Two holes in the ground. One right next to the other. The snow and dirt was piled up beside the holes, and a single coffin lay in each. One was considerably smaller than the other. That one held little Isabelle Wright. The one in the hole next to her held my mother, Clara Holmes. We had all pooled what little money we had to give them both a decent sending-off. We could not afford real headstones, so we just used some of the rocks that lay strewn through the orphanage's yard. I found a large, round one to place at the head of my mother's grave. I had carved her name, birth and death dates into the solid rock after flattening it as best I could. I stood now in front of both graves, looking down at the brown wood of the coffins. A priest stood on my left, and a pale-faced Watson on my right. His dewy eyes were staring down as well, into the hole containing Isabelle. He looked up, and I saw his eyes full of tears.
"This should not have happened," he said quietly. Seeing his usually hard face consumed by tears, I felt pricks of tears in my eyes as well. I nodded, looked solemnly down into their graves.
"It was because of me that they both lay dead," I told him under my breath. Watson's eyes hung on me a moment more, then looked to Isabelle once again. The soft, sad voice of the priest beside me rung in the quiet yard.
"Today, we send off the souls of Isabelle Wright and Clara Holmes. One, a mother, the other, a child. Both taken prematurely from their lives on this green earth. They go now to God..." His voice droned on, and I lost track of what he was saying. I could only watch numbly as they piled the dirt over the coffins, covering them forever in their tomb of earth. Then came the memories. My mother's bright laughter as she held me in her arms. Her green eyes giggling whenever she smiled. The sun in her hair as we sat at the breakfast nook. And her voice. It rang in my cold ears.
"Be good, Jack," she had told me, running her thin fingers through my black hair. "Be good." Those were the words she spoke as she left us forever. My eyes clouded over with tears, and I felt their heat running down my cold face. The final patch of earth was smoothed down over my mother's grave. I saw Annie's large face, overwhelmed with sadness, trying to comfort me. Her thick hand rested on my shoulder. Her watery blue eyes gazed down at me.
"Thank you," she said in an undertone. With that, she and the children filed away. The priest nodded toward me, and went on his way. It was only Watson and I left. I wrapped my arms around me in attempts to keep warm, and it was then that I felt Watson's hand where Annie's had been. I looked up to see his brown eyes staring quietly in a concerned manner. I quickly wiped my face clean of tears and sniffled lightly.
"Y-yes, Watson?" I asked, my voice wavering with sadness. He opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and closed his mouth again. We sat there for minutes on end, staring at the fresh graves. After a bit, Watson decided to change the subject.
"I still can't believe I slept through the whole battle," he said quietly. For the first time in days, I saw him smile. "To think that I missed out on such a writing experience. It must have been fabulous."
"It was painful," I muttered, feeling the thick bandage that lay over my left shoulder. I sighed softly, and Watson withdrew his hand. His eyes suddenly became harder.
"It wasn't your fault, Holmes," he said. I shook my head.
"If that madman Moriarty hadn't been after me, neither of them would have come to harm. Isabelle would still be laughing and playing in the sun. My mother..." I trailed off and hung my head so my chin brushed against my chest. It felt as if something was stirring in the back of my mind.
'If there is one to hate, Jack, let it be me and not yourself,' Holmes said. I shook my head sadly, and felt more tears come. I pulled my breath in quickly, and looked behind me to the orphanage where the others had returned to. I saw the boarded-up window I had provoked Moriarty to plunge through during our encounter. I wiped my tears away again, and spoke to Holmes out loud.
"I hate no one," I said. Watson cocked his head, and I turned to him. I tried to form a smile as I spoke to him. "Do you still wish to hear my story?" He nodded, smiling widely.
"Very much so."
"Then follow me... And bring that notebook of yours."
----------
"And, with a flash of silver, Watson crumbled, and fell to the floor!"
"Oh, no!"
"What happened next?"
"This is so exciting!"
"Hush, children," Annie said sternly. But her face was soft and kind. She nodded toward me so I could continue. I stood in front of the fireplace in the main hall. All the children of the orphanage sat around me in a semi-circle, their eager eyes staring up at me in awe. I was relating my story, partially for their entertainment, but mostly so Watson could pick up the fine details he had missed while unconscious. At this point in the narrative, I lowered my voice ominously. The children giggled lightly.
