He wrote his reply on the back.

“That’s horrible Holmes.” I said. “To experience such loss so young, no wonder she doesn’t remember. Surely we might ask her how long she lived with the Marcello family. Who’s Giuseppe?”

“This one is from Oscar:—

SHERLOCK HOLMES! NEW SITTING REQUIRED. RACHEL’S PARENTS DIED YOUNG. MYSTERY. ASK RITA. ALBERT. WE TOOK HER IN APRIL 30. FAIR SPECTACULAR ST. SIGERSON GETTING MUCH ATTENTION. MISS YOU BOTH. OSCAR WATSON

“Your sculptor friend with the Colt .38 is also a comedian.”

“When you meet Oscar, you’ll be proud to share your name with such a fine, young American. Giuseppe is a younger brother, not very intelligent, but a good heart. He teaches boxing. The family’s checking up on Rachel.”

“That is commendable.”

Holmes was in the thick of it all right, one glance at his eyes, vivid with excitement, heralded the fact that our search for clues had commenced. “Watson, would you please undertake it at breakfast, make a casual remark. Do not acknowledge her answer in any way, do not look at me. I will confide her family’s concern and her uncle’s prospective visit. That might be the most appropriate time to step in, Doctor.”

Mrs. Hudson appeared at our door.

“Thank you for breakfast, Mrs. Hudson, will you accompany us?”

She bustled in and placed our meal on the table. “Oh, Doctor Watson, I breakfasted an hour ago, while you gentlemen were still dreaming. Thank you.”

I marvelled at the wonderful knack we humans had to restore the balance of our lives. I was now a widower, having lost the most magnificent wife a man could have in Mary. And I could only guess at the horrors Holmes experienced in the wastelands following Moriarty’s death. Yet, we were able to pick up where we left off after years away almost as if the break in our time together never occurred. What a paradox is man!

Holmes was lifting and looking underneath the serving covers. “What’s this? Not British eggs.”

Miss Rachel entered with hot coffee. “I made scrambled eggs for myself, with lots of butter. And potatoes, to share.”

“They smell delicious.” I helped myself.

“Next time I’ll make an Italian dish.” She sat opposite to me and served herself.

“You learned Italian recipes living with the Marcello family?” I said, “You know Holmes and I are fond of Italian cuisine, Miss Rachel.”

“Oh yes, and my aunts are all great cooks.”

“How long have you lived with them?” I said lightly, while I focused on opening my first egg.

“I can’t tell you. It seems all my life. I hope you get to meet them someday. They are of the first order, as you would say, Doctor. Aren’t they, sir?”

Holmes had just refilled his cup with coffee. He seemed uninterested in the conversation though I knew he heard and docketed every word, every gesture, facial expression, and body posture. He nodded, looking at his cup as he added sugar. “And most gracious,” he looked to her. “Rachel, that telegram arrived from your Uncle Oscar, he stated the fair is spectacular and he misses both of us. The second is from your Aunt Rita, she said she is glad you are here, further, that it is good for you, and that she misses us both. Also, that Uncle Giuseppe is on his way here. Neither seemed much put off by my name change.”

“Uncle Giuseppe? I miss them and I’m missing the fair.” She sighed. “Life is complicated, but I would make the same choice again. I’m glad to be here. Aunt Rita is right, it is good for me. Uncle Oscar will visit us, too, and I will have a chance to show off my new home.”

“Well said, child. And when Giuseppe arrives you will be able to shepherd him about like a native. Cities change in three years. I will be updating my map of London with some instructive walks. You are welcome to join me. Where would you like to start your London apprenticeship?”

“Scotland Yard!”

“Easily arranged, Miss Rachel, but London is a treasure trove of wonders. Parliament, Buckingham Palace, the British Museum, the new Tower Bridge, a concert at Royal Albert Hall or something in the West End?” I opened to the Chronicle’s theatre advertisements. “George Bernard Shaw’s, Arms and the Man is at the Playhouse Theatre. It would be interesting to hear what the critic expresses through his characters. I daresay he will think twice after reading his own reviews.”

