The Adventure of the Curse of Two

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes; that honour is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's.

KS: Hello, everyone! This is my very first Sherlockian fanfiction, and it's been written for a few months now. I haven't really done much on it, though. I sort of started several story ideas at once, and didn't continue on any of them because I haven't had the time. But now I think I'll have the time to at least start posting ONE of them...

I apologise for the formatting...I can never seem to get to do indentions. XD

I do hope you enjoy it, though. :D

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Sherlock Holmes was reclined on the sofa when I returned from my morning errands, a look of utmost languor on his face. He did not acknowledge me as I entered, and by his appearance I surmised that he was under the effects of the cocaine once again. It was no small wonder, either, since there had been no cases to come to his attention for well over two weeks, and there had been no interesting stories in the papers for him to mull over in his mind to keep himself occupied.

Giving a small sigh of disapproval, I went over to the basket-chair and sat, resting my tired leg on a cushion nearby.

I thought for a moment that I should perhaps reprimand my companion again for doing such a thing to himself, even though past attempts at doing so proved fruitless. Holmes, however, broke into my thoughts with a light chuckle.

"My dear Watson," said he with a smile as he continued to gaze up half-lidded at the ceiling, "I am sorry I've caused you a small grief for no reason. I am not, as you suppose, on the drug today. No, I was just thinking about a case that has been brought to me."

Holmes held up a paper that had been previously hidden on his other side.

"I received it this morning while you were out, and have been thinking about it since. You may look at it if you like." he said, tossing it to me. I took it and read it out loud, and this is what it said:

"Dear Mr. Holmes,--

A rather bogey problem has come to me

in the past few weeks, and I am at a

loss what to do about it. Miss Bonnet,

whom you've helped and may remember,

was kind enough to refer me to you and

told me of how skilled you were, so I

ask if you would help me. I will come

at 2 o'clock Tuesday afternoon, along

with my brother, and will give

the details then. --Signed

William Chatterton"

I passed the paper back to my friend, who folded it and placed it back at his side.

"It's very plain." I said. "I could hardly see what you could take from it that would give you reason to think."

Holmes nodded slightly, reaching up to the rack for his pipe. "There is little to be gotten from it, indeed. But, there were a few instructive things. First of all, Watson, this letter was obviously typewritten, and the typewriter used had a particular for making the 'T's too bold. But, that is of no significance whatsoever in light of the situation. If we were looking for the man who wrote it, it would be of enormous importance, but here we already know who it is. Now, you surely notice the black smudge in the upper right corner and on the back in two places. A similar smudge appears on the envelope in the same corner, and on the address, for the envelope was written by hand."

"But what on earth could that tell?" I asked. Holmes had lit his pipe and took a short time to take a puff or two from it before answering.

"It is useful in a few ways. Again, if we were looking for the author, we might have a few good thumb-marks to go by. In our current situation, though, we look at it another way--it means that the letter was made before the envelope, and the man's thumb got into the ink of the address before it was dry. He put the letter into the envelope before the ink on his thumb had dried, and indeed before he cleaned it off himself."

"Which means that he must have been in somewhat of a hurry." I concluded.

"Precisely so," confirmed my companion. He held the envelope up, studying it yet again.

"I can see that he's a man of some learning by his handwriting, but cares more for appearances--which is also noted in the paper, for it and envelope are of an expensive sort. Venetian, I believe...which tells us that Mr. Chatterton is well-to-do, or else he wouldn't send such a brief letter on such stationary, and certainly not if he was going to be so careless with it."

"That makes enough sense." I remarked. Holmes nodded, but looked unenthused.

"Yes, but, of the case itself I can say nothing other than it involves Mr. Chatterton's brother as well. Facts must be had before conclusions."

I looked at my watch. "It's nearly two o'clock now." I said. "They will be arriving any minute."

Holmes rose from the sofa and walked over to the window.

"If I'm not mistaken," he said, "These should be our visitors."

Two men, indeed, were crossing the street towards our door, and in a moment I heard the bell ring several times.

"Hum!" Holmes muttered at hearing the rate at which the bell rang, "They seem anxious."

The landlady admitted them and we heard two sets of feet ascending the stair, and our door swung open with no more than one knock and not even so much time for Holmes to bid them enter.

The two men from the street stepped in, both dressed in the same smart fashion and both wearing the same, nervous expressions. Holmes looked them over quickly, as was his way, and he gestured to two chairs ready and waiting for them.

"It certainly is a good thing that your brother has that moustache, Mr. William Chatterton," Holmes began, "because that makes it much easier to tell you apart, since you're practically identical in every way."

The one marked as William started at Holmes' words.

"Mr. Holmes, I do not believe I mentioned our appearances in the letter--"

"You did not."

"--So how came you to know which of us was who?"

Holmes smiled knowingly. "You wrote the letter, did you not? You have yet to clear all the ink from your thumb from where it fell onto the address. You didn't mention that you were twins, so I had to identify which man was the one that contacted me."

