Uncle Mycroft’s Household

“Watson,” said he, “if it should ever strike you that I am getting a little over-confident in my powers, or giving less pains to a case than it deserves, kindly whisper ‘Norbury’ in my ear, and I shall be infinitely obliged to you.”

—Dr. John H. Watson, “The Adventure of the Yellow Face”

Holmes and I spent a quiet afternoon. He conducted his chemical analysis of what he had found under the fingernails of our murder victims and made comparisons. I added my detailed research into the special story I was authoring. Now he lounged on the couch, reading it and smoking.

I asked, “What do you think? And when will you inform Miss Rachel?”

“Today, Watson, thank you, it’s perfect, old friend, it reads like one of your adventures. Your involvement should uncomplicate matters.”

“Exciting material, her parent’s history and their last adventure make for a marvellous story. How will you tell her?”

He stretched his arms behind his head. “I thought, Doctor that we might take tea at the Savoy.” He exhaled a plume of smoke.

“Holmes, she may have a strong emotional reaction, possibly physical. You must not fight back, even if she hurts you in some way.”

“Doctor, tsk, tsk!” He sat up. “Will you be here?”

“Thank you, of course I will. Holmes, tell her about her heroic parents, show her this family lineage.”

“Watson, how long do you think she will anathematize me?”

“Time will tell.”

“Save your physician’s platitudes for your neglected patients. I would stay with my brother.”

“No, Holmes, you must stay here. She needs to know you will not abandon her. We will weather the storm together as we always do, my friend.”

“Watson, you and I have listened to many strange secrets in this room, and we have had the good fortune to bring peace to many troubled souls. Here is one more.”

Facing this prospect with him has shown me the true meaning of Holmes’ necessity to distance himself from relationships. It wasn’t the distraction of his perfect brain which kept him isolated as I have written. His compelling response was the cause. His was instant and irresistibly connected. I had puzzled over this in the case of the Copper Beeches. It was why he schooled himself to drop a case and those involved in it upon its completion. Our friendship was difficult to grasp from inside it. Yet observing his parenting of Miss Rachel made it clear that even in this very human of undertakings, he was also a most singular gentleman.

Here, I must paraphrase Samuel Johnson. Perfection is impossible to achieve for our species, and even Holmes’ constant striving towards this end occasionally fell short of it.

Following dinner, he called me into his bedroom and then invited her to sit by the fire with him. Gently, he said, “Rachel, I have made inquiries into the mystery of your parents and have solved it.”

She looked at him very gravely.

“Child, I am prepared to unravel for you the whole mystery now, or if you prefer, Doctor Watson has written it out in this journal as a gift to you. You may read it at your leisure.” He gave it with a gracious half bow.

Rachel erupted, threw the book down.

“I didn’t ask you to do this! How could you?”

She pushed Holmes so forcefully, he fell into the settee. Aghast at what she had done, she ran out and down the stairs, leaped into a cab and was gone. Holmes was one step behind her and took the next cab. When he returned he was distraught over his failure.

“I visited the Broomes, the Priory Church, Westminster School, the Dorothy, even Scotland Yard. This child has outwitted me.” The front door banged multiple times in quick succession. “Watson, please let them in.”

The Baker Street Irregulars clambered into our sitting room, Wiggins brought them to attention. Holmes passed around a photo. “She is my daughter, Rachel Holmes. An American, she ran away tonight.” Wiggins whistled. Holmes showed them their positions on the map. “Gentlemen, I need you to take up lookouts here, here, here and here at suffragist meeting places. Travel in pairs and return any information immediately to me. You have that?” They left with cab fare. The moon was full when Holmes and I followed them out. We returned at first light exhausted and defeated. The Irregulars had not returned.

Mrs. Hudson delivered a missive from the Diogenes Club with our morning coffee. We took a cab, and jogged up the marble stairs to the Stranger’s Room. Ensconced in the great library was a breakfast table laden with every delicacy and sweet available in this grand city of ours. Mycroft and Rachel, smiling with conspiratorial grins, greeted us.

Rachel said, “Papa, why did you not introduce me to my Uncle Mycroft? I think I take after him.”

Mycroft chuckled, “Join us gentleman, it is an exquisite celebratory breakfast.”

Holmes flew at his brother and I held him back, he shook me off. “Mycroft! This is abominable even for you. Are you such a heartless fiend to torture me in the worst possible manner? Do you have any familial feelings? I do. Rachel, I know you are angry with me, yet I also know you are curious about your parents. And we both know how important is the truth!”

Mycroft said, “Doctor, thank you. I have not my brother’s boxing skill. Sherlock, will you never learn that discretion is sometimes the better part of valour?”

“Papa, I think I’ll stay here for a while. Uncle Mycroft and I have a lot in common.”

“That’s enough, my dear. For a gentleman or gentlewoman, a fair fight is never won by hitting below the belt. Sherlock, sit down, and you, Doctor. The truth is, brother mine, Miss Rachel has been here all night, well cared for by my staff. Alas, I was not. A late conference at the Palace over security issues for visiting dignitaries. You understand with the present anarchist situation in Paris, the level of hysteria I must quell? As soon as I returned, I sent you my invitation. I am sorry to say I probably should have mentioned Miss Rachel in the note. But that is all I am guilty of.”

