Children

DISCLAIMER: Sherlock Holmes and the related universe are the creations of the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

KS: I have not had many opportunities to write lately and have felt quite uninspired when I have tried, but I did my best yesterday and to-day to pump this out. I squeezed in writing time between cleaning and such. XD

For you, VHunter07, whose reviews are an excellent incentive to write. :-D

(Thanks to KCS for beta-reading this when I was unsure of its quality. XD)

My apologies for it being late.

Enjoy!

Sherlock Holmes thrust his long, thin fingers into the depths of his Persian slipper and extracted enough tobacco to fill his pipe.

"So, you have a client coming?" asked Watson. The good doctor had no patients to see for the day, and so had taken the opportunity to call on his good friend. He now stared eagerly up at the gaunt detective that stood before the fireplace.

"In less than a half hour you shall meet Mrs. Clayton," Holmes replied between puffs as he held a lit match in the bowl of his pipe. He tossed the spent match into the grate. "She did not give me many details, but after nearly a month of total stagnation I am quite willing to at least hear her story."

"Undoubtedly," said Watson, knowing fully well how his friend could get when he had no cases to occupy him.

"You will stay to assist me, then?" Holmes asked, looking down at his companion.

"Of course. I've nothing else to do."

"Excellent," Holmes said with a tight smile.

Watson recognised the spark of excitement in his friend's grey eyes at the prospect of a case and smiled. Even though he had not lived in Baker Street for some time, he still felt the feeling of excitement, happiness, and relief he got every time Holmes rose out of his black moods before a case. Holmes paced a bit, looking down thoughtfully. No doubt he was pondering the letter he had received earlier.

The detective looked up suddenly, as if recalling his manners. "Would you like a whisky and soda, Watson?" Holmes asked, waving over toward the tantalus.

Watson nodded, and Holmes made his way across the room in a few strides of his long legs. As he poured the drink there was a knock upon the door; Mrs. Hudson came in at Holmes's word and announced Mrs. Clayton's arrival. The landlady moved to the side and a woman stepped in, a little under middle-aged, but one could tell she had been a handsome woman in her youth. Holmes's air was instantly professional, and he waved her toward a chair.

"Welcome, Mrs. Clayton. Pray, sit down—"

Holmes's welcoming sentiments were soon cut off, however, and his face fell as he observed what was following his newest client. Five children filed into the room through the gap left in the doorway beside Mrs. Clayton and stared up at the so-called "great detective."

"Do you really catch criminals, Mr. Holmes?" asked one of the three boys.

"Yes…" Holmes replied, his mind whirring with obvious thoughts of what these children were going to be doing while he was trying to interview their mother. Images of overturned chemicals naturally sprang into his brain.

One of the two girls stared with particular interest at his face. "Is that your real nose, or is it a disguise?" she asked.

A light blush sprang onto Holmes's pale cheeks, and he turned his attention back upon his client. "Mrs. Clayton, I apologise, but could you not have found someone to watch your children during our consultation?"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Holmes, because my husband knows everyone I do, and if I leave them he might try to take them from me," the woman replied sincerely. "But don't worry, they'll be as good as little angels while they're here."

"Of course," Holmes replied, a tone of scepticism in his voice. "Please have a seat, and describe to me your problem."

The lady perched herself on the settee, and Holmes walked over to his chair, giving Watson a wary glance. He seated himself comfortably and placed his finger-tips together, observing her with half-lidded eyes.

"Well, you see, Mr. Holmes, it all started about five months ago…"

The detective's interest and focus were keen at the beginning of the consultation, but as it progressed, it visibly diminished. It was not the woman's tale that allowed his attention to falter, but rather what the... things she had brought with her were doing. Precisely as he had expected them to, the little urchins had slipped away from beside their mother and were now making their way around the sitting-room, their large eyes hungrily devouring Holmes's instruments and relics. As time went on, they grew bolder in their explorations. At first they only looked at things. Then, they touched things. Then, they began to pick things up.

"…And then, when I found that he had a mistress on the East side…"

Holmes gave another imploring glance to Watson, hoping his friend would get the hint and tame the little beasts before they broke something, and then endeavoured to focus back upon Mrs. Clayton's problem.

There was soft clatter of glass, and Holmes looked over to see two of the children taking a few phials from the rack on his desk. Watson thankfully finally sprang to his feet and prevented disaster by taking the phials and shooing the offending children away from the deal table. Holmes sighed inwardly; one of those two particular tubes held acid, while the other held a poison he had recently been experimenting with. Had they managed to open them...

"And then I found he had lost his job, Mr. Holmes," the woman continued obliviously, bringing the detective back to the task at hand. He would have to ask for some of the prior details later, if Watson did not remember them.