The two brothers looked at each other incredulously for a moment, thinking about the simplicity yet perceptiveness of my companion's remark.

"Sit down and make yourself comfortable, and spare no details when telling your story." Holmes said in his welcoming manner. The two nodded and sat in the chairs, removing their hard felt hats and fingering them in their hands, anxious to begin their tale.

Holmes stepped over to the arm chair and sat, stretching his legs out and placing his fingertips together, as was his wont when listening to a client. He stared at his guests with half-open eyes, waiting for them to state their problem.

William, who was seated on the left, began his story: "Thank you, Mr. Holmes, for seeing us; I hope that in some way you will be able to clear up our unfortunate problem. I am William Chatterton, and this is my brother, Charles." he said, waving a hand slightly toward the man on the right, who nodded his head slightly in greeting.

William continued: "We are, as you said, twins, and that is really where our trouble lies." He paused to take a breath before he continued, and the timing of the pause added a thick touch of drama to the air.

"Our grandfather, Richard Chatterton, was a very superstitious man. He believed in spirits, faeries, witches, and every other thing that could come from a man's fancy. He also was in the habit of going to the gipsies at least once a year, especially at the beginning, to have his fortune read. One year he had travelled a good way from home just to find a band which he thought was 'spirited,' and had his palm read by an old and withered gipsy crone. The message she gave him was the most foreboding he ever received, and it drove into his mind and nearly made him mad.

"The message was this: 'Beware the curse of the twins! It is then your family will fall.'--After that day, our grandfather was said to not take anything in pairs, not even his own shoes. He also made it a point to investigate every woman my father showed any interest to in order to make sure that twins didn't run in her family. Our father, though, eventually started courting our mother. Grandfather wasn't able to properly investigate her, for she had been orphaned and raised by a wealthy bank owner and so knew nothing of her family, so he forbade our father to marry her. But father married her anyways, and when we were born and he found that we were twins he fell off into a state of shock that sent him to his grave.

"While on his dying bed, he became even more convinced that the gipsy had been right, but he also fervently stated that his death wouldn't be the fulfilment of the prediction--that the whole family would fall in the end because of my father's mistake. None of family paid him any mind, however, and after his death and mourning they went on living just as they always had. We've lived all our lives without as much as an unpleasant incident since that day.

"In fact, we've been rather more blessed than some as opposed to cursed. Our father inherited our grandfather's money at his death--which was a decent sum from his earlier, harder-working years--and our mother received quite a fortune from her own adopted father when he died, since she was his only daughter. That has left us with good education, a good home, and good lives in general. Both of us, in fact, stand to inherit a fair sum when our father dies. So you see, Mr. Holmes, why we sought help as soon as it seemed that the curse was indeed real."

Holmes' eyes shone with interest, though his face remained still. My own interest in the matter was piqued, and I leaned forward in my chair so I would not miss a word.

The young William looked down at the floor, turning his hat in his hands, as his brother sat beside him and listened closely to confirm what he said was right.

"Pray continue." Holmes ushered. William nodded.

"Well, two weeks ago one of our servant girls, Mary, died unexpectedly. No foul play was expected, since there were no marks or appearances of it, so we laid her to rest without thinking about it much. The same day she passed our best hunting dog died as well. We found that odd at first, but he was an old hound, so we wrote it off as simply coincidence. Nothing happened for the rest of that week, except everyone in the household complained of having a feeling of 'ill will,' as one maid called it. We had no suspicions of anything amiss whatsoever until this week. Mr. Holmes, we've had four servants die in the past six days, each of them two at a time."

"Two at a time?" I gasped, sitting even more forward in my chair.

"So, you believe that this prediction of a curse has something to do with it?" Holmes asked.

"We're not completely certain, of course..." Charles replied. "The police have been of very little help; they can figure nothing from it. That's why we've come to you, Mr. Holmes."

"So you've already contacted the police?" Holmes asked. "When?"

"Right after the first two servants died--six days ago." William answered.

"So, they've already seen the victims and the house, I presume?"

"Yes."

"Who is on the case?"

"A Mr. Stanley Hopkins, I believe."

Holmes thought a moment. "It seems like a very interesting problem, indeed." he remarked. "We shall have to travel to your home in order to discover what's causing all of this, of course."

William and Charles nodded quickly. "Yes, of course, Mr. Holmes. Thank you very much!" William stood. "We have a cab waiting outside, if you wish to join us in it."

Holmes stood, and I did as well. "I will come along with you, and so will my associate Dr. Watson—he has proved invaluable to me in cases in the past." said my friend. "Wait for us in the cab, and we shall be right down."

The two brothers nodded, thanking Holmes yet again, and went downstairs.

Holmes went straightway to his room to change and re-emerged soon after, fit for travel and rubbing his long, thin hands together in anticipation.

"Come, Watson." he said, his eyes shining. "There's work to be done."