“Forgive me, brother, I am overwrought.”

“Understandable, Sherlock, after all becoming a father overnight to a precocious young lady must be taxing. As one who is more practiced in diplomacy, I have a proposal.”

“I appreciate your involvement, brother mine.”

“As our grand old Mr. Gladstone was fond of stating, Great Britain holds aloft the scales of European peace. Whenever heads of state, or more often their deputies, disagree on the fundamental issues at stake, enlisting an unbiased view of the facts usually proves crucial.” He took a bite of a tart and patted sugar from his lips. “Miss Rachel, you have behaved intelligently. Doctor, would you act as scribe please? It is sometimes invaluable. You’ll find what you need on that desk.

“Now, Sherlock, we have heard your views. Miss Rachel, please present yours.”

“Papa, you had no right to do what you did! It was a breach of my privacy! It would be more logical to enlist me. We could have solved the mystery together. Papa, sharing it with you would have been better for me. Though Doctor Watson’s writing it up was a glorious idea.”

Mycroft said, “I think now, you may both speak. But remember, this is ultimately about reconciliation.”

Holmes began, “I love you, Rachel, forgive me.”

Rachel said, “Uncle Mycroft, are countries allowed to hug?”

Holmes put his arms around her.

“Papa, let’s go home.” She went to her uncle and kissed him on the cheek, then bowed, “Thank you Uncle Mycroft, I can see that England is in very good hands.”

Mycroft said as we walked out the door, “And earthly power doth then show likest God’s, when mercy seasons justice.”

Back at Baker Street, Rachel changed and ran off to class. Holmes smoked and pored over a dossier Mycroft had given him. Over a pipe my own thoughts were of the incomparable Holmes brothers.

“Watson, my brother, Mycroft, has decided to acquaint us with the history of our reprehensible murder site. You will recall how medieval crowds eagerly cheered hangings, drawn-and-quarterings, burnings, beheadings, and impalings? St. Bart’s Church faced the Smithfield Elms where such consequences of evil deeds were carried out. Our murderous gentlemen would be welcome among them.”

As I donned my hat and stick, I said, “We’ll get them, Holmes, and in more civilized and much less public circumstances.” I went out to stretch my legs before dinner for the Evening Standard. As he had predicted, Lestrade had let the young suffragists go. I entered to laughter. Holmes and Rachel were the source of the gaiety. She had returned from her school day and they were discussing the humorous aspects of their war council.

“Good evening, Miss Rachel. Good evening, Holmes. How are you feeling?” They burst out laughing again and I waited for them to subside.

“Oh, Doctor Watson, will you sign my parents’ adventure for me? And thank you for this, it’s wonderful.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I’m probably the only person in the world to have my very own Doctor Watson story.”

“Yes, well, it is a worthy story. Have you seen this evening’s paper? Lestrade let them all go.” I read the corresponding statement aloud and threw it to Holmes:

“Inspector Lestrade informed us, ‘When we realized they were underage, hardly women, we had no choice but to release them. We don’t lock up children at Scotland Yard.”

Lestrade’s statement started up the laughter again.

She jumped up and read the news account over his shoulder. She said, “You were right about him, Papa.”

Mrs. Hudson called for her help with the preparations.

I turned to Holmes. “That’s what happened, no discussion, no pleading for mercy, or forgiveness?”

“We have been chuckling over Mycroft’s little soiree. It is clear I have been forgiven, and that I forgive her—do you not think so?”

“For a man who never cared for emotions, you show considerable understanding, Holmes.”

“My emotions I hold in check. Of others’ perturbations I am acutely aware. My practice requires it, Doctor. Although, it now seems I need more attention to these details. And thank you, Watson, your inestimable help was much appreciated.”

“Stamford is a wise man, the day we met, he filled me with enough mystery about you, my friend, to get me hooked and I am still hooked.”

He gave me a swift smile. “What is that sweet perfume? Mmm, are we having chips for dinner, Mrs. Hudson?”

“Doctor, Rachel calls it a ‘frittata.”

“It’s a simple Italian dish, very yummy. I taught it to the Lucania’s chef. I hope you like it. This is the farmer’s version with sausage and vegetables,” she said.

Holmes said, “Rachel, in front of these witnesses, I propose to adopt you as my daughter. It will take a little time and a lot of American and British bureaucracy, but all I require is your assent.”

“Adoption? Yes! Definitely yes! Could I change my name too?”

“Why, Rachel Watson or Rachel Hudson rings very nicely.”

“Rachel Holmes is even better, Papa, who would be a better father for me than you?”

“Uncle Mycroft?” I said and they both burst out laughing.

“Does he really run the country?”

“That’s a matter of opinion, child.”

The dinner things were cleared and we shared our evening pipes. “You know, Holmes, she may feel remorse at a later time.”

“Oh, Watson, the future is always a mystery! And we are old hands at that.”