As he continued to listen he heard a familiar noise from the corner, and like a mother's attention is drawn to her child's cry his attention was quickly drawn to the sound's source. A child—the youngest girl—had found his violin and was now curiously plucking at the strings. The detective's eyes grew wide, but before he could spring up to snatch it from the girl's little sticky fingers Watson came to the Stradivarius' rescue, carefully extracting it from her grasp. Holmes relaxed and sighed inwardly, turning his attention back to his client to discover that he had missed another large portion of her statement. This was quickly becoming more trouble than it was worth…

No sooner had the thought entered his mind than another of the little monsters started causing trouble. With a crash, the smallest of the five had brought Mrs. Hudson's favourite tea pot to the ground, where it had shattered into dozens of pieces. Watson's square jaw dropped, and Holmes winced inwardly.

Mrs. Hudson would hold him responsible for the loss and would be cross with him for a week…

This last interruption had finally drawn the attention of the mother, who looked at her youngest with reproach. "James! Look what you have done! Now there's tea all over Mr. Holmes's floor! Apologise!"

The little one's green eyes were as big as saucers as he looked apprehensively to his mother and back to us. When he saw that his mother was serious, he looked to the floor. "I'm sowwy," he muttered, kicking at a loose piece of fluff on the carpet.

"Good," said Mrs. Clayton, seeming satisfied as she turned back toward Holmes. "I'm so sorry for the mess, but you know little ones and accidents…things do happen."

"Of course." Holmes sighed softly and rang the bell, not looking forward to the landlady's reaction.

In a moment the door opened and the landlady entered. "Yes, Mr. Hol—ohh, my!"

She had seen the mess first thing. Holmes braced himself for what was sure to follow.

Mrs. Hudson looked at the more troublesome of her lodgers sternly, but soon her eyes fell upon the small boy near the table, and the true culprit became apparent. She sighed, and her hands dropped from her hips. "Well, accidents do happen. I shall clean it up." And with that, she went back downstairs to retrieve the materials she would need to get the tea and ceramic up.

Holmes took up his pipe again and reached for the matches.

"So, Mr. Holmes, do you think you will be able to help me?" Mrs. Clayton inquired.

A thick black brow rose as grey eyes underneath stared. "No, Mrs. Clayton, I don't."

"What?" the woman gasped.

"I'm sorry, but I do not think I will take up your case," Holmes stood and moved toward the door. "I suggest you take your children and your case to the Yard, where I believe the officials will be able to help you." He opened it wide and held it for her.

"Well…thank you, Mr. Holmes…" Mrs. Clayton said uncertainly, rounding up her children and guiding them out the door.

Holmes shut it after her and sighed, putting his pipe between his lips to light it. Watson was bent over, trying to pick up the broken shards of tea pot from the carpet.

"At least they only broke one thing…and it wasn't a chemical bottle," said Watson optimistically.

Holmes walked over and fell into his chair, his keen eyes surveying the little finger-marks all over his and Watson's belongings; he noted that his microscope had been moved, and would likely need to be cleaned and adjusted. "That, Watson, is a very good example of one reason why I have no need or desire to marry: children."

"Oh come, Holmes, they're not all that bad." As he said it, the doctor's finger was nicked by a shard of the former tea pot.

Holmes's brow rose. "Still, I do not believe I shall ever have them."

At this time Mrs. Hudson returned, equipped with a mop and rags.

"We're very sorry about this, Mrs. Hudson," said Watson apologetically. "We had no idea she would be bringing her children along."

"It's quite all right, Doctor," she said, holding up her hand. "I understand. But…" her eyes fell severely upon the detective. "I expect Mr. Holmes to compensate me for the loss."

There it was. "Of course, Mrs. Hudson," Holmes replied.

The woman looked as if she was about to say something else, but a fervent knocking on the door downstairs interrupted her.

"Hm. Excuse me, gentlemen," she said, bustling downstairs to answer the door.

Holmes took a few long draws from his pipe. The relaxing properties tobacco held for him were not to be understated.

"Since there is no case for me to-day, would you like to accompany me to a concert to-night, Watson?" he asked as he looked over at his companion and former fellow-lodger, who had settled himself into his old chair.

"I would very much enjoy that--"

There was the noise of excited voices, followed by a clatter of footsteps upon the stair, and in another moment the door to the sitting-room burst open...to reveal two of Sherlock Holmes's Baker Street Irregulars.

"Oi, Mr. 'Olmes, sir," barked one quickly, "Ah need yew t' tewl Jimmy 'ere that Ah diddn' touch 'is--"

"Tha's a loi! Oi diddn' do ANYFING t' 'is bloomin' ruddy--"

"Loi! Loike Ah'd let yew near it anyway--"

Holmes held up his hand to halt the rush of words from the two boys.

"Whatever it is..." the detective began slowly, "I am not in the mood to mediate. Watson..."

Watson's eyes grew wider as he looked from Holmes to the boys and back again. With a resigned sigh he stood and ushered the two small children out of the sitting room. "All right, tell me what the problem is. Slowly, now..."

KS: Thanks for reading, don't forget to review! :-D I'm sorry if it wasn't very good. I'm busier than a person should be lately. XD

And, by the by, I have a new poll up on my profile. ;-)