“Scotland Yard, first! Can we go today? Sean and I already did the tour.”

Holmes and I briefly looked to each other, not without a little humour.

“Just a few minutes to change, are you up for it, Doctor?”

“I think I have things to do here that will be much more interesting. My boots need polishing.” Holmes nodded in Rachel’s direction and I could see a very like demeanour in two sets of intelligent eyes both full of the excitement of the hunt.

I raised my cup in a salute and drained it. “Just a few minutes to dress.”

Holmes buttoned up his customary city attire of black weskit and frock coat, which still fitted him like a glove. He came into our sitting room and picked a fat book off the top shelf above my desk, flipped to a page and jotted it down. Then put the small blue notebook in his upper waistcoat pocket. He returned the book to its shelf. “Rachel, get your coat,” he said. With hat, stick, and scarf, he flew down the stairs and out the door. When I joined him, he was halfway to the Baker Street post office. Holmes and I were quite fashionable in our top hats, and walking sticks, and Miss Rachel was skipping like a young pup interested in every store window. He sent three telegrams, and hailed a cab in a tone no cabby could miss.

“Why are we on our way to Scotland Yard before digesting our meal, Holmes?”

“To ascertain whether our men actually had something to fear. Though your thoughts may lead us in an entirely different direction, this thread is easily secured. Cigarette, Watson?”

“Is this about the case, sir?”

“Tying up some loose ends, child, you’ve been here two days and mentioned Sean once. Is there some arrangement I don’t know about?”

Her laughter sparkled, as she said. “No, S, you sound just like a parent right now. He’s back at school. A day student, but is busy with it all.”

I said, “Who is Sean?”

“He’s my boyfriend. We met on the ship, Doctor Watson.”

We paid the coachman at the river and I watched her excited face. Rachel took in the immense New Scotland Yard Iron Gate emblazoned with Her Majesty’s crest far above our heads. Holmes stepped through and turned to her, swept his hand out in an all-encompassing gesture.

“Child, this is Scotland Yard, the centre of the London Constabulary.”

We walked the long cobblestoned yard, impressively encompassed by Norman Shaw’s recent Gothic turreted splendour of banded red brick and white Portland stone. Then we stepped through a rather presupposing doorway. The constable on duty left his desk.

“Mr. Holmes! Doctor Watson!” He shook our hands. “I’d heard you were back, welcome home, Mr. Holmes.”

Holmes was touched and clapped him on the back.

“Glad to be back, thank you, Constable Linnette. How’s the family?”

He smiled. “Very well, sir.”

“Is Lestrade in?”

“Yes, he is, you know where it is.”

We advanced through the doorway to the ground floor detective unit. The Thames-facing wall of the building was lit by large arched windows. Lestrade’s office was down this hallway.

“Inspector Lestrade, I’d like you to meet Miss Rachel Marcello.” She put out her hand and he shook it imperceptibly. “Watson offered her the whole of London and this is what she chose for her inaugural jaunt. She wanted to meet you!”

Lestrade nodded to me, “Always good to see you, Doctor.” He was wary as if he expected a practical joke unveiled at any moment. “It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Marcello. But why would you want to visit Scotland Yard?”

“It’s Doctor Watson’s stories. This is an exciting place.”

Lestrade cleared his throat and turned toward Holmes. “Good thing we arrived when we did, taking on Colonel Moran without our help could have been fatal.”

Holmes put his hand on my shoulder, “Watson is my right hand, Lestrade.”

“Yes, you are very fortunate to have such a fine partner. We will miss you around the Yard, I can assure you, Doctor.” He shook my hand.

“Thank you, Lestrade,” I said. Holmes lit a cigarette.

“Mr. Holmes, we have Moriarty’s daughter here. I would appreciate it if you would make out your report of the affair before you leave.”