"I had no chance if I struggled against the murderer. He would have chopped me to little tiny pieces!"
The children gasped loudly.
"He took us into an empty room, when-"
I cut myself short. Should I mention Sherlock Holmes? I glanced at Watson, whose pencil stood ready to record anything that escaped my mouth. These children's eyes peering up at me attentively. Even in a story, it would sound preposterous. I shook the notion from my head and continued.
"He told me everything. He told me how he snuck in with help from the strange woman. He told me that she had been my very own mother, and I had not even known it!"
"She was your Mommy?" Asked one tiny little girl named Mary. I smiled sadly down at her.
"Yes, dear, she was my mother. Upon hearing this, I flew into a blind rage. I grabbed what was closest to me: an old sword. He picked up one of his own." I raised my arms up in the air to add dramatic effect. "What a battle! Our swords clashed, the steel bit! I stuck him like a pig, but it only made things worse!"
"No!"
"Did you get hurt?"
"What happened?"
"Well," I continued, choosing my words very carefully, "He grew so angry that he cut my shoulder because I could not move fast enough." I peeled back the neck of my shirt to show the children the bandage. They gasped, "ooh"ed and "ahh"ed. I replaced my shirt, and struck a dramatic pose. "I drove the fiend back with my sword, had him bent to my will. I would have spared his life if he had not been so evil. So," I made a violent shoving gesture with my hands, "I pushed him out the window!"
"Ohh!!"
"Wow!"
"Really? Did he die?"
"Yes, he died. He won't bother you anymore," I reassured them. A smattering round of applause passed through the throng of children. Annie stepped amongst them with a broom in hand.
"Now, up to bed, you scamps! It's far past your bedtime anyhow!" She shooed the little ones to bed, and smiled widely at me. "I thank you for not including every bloody detail," she told me. I nodded civilly.
"Not a problem in the slightest," I said with a smile. Watson walked over from where he sat and showed me his notebook.
"You may have to tell me everything you left out for the children, if I am to publish this." He glanced up, and I nodded haltingly. I still was unsure about what I should withhold from Watson. He did, after all, choose to follow me up those stairs. I turned uneasily to Annie and jerked my head toward my room.
"I believe I shall be off to bed myself."
"Now, wait, Jack," she called. I blinked a few times, and she quickly added, "I mean Holmes. I need to talk to you." I stopped. She placed both hands on both of my shoulders. I winced slightly, but tried not to show pain. "You're turning 18 in a month or two, aren't you?" She asked quietly.
"Yes," I answered solemnly. "March 12th."
"That means... I can't keep you here after that birthday. You know that, don't you?" I felt a lump forming in my throat, and I forced it down.
"I know, Annie."
"Do... Do you know where you're going?"
I paused, and my eyes fell to Watson. His knuckles were white as they clutched his flimsy notebook. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips, and I returned my eyes to Annie.
"I have an idea of what I may do."
She smiled again. "Good," she whispered, gripping my shoulders with care. "Go off to bed now." She looked to Watson. "You too, little scamp, or I'll take to your hide with a broom." Watson nearly jumped from his spot and ran to catch up with me as I walked down the hall. I snickered silently.
"She doesn't mean it," I told him. "She's too soft to smack a child, no matter how stubborn." I reached our room first, and I paused to stare at the floor where my mother had lain just before death. I turned the knob to our door and entered, breathing in the familiar air of the musty old room. Watson slipped on his sleepwear and lay down in the bed across the room from mine. He tapped the page with his pencil, then looked up from his paper as I slipped on my nightshirt. I turned to him.
"You know, Watson, I've been thinking," I said. "About what I told Annie: It was true. I have thought about what I am going to do once I leave this place."
"What's that?"
"I have to ask you something first," I told him. He seemed a bit surprised.
"Well, go ahead, I guess."
"Did you enjoy working with me? Searching out the vile fiend and capturing all the facts in your journal?"
