Chapter Twelve: Year Thirteen

"Papa?" Sophie entered Watson's study one evening, already in her pajamas, but her hair up and pulled back . "You're a doctor. What is the best solution for this bloody, blemished skin of mine?" She rubbed at her face.

"I'm afraid nobody's really made that leap in the medical field," her father sighed, getting up to move to her side. "It's just part of growing up."
Sophie had become obsessed with personal hygiene. She refused to eat chocolate, bathed two to three times each day, and was no longer interested in getting her fingernails dirty. It didn't bother Watson a bit, but her other father, Holmes, was becoming a bit annoyed by it. Not only did Sophie take pride in her grooming, but she nagged him about his.

"I can never leave this house again if I get one more spot on my face," she sighed, sitting down on Watson's desktop. "Or I'll have to wear a bag on my head with eyeholes cut out."
Watson rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You only have one spot on your face."
Sophie groaned. "And everyone can see it! And the rest of my face is red and blotchy!"
She slid off of the desktop and let her hair down. "And my hair is breaking at the ends, and all of the other girls call me 'stick' and 'beanpole'!"
Sophie was thin for her age, but not underweight. Holmes and Watson tired of her self-image doubts, but nothing they said or did seemed to console her. She seemed to find something to complain about every second of the day. Holmes had suggested they dispose of all of the mirrors in the house, but Mrs. Hudson had given him a stern enough look that he'd lied and said he was joking.

"Adolescence is difficult," Watson told her. "But it doesn't last forever."
"Do you and Daddy even care that I look like some kind of monster?" Sophie frowned. "My face and my hair…I'm just…ugly!"
"You are not ugly," he said sternly. "You're self-conscious. We all are at that age."
Sophie let her eyes roll back in their sockets. "And that's another thing. Everything I say or do is because I'm at that age." She said it like she was disgusted by her own words. "What has my age got to do with anything?"
"Sophie." Watson sighed. "I don't know what to tell you. I don't think you're ugly. Daddy doesn't think so. Mrs. Hudson, your mother, your instructors…it's just you."
"Daniel thinks so," Sophie said, less angry this time. "He doesn't even talk to me anymore."
"He's at that-" Watson stopped himself.
"Age," she finished quietly. Sighing, she put her hair back up and asked, "Do you and Daddy get cross with me? For being such a grouch?"
"No." Watson embraced her. "I know it's not easy, but believe me when I tell you that you are the most beautiful girl I've ever known."

Sophie smiled a little, crinkling her nose. "Even with spots on my face?"
"Even if you had horns and a tail," he said.

"Papa!" She laughed, pushing herself away.

Sophie spent more time with her mother, who seemed to understand things better than her father. One afternoon, she taught Sophie how to put on makeup. Irene was a true artist when it came to powders and painted lips, and when she handed Sophie a handheld mirror to look at herself, her daughter almost gasped. "Oh my goodness!" Sophie touched her face.

"You didn't need a lot," Irene said. "You already have thick eyelashes and good bone structure."
"Like you," Sophie said, looking at her. "Can you teach me? To do this by myself?"
"Of course, my love." Irene kissed her forehead.

The two of them spent hours going over makeup, perfumes, and hair products. Irene put some pink cream from a little jar into her hair and it turned thick and fluffy and smelled of strawberries. Sophie practiced on her mother and on herself and after all was said and done, she scrubbed her face clean.

"Mama, do you think I'm pretty?" She asked. "I mean, even without you making me up like that?"
"You're the prettiest girl I know," Irene replied. "Come on. Let's make some tea."
Sophie felt so comfortable with her mother, less judged. She spent the afternoon assisting in preparing for lunch, and then she read poetry to her mother-her own, and Irene read love letters from men who'd been enchanted wit her over the years. By the evening, they just rested by each other on Irene's large bed and just talked. Things Sophie couldn't talk about with her fathers. Boys, breast size, the evilness of other girls. During the long, drawn-out gab, Sophie felt an idea creeping into her head that she couldn't shake. Finally, she had to voice it.

"Mama, I want to live here with you," She said suddenly.
Irene didn't seem surprised. "I would like that."
"You would?" Sophie rolled over to face her. "Really? Even with all of your traveling and what not?"
"I don't do much traveling anymore," her mother replied, rolling over to face Sophie. "I like to be close to you."