Holmes sniffed.

Miss Rachel said. “He used his coat to tie her up like a straitjacket!”

“Inspector Lestrade, I will need to search your most recent files.”

“Mr. Holmes, without your being on the official force I can’t allow it.”

“Then execute the search for me. What I require are the names of any men who were arrested or suspected near Bart’s Hospital Saturday or Sunday.”

I said, “Certainly, you have no objection to my doing so?”

“Of course not, Doctor.” He called his assistant, “Sergeant Wilkins, bring Doctor Watson to the records room!”

“It’s this way, sir.” Wilkins sang my praises all the way, “Doctor Watson, we’ll miss your knowledge and understanding. No other police surgeon has your experience. Sad to see you go.”

“I appreciate your kind words, but certainly Holmes’ return is also helpful to the Yard, Wilkins?” He shook his head.

We entered a room filled with rows of tall oaken cabinets and a thick layer of dust. He pointed out the most recent and left me to it. I put my handkerchief over my nose and mouth, opened the first drawer and leafed through the contents, chuckling at how Holmes would treat it. I closed up, moved to the corridor and patted the dust from my coat. Files in hand, I headed back to Lestrade’s office.

The inspector had questioned Holmes about his steamship journey, the attack by the Moriarty woman now residing in his gaol, and had written up the report. Holmes had a disputatious look on his face and snuffed out his cigarette. “If you will just sign here, Mr. Holmes, thank you.”

I walked in the office. He jumped up, took the research from my hands and was looking it over as he spoke, “Now, Lestrade, might you give me the names of the officers on duty at St. Bart’s Saturday night and Sunday morning? I would like a word with them.”

“If you come round tomorrow 8 a.m., Mr. Holmes, I’ll have the men here for you. Actually, it is good you are here, there’s someone I’d like you, and Doctor Watson to meet,” Lestrade said.

“As long as it is safe for Miss Rachel to accompany us, I may do so.”

“Another prisoner, I’d like your opinion of her.”

“Give me the facts, Lestrade,” said Holmes, as he jotted notes from my research.

“She was arrested with thirty others at a suffragette rally.”

“I don’t have to see her, Lestrade, let her go. What law has she broken? If you are going to arrest British citizens for our political beliefs, you’d better lock up all of us. I see no reason for an arrest.”

“She used her umbrella as a weapon to attack the arresting constable!”

“Can that seriously be considered a weapon, especially in London? Defending her friends is laudable,” I said.

“Doctor, she jabbed him in the stomach with it, then tripped him, pulled out her hat pin, and stabbed him!” the little man’s voice rose to a squeak in his frustration.

Rachel looked to Holmes.

“Don’t you think that is sufficient cause for arrest, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes was now extremely interested, I could see he was ready to pounce.

I said, “I can’t imagine the Labour Party condoning your Constables’ actions, Lestrade.”

“You’d be surprised, Doctor.”

Casually, Holmes said, “This situation gains in interest. If we might do so privately, I’ll meet with her for a few minutes.”

Lestrade nodded, “Thank you, her name is Hannah Gerald.”

Miss Rachel had been bored by Lestrade’s didactic ways, yet now was excited about walking into a prisoner cell and meeting a London suffragist at Scotland Yard. I took her in hand.

We entered through the basement. The gaol unlocked for our entry. It held a small young woman, not yet in her twenties. We doffed our toppers. “I am Sherlock Holmes and this is my friend and colleague, Doctor Watson. Miss Rachel Marcello is an American suffragist. I am an independent investigator and not partisan, you may trust us. We are working to have you released but you must tell me exactly what happened and where you learned the art of baritsu.”

“How do you know that?” Hannah said warily.

He brought his walking stick to a baritsu stance.

“What happened was a confrontation between police and suffragists during yesterday’s march. I am one of Susannah’s students. We are taught baritsu privately—”

Miss Rachel interrupted her, “Do you know Alfie Davis? What is Millicent Fawcett really like?”

