Four Knocks

Introduction

"The four knocks will signal my return, Sherlock Holmes…"

It had been six years since the detective had heard those words; it had been six years since he had seen the woman who said them. By now, he had convinced himself that the four knocks she had spoken of would never come. Sherlock Holmes sat in his study and practiced his violin, if only to irritate his companion. Watson sighed and continued to read the evening paper. Scotland Yard was dealing with a series of murders and seemed to be getting close to the conclusion of the case. Holmes, of course, thought the concept of the Yard solving a case without his help to be laughable. Holmes was a proud, vain man and always thought himself above others because of his extraordinary talents.

"Come in, Inspector." Holmes called suddenly, causing Watson to jump a bit.

The bearded man entered, "How did you know it was me?"

"Your footsteps gave you away, Inspector."

"Oh…well, we need your help with these murders, Holmes."

"Of course you do. I knew that sooner-or-later you would come to me for help. It was only a matter of time."

Watson sighed and attempted to tune out the bickering. Holmes and Inspector Lestrade discussed the details of the case. It had not been more than forty-five minutes since the Inspector's arrival when four slow, steady knocks sounded at the door. Holmes froze and nearly leapt to his feet. There had been no footsteps to alert him that someone was approaching, no swishing of a garment. The four knocks startled him more than the other factors.

"Come in…" he called, his voice almost shaking.

The door creaked open and a woman dressed in an emerald dress stepped in. Her hair was chocolate brown; her eyes were the same brown with a hint of red in them; her lips were blood red. The Inspector rose to his feet in surprise; Watson's jaw dropped; Holmes stepped forward and offered his hand to her.

"Ruby…"

"Sherlock…" she said, taking the hand he offered.

Holmes, like a gentleman, bent and kissed the top of her hand. The woman he had called Ruby smiled at the doctor and walked over to where he sat.

"You trying to catch flies with that, dear?" she asked sweetly, then took her hand and gingerly closed his mouth.

"Why have you come?"

"I need a reason? Maybe I just want to see my dear Sherlock and his faithful companion. Or maybe I came to see the Inspector."

"Most of the time you had a reason to call upon me. I have difficulty believing that this is merely a social call."

"Holmes, perhaps this is just her way of saying she's missed you. You don't have to be so suspicious of her."

"You are quite right, John." Ruby said with a smile.

Holmes grumbled something to himself and plopped back down in his chair. Watson looked back and forth between the two. He noticed that something about her was giving Holmes trouble and wondered what it was; he decided that if he ever got her alone he would ask why his friend was so distracted. He kept a close eye on the detective and the woman for the rest of the day, always noticing the same thing. One would observe the other when the other one was not looking; she, with a smile dancing across her face; he, with what looked like confusion, concern, and perhaps a hint of lust.

"Just who is this woman to Holmes…?" He asked himself.

It was a question he would have difficulty answering. As the events to come unfolded, he would discover that he had become entangled in a tragedy that he could have never imagined.