Sophie returned home and couldn't help but try and be extra loving towards her fathers. She embraced them both when she returned home.
"I missed you," she told them.
"We missed you," Holmes replied. "And, I have some very exciting news. A new case. A missing engagement ring. A suspicious bridesmaid-"
"Daddy, I'm not really…" Sophie winced. "I'm not all that concerned with cases right now."
Holmes looked as if she'd just announced she enjoyed kicking puppies. He turned to Watson who just shrugged one shoulder.
"You must be famished," Watson said, patting her shoulder. "Mrs. Hudson is making us some sandwiches."
Holmes followed them quickly. "No longer concerned…?" He frowned. "Are you feeling well?"
Sophie tucked some hair behind her ear. "I'm fine."
"The bridesmaid was supposed to receive her grandmother's ring, but her sister married first so the parents gave it to her-"
"And I'm certain you'll find it." Sophie smiled at him. "I have faith in you, Dad."
"But." Holmes smiled too-a nervous smile. "The ring was-"
"What kind of sandwiches?" Sophie looked at Watson.

Sophie sat at her desk that evening, a million crumpled balls of paper littering the floor. She had decided to write her fathers a letter explaining why she was moving away, trying to think of the best way to sort our her reasons without getting her feelings too involved. These days, she liked to keep her feelings private. She remembered being younger, throwing tantrums, and often she overhead Watson tell Holmes that she needed to throw tantrums. To express herself, he always said.

Sophie thought of the best way she could express herself in words on paper. Before she could rewrite her first line, something hit her window. Her brows furrowed. Rain? No, the night was clear. It was too warm for hail. Going to her window, she realized they were rocks. And they were not falling. They were rising. Another one hit. She opened the window.
"Hey!" She called down angrily.
"Hey." Daniel grinned up at her, his teeth just a tad crooked now, his legs too long, and he had several spots on his face.
"Why are you throwing rocks at my window?" Sophie demanded.
"I needed to talk to you." The boy shrugged.

Sophie frowned. "About what?"

Daniel hadn't spoken to her in months. Often, he ran around with other boys, who found it enjoyable to fling mud at girls and tease them. Daniel hadn't flung any mud at Sophie, but he'd also known her long enough to know that being skinny didn't make her vulnerable. She'd beat him up lots of times when they were younger.
"Anything I guess." He shrugged again.
Sophie was suspicious. "Is your lot down there?" She craned her head out, just to see if she could catch a glimpse of some moving shadows.
"Nah." Daniel shook his head. "Sophie, come on."
"Alright! Just let me get dressed first!"

She dressed and climbed out of her window, landing beside Daniel gracefully. He was taller now, and she had to look up at him, one eyebrow raised.
"What?" She said flatly.
"I need your help," He muttered. "Well, not me. One of the boys."
"Help? From me?" She was now very suspicious.

"His sister's getting married and the family ring's disappeared," Daniel said.
" I know, my father's working that case," Sophie said. "But he's brilliant. You know that."
"Michael has the ring," Daniel said.
"Who?" Sophie asked.
"My mate!" Daniel groaned. "He stole the ring. It was supposed to go his other sister. She deserves it. She's the firstborn."
"So what do you want me to do?" Sophie frowned.

"Convince your dad to stop digging," Daniel told her, and there was an odd clip to his voice.
It took Sophie only a second to register what it was. She puffed up, crossing her arms. "Aren't your Mister Tough Guy."
"If Michael's found out, his parents will ship him away to school," Daniel said.
"Why doesn't he just put the ring back?" Sophie quizzed.

"His other sister will get upset and rat him out!" Daniel told her. "Come on, Sophie. You're my best friend."
Sophie stared into space, pondering for a moment. Finally, she said, "I can't convince my father to close the case."
Daniel sighed, his shoulders slumping.
"But I can temporarily take his mind off it," she continued. "But that's it."
"That's all Michael needs is some time," he replied. "Thank you, Sophie." He started to hug her, but stopped. "Um…good night then."
"Right." She went back to the wall and climbed back up into her room.

"Daddy? Papa? Nanny?" Sophie had decided to wait until breakfast to break the news.
"Yes, Dear?" Mrs. Hudson smiled sweetly at her.
"Hm?" Watson graciously put down his morning paper.
Holmes simply stared at her, his eyebrows raised.
"I'm moving out," Sophie said.

To Be Continued