Holmes nodded to me and I led her to the opposite end of the cell, put my finger on my lips.

He said, “Pray, please continue, Miss Gerald.”

She smiled, “Miss Marcello, when I get out of here, over tea, I will introduce you to my friends, Millicent Fawcett, and Alfie Davis. You can form your own impressions. Mr. Holmes, they attacked us. We were just defending ourselves. We surround our speakers so they might get to safety. It began as fun, but they’ve upped their game. One came at me with his club. I jabbed him with my umbrella, stabbed him with my hat pin, and tripped him, so he would stop hitting me. It was all defensive on our side. But, in light of our arrests, I guess it’s illegal for women to defend themselves so well.”

“Miss Gerald, on Sunday morning, two young women were beaten to death at St. Bart’s the Greater Church. One of the women wore bloomers. Miss Rachel believes that characterises her as a suffragist. I am searching for their identities as a way to track down the killer. Might your group be able to help me? Both women were with child.”

“Beaten to death! How horrible. Only suffragists wear bloomers, Mr. Holmes. When I get out of here, I will do what I can to help. Do you think it’s the police force?”

He cleared his throat. “It is not probable. We believe the murderers were underworld brutes. But I do see how you might make that connection. One brute is the same as another,” Holmes said.

“Are you being treated well, my dear, no health problems I hope?” I said.

“In this horrid place? We’re all locked up, all my friends.”

“Thank you for your honesty, Miss Gerald.” He gave her his card. “I’ll do what I can to have you released.”

We left the cell.

“Child, when a client is relating their story, it’s best to let them, some will shut up like a Poughkeepsie oyster,” he said.

“Are you really going to help her?”

“I will do my best.”

We walked into Lestrade’s office. “Lestrade, you do realize any one of them can make a claim for false imprisonment. If all thirty do so you might be faced with dusting off your old blue uniform, Inspector.”

“Mr. Holmes, I don’t understand why you side with these streetwalkers, excuse me, Miss Marcello. Each one attacked my men. And we have been ordered to get tough with them.”

“Lestrade, she said they all acted in self-defence,” I said.

“She said—they all say they’re innocent, Doctor.”

“I’d like to speak with the officer involved, if I may?” said Holmes.

“Sergeant Wilkins, bring in Trevor!”

He was medium height and limped down the hallway. As he approached I could see his upper leg was bandaged, and his face and arm contused and bruised. “Inspector Lestrade,” Constable Trevor said, while saluting.

“That will be all, Wilkins.”

Trevor nodded to me, I said, “Miss Rachel Marcello is a visitor to Scotland Yard.”

Lestrade said, “Trevor, tell Mr. Holmes exactly how you received your wounds.”

“Constable, leave nothing out. And as you see, Trevor,” he held up his hand. “I can sympathize with your wounding.”

“Hat pin?”

Holmes nodded.

“Mr. Holmes, we were in Downing Street near the park, lined up to stop their march. Anarchists in skirts are what they are! The Prime Minster must have access to Parliament, the Queen! We stopped them with our clubs. They came back at us with umbrellas, clubs, and hatpins. She got me in the leg, those hatpins are painful! We arrested ‘em all and they’re locked up tight,” he said with pride.

“Is it against the law for women to hold demonstrations for the granting of their civil rights?” Miss Rachel said.

“You should know that your American system of law is based on our British,” Trevor said.

Holmes nodded to me, and I led Rachel out to Linnette who took her on a short tour of Scotland Yard.

“Constable, can you please go over that again. The suffragists marched through Hyde Park near Downing Street, and you?”

“We lined up in front of them,” Trevor said.

“How far away were you at this point?”

“Half a street away.”

“Is this a usual police technique?”

“For marches like this, yes?”

“By this, you mean suffragist marches?”

“Suffragists, anarchists, Fenians!” Trevor said.

“Did they have guns, knives, or anything we would consider an actual weapon?” Holmes said.