"Well, yes! It was incredibly exhilarating! A most enjoyable experience!" He paused, putting the pencil to his lips. "Well, save the bit about being knocked unconscious. I suppose that wasn't at all enjoyable." I chuckled, then leaned close.
"The reason I ask is," I said quietly, "I was planning to leave the day after my birthday and set out to London. I want... well... I want to do that sort of thing professionally." Watson gave me an odd look.
"You mean... A detective?"
"Yes! Just the word I was searching for!"
"Well... Why ask me?"
"I..." I looked down for a moment, then looked pleadingly at my friend, "I would want you to come with me. To catalogue our adventures and cases..." There was a silence between us, and I thought for a moment that he would say no. Then a smile broke over his face.
"It would be my pleasure, Holmes."
He stuck his hand out, and I took it. We shook on it. I smiled, and I could vaguely hear Sherlock Holmes mumble something along the line of 'Excellent.'
"Just think of the headlines! Jack Holmes and Johnny Watson aprehend-"
"Oh, no," Watson cried. I halted immediately. He blushed lightly. "Jonathan is my middle name. I just think it sounds more appealing than William Watson." I gave him a small wink.
"Johnny Watson it is." I moved back to my bed and was about to climb in when I heard Watson blurt out something.
"I... I have a question, Holmes," he said in a hushed voice. I pushed myself under the covers with a slight rustle.
"Ask away, Watson," I permitted him with a wave of my hand. He chewed on the end of his pencil nervously, then spat his question out quickly.
"Have you ever heard... some one talking inside of your head?" He asked. The rest of his sentence was almost too fast to comprehend. "Sometimes I hear someone in the back of my head, like he's telling me what to do, or giving me advice. He-" Watson cut himself off, as if suddenly embarrassed, and began to write furiously. His face was a deep, vivid red. I smiled.
"Watson," I murmured lowly, "if you only knew the half of it."
With that, I reached over and switched my lamp off. For the first time since I had met him, Watson kept his light on the entire night.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
AN: Well, it's done! I have finally finished one of my stories! Go me! Err... Anyway, I wanted to take this time to really thank everyone who read this story,even those that didn't review. Though, those reviews really motivated me to stay on the ball and keep this updated. Thanks especially to everyone who reviewed!
Now, there have been at least two people who asked me if there will be any kind of sequel... That's really up to you guys. If you feel that this needs to continue, I'll keep it going. That's all there is to it. Just... Let me know! Thanks again!
"This should not have happened," he said quietly. Seeing his usually hard face consumed by tears, I felt pricks of tears in my eyes as well. I nodded, looked solemnly down into their graves.
"It was because of me that they both lay dead," I told him under my breath. Watson's eyes hung on me a moment more, then looked to Isabelle once again. The soft, sad voice of the priest beside me rung in the quiet yard.
"Today, we send off the souls of Isabelle Wright and Clara Holmes. One, a mother, the other, a child. Both taken prematurely from their lives on this green earth. They go now to God..." His voice droned on, and I lost track of what he was saying. I could only watch numbly as they piled the dirt over the coffins, covering them forever in their tomb of earth. Then came the memories. My mother's bright laughter as she held me in her arms. Her green eyes giggling whenever she smiled. The sun in her hair as we sat at the breakfast nook. And her voice. It rang in my cold ears.
"Be good, Jack," she had told me, running her thin fingers through my black hair. "Be good." Those were the words she spoke as she left us forever. My eyes clouded over with tears, and I felt their heat running down my cold face. The final patch of earth was smoothed down over my mother's grave. I saw Annie's large face, overwhelmed with sadness, trying to comfort me. Her thick hand rested on my shoulder. Her watery blue eyes gazed down at me.
"Thank you," she said in an undertone. With that, she and the children filed away. The priest nodded toward me, and went on his way. It was only Watson and I left. I wrapped my arms around me in attempts to keep warm, and it was then that I felt Watson's hand where Annie's had been. I looked up to see his brown eyes staring quietly in a concerned manner. I quickly wiped my face clean of tears and sniffled lightly.