“No, sir.”

“Did any of the women attack first?”

“No, sir.”

“Thank you, Constable.”

Lestrade said, “That’ll be all, Trevor.”

Holmes lit a cigarette. “Inspector Lestrade, your men blocked a legal gathering in an area secured by an act of Parliament as open to free expression. They attacked the women with clubs. And they defended themselves, some of them extremely well, but nonetheless self-defence. If I had begun with Trevor it would have taken me five minutes. My advice to you is to let them go.”

“Mr. Holmes—”

He offered his cigarette case to him. “Lestrade, I am newly returned to London and value my most stalwart friend at Scotland Yard. With all your experience surely you see this will not hold up in court.” He lit Lestrade’s cigarette.

Inspector Chanda Das joined us.

“Good to see you again Das. The Doctor and I would return to meet with the coroner. Please join us there.”

Das nodded to him.

Lestrade said, “Mr. Holmes, thank you again for your astounding work on the Adair case. With your evidence, Colonel Moran will surely get the rope. I appreciate your help, as always and do look forward to working with you again.” They shook hands.

I said, “Stop by some evening for a drink at our fire, Lestrade. I have brought a fine whisky back to Baker St. Inspector Das you are welcome to join us after your studies.”

We met Rachel and Constable Linnette.

“Miss Marcello, I hope your London visit exceeds your expectations,” said Linnette and he saluted her.

We left Scotland Yard and strolled along the Thames embankment. Rachel, full of excitement, said, “Constable Linnette showed me the gallows! But, sir, Lestrade didn’t let them go!”

“Patience, child.” He held up his hand as if to say, ‘Cease!’ “He will and we will see it in the next day’s newspapers. It’s a face-saving manoeuvre on his part. He is one of the best of their lot at his job, better when he calls us in. But he must compete with his fellow inspectors and believes he must do so with me. It’s a very flimsy case. Yet proves what Hannah said and Lestrade and Trevor corroborated, that the suffragists are being officially harassed.”

“That doesn’t sound like Scotland Yard. I’d like to know where this is coming from,” I said.

“They are learning baritsu and using it to defend themselves. How beautifully inventive, her involvement in our murder investigation may lead us closer to a solution. She confirmed our victim is a suffragist,” Holmes said.

“Let’s have lunch!”

“If you might wait an hour, I would first stop off at Broome’s Publishing. Cab!”

Broome’s was housed in a corner building where Bedford Street concluded at West Strand. It looked out on a small square facing that great commercial thoroughfare to perfectly define their business. Noble homes formerly filled this street. The building at No. 430 is a four-storied, many-windowed, cylindrical structure. An empty and useless bell tower capped it off.

“No bell, no clapper, no peal, no fury!” I said.

Holmes put his hand on my shoulder. “Watson, we’ll bring the fury, never fear. Your involvement at The Strand has built that magazine, Doctor. To the Broomes, you are the one that got away.”

I smiled at his kindness, “Thank you, Holmes.”

As we entered, Godfrey clapped Holmes on the back and said, “How is your hand healing?”

“Godfrey, the amount of times a gentleman shakes hands in a day is beyond all reason.”

“Sherlock, it’s so good to see you, and Rachel, and Doctor Watson.” Godfrey shook my hand.

“Please inform me of your intentions regarding the news of my return.”

“The cover is here. We are devoting the whole issue to it and have much to do before we go to press.” He held up the proof sheet. “We are very proud of it, some of our finest work.”

Holmes picked it up and we looked it over. I said, “When will it go out?”

“It’ll be on the stands and subscriptions Tuesday.”

“Thank you, this will restart my consulting business.”

“Nice drawing, sir, you look heroic, just like I see you.”

“That was the idea, Rachel, glad you caught it,” Godfrey said.

“Godfrey, I have a request for access to news history from Saturday and Sunday, do you possess such a file?” he said.

“Yes, we keep historical files. Let me help you, what are you looking for?”