"Y-yes, Watson?" I asked, my voice wavering with sadness. He opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and closed his mouth again. We sat there for minutes on end, staring at the fresh graves. After a bit, Watson decided to change the subject.
"I still can't believe I slept through the whole battle," he said quietly. For the first time in days, I saw him smile. "To think that I missed out on such a writing experience. It must have been fabulous."
"It was painful," I muttered, feeling the thick bandage that lay over my left shoulder. I sighed softly, and Watson withdrew his hand. His eyes suddenly became harder.
"It wasn't your fault, Holmes," he said. I shook my head.
"If that madman Moriarty hadn't been after me, neither of them would have come to harm. Isabelle would still be laughing and playing in the sun. My mother..." I trailed off and hung my head so my chin brushed against my chest. It felt as if something was stirring in the back of my mind.
'If there is one to hate, Jack, let it be me and not yourself,' Holmes said. I shook my head sadly, and felt more tears come. I pulled my breath in quickly, and looked behind me to the orphanage where the others had returned to. I saw the boarded-up window I had provoked Moriarty to plunge through during our encounter. I wiped my tears away again, and spoke to Holmes out loud.
"I hate no one," I said. Watson cocked his head, and I turned to him. I tried to form a smile as I spoke to him. "Do you still wish to hear my story?" He nodded, smiling widely.
"Very much so."
"Then follow me... And bring that notebook of yours."
----------
"And, with a flash of silver, Watson crumbled, and fell to the floor!"
"Oh, no!"
"What happened next?"
"This is so exciting!"
"Hush, children," Annie said sternly. But her face was soft and kind. She nodded toward me so I could continue. I stood in front of the fireplace in the main hall. All the children of the orphanage sat around me in a semi-circle, their eager eyes staring up at me in awe. I was relating my story, partially for their entertainment, but mostly so Watson could pick up the fine details he had missed while unconscious. At this point in the narrative, I lowered my voice ominously. The children giggled lightly.
"I had no chance if I struggled against the murderer. He would have chopped me to little tiny pieces!"
The children gasped loudly.
"He took us into an empty room, when-"
I cut myself short. Should I mention Sherlock Holmes? I glanced at Watson, whose pencil stood ready to record anything that escaped my mouth. These children's eyes peering up at me attentively. Even in a story, it would sound preposterous. I shook the notion from my head and continued.
"He told me everything. He told me how he snuck in with help from the strange woman. He told me that she had been my very own mother, and I had not even known it!"
"She was your Mommy?" Asked one tiny little girl named Mary. I smiled sadly down at her.
"Yes, dear, she was my mother. Upon hearing this, I flew into a blind rage. I grabbed what was closest to me: an old sword. He picked up one of his own." I raised my arms up in the air to add dramatic effect. "What a battle! Our swords clashed, the steel bit! I stuck him like a pig, but it only made things worse!"
"No!"
"Did you get hurt?"
"What happened?"
"Well," I continued, choosing my words very carefully, "He grew so angry that he cut my shoulder because I could not move fast enough." I peeled back the neck of my shirt to show the children the bandage. They gasped, "ooh"ed and "ahh"ed. I replaced my shirt, and struck a dramatic pose. "I drove the fiend back with my sword, had him bent to my will. I would have spared his life if he had not been so evil. So," I made a violent shoving gesture with my hands, "I pushed him out the window!"
"Ohh!!"
"Wow!"
"Really? Did he die?"
"Yes, he died. He won't bother you anymore," I reassured them. A smattering round of applause passed through the throng of children. Annie stepped amongst them with a broom in hand.
"Now, up to bed, you scamps! It's far past your bedtime anyhow!" She shooed the little ones to bed, and smiled widely at me. "I thank you for not including every bloody detail," she told me. I nodded civilly.
"Not a problem in the slightest," I said with a smile. Watson walked over from where he sat and showed me his notebook.
"You may have to tell me everything you left out for the children, if I am to publish this." He glanced up, and I nodded haltingly. I still was unsure about what I should withhold from Watson. He did, after all, choose to follow me up those stairs. I turned uneasily to Annie and jerked my head toward my room.
"I believe I shall be off to bed myself."