Holmes handed him the names found at the Yard. “Any reference to Bart’s Hospital, St. Bart’s the Greater Priory Church, or any missing persons or disturbed cemetery. Thank you, Godfrey.”

He returned fairly quickly with newspapers under his arms, “These should do. You’re investigating the St. Bart’s Horror, of course.”

Holmes nodded. “I would like to read them here.”

“Sherlock, take them into my office and help yourself to tea, it’s hot. Are you working on a new story, John? It looks like you’re back in business. You know we’d love to print more of your stories.”

“Godfrey, I am happy at The Strand, and with my American connections, thank you for your offer.” I joined Holmes and we scanned through the papers.

“Mr. Broome, please let Sean know I was here and asking for him. He’s welcome to call on me at Baker Street.”

“Rachel, how do you like London?” said Godfrey.

“We just came from Scotland Yard. I met Inspectors and a prisoner, too. And I saw the gallows!”

He looked at her anew. “Miss Rachel, you may have the makings of a reporter yet it’s clear you’re a chip off the ole block. Sean is rather overwhelmed with school and sports right now. He has a rugby game today, but it’s not possible for me.”

“Ha!” Holmes grabbed the papers from me, handed them back to Godfrey. “I have some research for Isabella, please give her this note,” said Holmes.

“Of course, Sherlock.”

He tipped his hat, took my hand, I took Rachel’s and he ran us out the door. “Lunch?” We walked two blocks east on the Strand and up to one of Holmes’ favourite little places. The Old Bull Inn was comfortably filled with the chattering gossip of Covent Garden tradespeople sharing a pint after a busy morning. “What do you think of Inspector Das, Watson?”

“Seems an intelligent chap just what the Yard needs.”

“Yes, he does appear to be a kindred soul.”

“Do you think Lestrade will grant clemency?”

He waved it away, “We will see it tomorrow. The involvement of the two women has possibilities, Doctor.”

“What is this called, I love it,” Rachel said.

“Bangers and mash, now you are officially British. Though your table skills won’t pass muster; discuss this with Mrs. Hudson. Americans use a fork as a spoon, to scoop everything up. That is incorrect.”

“What is correct?”

“I would like you to bring that up with Mrs. Hudson.”

I watched enthralled as Sherlock Holmes taught a class in etiquette. “But the basics are these: to hold your fork in your left hand, tines facing down. Use your knife to cut and move food onto your fork. Like this.” He demonstrated cutting into the banger and smearing it with potato then popping it into his mouth. “Mmm, these are good,” he said as he cut another piece from her plate. I hid my laughing fit behind my napkin.

After a satisfying lunch, we left looking for a cab. “Sean’s game ought to start at four o’clock. That gives us enough time to stop at the British Museum.” We cabbed to Bloomsbury.

“What’s rugby?”

“My dear you might as well ask, why I wear a bowler hat. It is the finest collective sport in the land. Its greatest quality is a certain balance of mind without which a man is not complete. To accept success modestly and defeat bravely: to fight against odds, to give credit to your enemy and value your friend. It’s the precursor to your American ‘football’ which grew out of British rugby and soccer. The same ball is used in British and American football. It is a rough game, but that’s half the fun.”

“Doctor Watson has played football in his day.”

We entered through Great Russell Street, where the museum may be seen at its most inspiring, with its many columned Grecian-Ionic architecture rising to the sky. We were waved in with Holmes and quickly moved to the finest reading room in existence today. Miss Rachel became cheerfully lost in manuscripts she’d never seen before and I sat in a comfortable chair and read an early Lancet.

At another table, Holmes pulled out a volume covering American political conflicts and disasters, looking for the month of May in the year 1886. He scribbled a couple of pages in his pocket journal. Then we looked for Miss Rachel, who was sitting at a large oak table hidden behind piles of books. She was reading one on the ancient Celts.

“Football, child?” Holmes said.

“Did you know the Celts of the fifth century had a common language, and culture?” she said. “Fifth century! America was Indian territory then!”

He examined the book. “How gratifying, Rachel, that is an interest of mine also. Watson and I plan to study the ancient ruins at the edges of the dangerous Cornwall coast but haven’t as yet had the chance.”

“My friend tells me it is a fine place for long walks, ancient artefacts, and rest,” I said.

“Rachel, what do you think of the British Museum?” said Holmes.

“Like Merlin or Socrates might appear around any corner. I’d like to spend much more time here.”

“Exactly, are you interested in that game or shall we stay?” She jumped up and took Holmes hand, leading him out.

We found a cab and travelled Oxford to New Bond Street and into the very heart of London to Westminster School. Holmes took Miss Rachel’s hand as she ran out to the playing fields. We placed our jackets on the grass and sat to watch the game. It looked as if Sean was trying out as goalie and had just saved his team by diving into the dirt.

“Formidable, Sean!” Holmes yelled.

The youthful energy of this team was catching. I waved my hat, and applauded along with them.

Miss Rachel smiled at Holmes cheering like a student, excited by their attempts at the goal. Sean stopped another goal try with his body. Miss Rachel jumped to her feet. “Bully for you, Sean!” When the game came to an end, his team had lost by one point.

Sean bounded over to us and said, “What a surprise, my own cheering squad and the great Sherlock Holmes leading the way. Thank you, sir, for keeping us safe on-board ship. Sorry you had to see that defeat.”

“Sean, I watched a new goalie who will take his team to many, many wins for ole Westminster. My friend and colleague, Doctor Watson, he played for Blackheath.”

We shook hands, his firm and dirty. I laughed. “I well remember the mud at Old Deer Park, when my friend Bob Ferguson threw me over the ropes into the crowd. Sean, winning is important. But the fun of comrades working together for the goal is more so.” I laughed. “Even when they are on the other team.”

“I agree wholeheartedly, Doctor. So, now you are back solving cases together again? And Britain is safer for it.”

“Following your parents’ announcement of my return, most busy, I imagine. But I think Rachel probably has more to say.”

“Sean, you achieved your dream. I’m proud of you,” she said.

“As have you,” Sean said.

He took her hand and they ran away across the field. They stopped not far from the team and shared a child’s innocent kiss. I thought, He is showing off his beautiful girlfriend. The lovers talked and laughed, and holding hands they slowly walked back to us. We were brushing off our coats.

“I have to get back, but I wanted to see you.” He squeezed her hand.”

“Sean, even living here with my Papa and Doctor Watson, I’ve missed you,” Miss Rachel said.

He shook Holmes hand and mine. “Sir, thank you for coming,” Holmes nodded. “Au revoir, Rachel,” he said.

“Au revoir, Sean,” she said, kissing his cheek.

We walked back to our cab and travelled home through the park with admiration and delight shining in our newcomer’s eyes. Miss Rachel snuggled into him. “I love him, Papa.” Holmes put his arm around her. What parent would respond so lovingly to their child’s first love? I marvel at Holmes’ ability to parent. Beyond their squire class, he has never spoken to me about his parents. Yet, he is giving Miss Rachel what she needs, stability, care, encouragement, motivation, support, love, his wisdom, and room to grow.

“You picked a good one, Rachel,” he said. “There are so many new beginnings for you.”

“Does it feel unique?” I said.

“I feel like I’m finally home.” She took my hand. “None of this feels unique to me, just new, yet right, too. You understand, don’t you, Doctor?”

I patted her hand, not trusting my voice.

Holmes said, “Ah, child, thank you for your persistence and your Poughkeepsie presumptions.” They laughed at this reminiscence. He leaped from the cab when it reached our door.

She shook her finger at him, “But, I’m not going to thank you for leaving me out of all the action, sir.” She was so serious that Holmes exploded with laughter!

“A most necessary arrangement, child,” he said, “A most necessary arrangement.”