"Now, wait, Jack," she called. I blinked a few times, and she quickly added, "I mean Holmes. I need to talk to you." I stopped. She placed both hands on both of my shoulders. I winced slightly, but tried not to show pain. "You're turning 18 in a month or two, aren't you?" She asked quietly.
"Yes," I answered solemnly. "March 12th."
"That means... I can't keep you here after that birthday. You know that, don't you?" I felt a lump forming in my throat, and I forced it down.
"I know, Annie."
"Do... Do you know where you're going?"
I paused, and my eyes fell to Watson. His knuckles were white as they clutched his flimsy notebook. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips, and I returned my eyes to Annie.
"I have an idea of what I may do."
She smiled again. "Good," she whispered, gripping my shoulders with care. "Go off to bed now." She looked to Watson. "You too, little scamp, or I'll take to your hide with a broom." Watson nearly jumped from his spot and ran to catch up with me as I walked down the hall. I snickered silently.
"She doesn't mean it," I told him. "She's too soft to smack a child, no matter how stubborn." I reached our room first, and I paused to stare at the floor where my mother had lain just before death. I turned the knob to our door and entered, breathing in the familiar air of the musty old room. Watson slipped on his sleepwear and lay down in the bed across the room from mine. He tapped the page with his pencil, then looked up from his paper as I slipped on my nightshirt. I turned to him.
"You know, Watson, I've been thinking," I said. "About what I told Annie: It was true. I have thought about what I am going to do once I leave this place."
"What's that?"
"I have to ask you something first," I told him. He seemed a bit surprised.
"Well, go ahead, I guess."
"Did you enjoy working with me? Searching out the vile fiend and capturing all the facts in your journal?"
"Well, yes! It was incredibly exhilarating! A most enjoyable experience!" He paused, putting the pencil to his lips. "Well, save the bit about being knocked unconscious. I suppose that wasn't at all enjoyable." I chuckled, then leaned close.
"The reason I ask is," I said quietly, "I was planning to leave the day after my birthday and set out to London. I want... well... I want to do that sort of thing professionally." Watson gave me an odd look.
"You mean... A detective?"
"Yes! Just the word I was searching for!"
"Well... Why ask me?"
"I..." I looked down for a moment, then looked pleadingly at my friend, "I would want you to come with me. To catalogue our adventures and cases..." There was a silence between us, and I thought for a moment that he would say no. Then a smile broke over his face.
"It would be my pleasure, Holmes."
He stuck his hand out, and I took it. We shook on it. I smiled, and I could vaguely hear Sherlock Holmes mumble something along the line of 'Excellent.'
"Just think of the headlines! Jack Holmes and Johnny Watson aprehend-"
"Oh, no," Watson cried. I halted immediately. He blushed lightly. "Jonathan is my middle name. I just think it sounds more appealing than William Watson." I gave him a small wink.
"Johnny Watson it is." I moved back to my bed and was about to climb in when I heard Watson blurt out something.
"I... I have a question, Holmes," he said in a hushed voice. I pushed myself under the covers with a slight rustle.
"Ask away, Watson," I permitted him with a wave of my hand. He chewed on the end of his pencil nervously, then spat his question out quickly.
"Have you ever heard... some one talking inside of your head?" He asked. The rest of his sentence was almost too fast to comprehend. "Sometimes I hear someone in the back of my head, like he's telling me what to do, or giving me advice. He-" Watson cut himself off, as if suddenly embarrassed, and began to write furiously. His face was a deep, vivid red. I smiled.
"Watson," I murmured lowly, "if you only knew the half of it."
With that, I reached over and switched my lamp off. For the first time since I had met him, Watson kept his light on the entire night.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
AN: Well, it's done! I have finally finished one of my stories! Go me! Err... Anyway, I wanted to take this time to really thank everyone who read this story,even those that didn't review. Though, those reviews really motivated me to stay on the ball and keep this updated. Thanks especially to everyone who reviewed!
Now, there have been at least two people who asked me if there will be any kind of sequel... That's really up to you guys. If you feel that this needs to continue, I'll keep it going. That's all there is to it. Just... Let me know! Thanks again!