Amabelle

Chapter Eight

AN

Couldn't resist adding a guest appearance of a very famous (fictional) person - sorry! (Obviously I don't own him, and it's a one-off.)

She hadn’t the stomach for any breakfast, and she booked a couple more nights of lodging. She then left, in search of flats to rent. She searched ads, checked shop windows, and walked along the many streets in search of any place for her to stay. It seemed there was nothing. Perhaps central London was too popular. Then something caught her eye: “in search of flatmate, flat good location, please contact the address below.” On the floor lay, a tattered newspaper, dating a week earlier, but clearly stating this advertisement. She stooped to retrieve the scrap of paper. She didn’t particularly want a flatmate, but it could be interesting, and she did need somewhere to live. Resolved to seek out these lodgings, Amabelle headed towards the nearest handsome cab.

“221B Baker street please.” She called as she got in. The cab jolted off along the dirty London streets. She was already missing home... She'd never really been away from home, apart from when she travelled with Mother or on the rare occasions she visited her sisters.

Knocking on the door, she straightened her hat and prepared to meet her potential flatmate. The door creaked open, and an elderly lady peered up at her. "Hello? Are you here to speak to Mr Holmes? Please, do come in." Before she could object, the lady ushered her up the stairs.

"Well, yes I suppose. I'm answering the advertisement in the paper for a flatmate." She protested, managing to squirm out of the lady's grip when they got to the first landing.

"Oh. I'm afraid that Mr Holmes has already found a flatmate now. I'm sorry dear." Lowering her voice she added: "And it's not particularly appropriate or proper for a lady like yourself to be sharing accommodation with such an odd man."

"Mrs Hudson?! Did I hear someone at the door?!" A male voice called. Feet bounded down the stairs, and a smartly dressed man greeted her. "Hello, I am Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Ah, you've run away from home, as lavish as it may be. You've not slept well... In fact, it would seem you don't sleep often - the bags under your eyes seem to be of a permanent nature... How may I be of service?" He beamed, after thoroughly examining her.

"Oh, actually Mr Holmes, I was just leaving. I was enquiring after the advertisement for a flatmate in the paper, but it seems you already have one." She apologised, turning away to conceal her blushing. The elderly lady who must've been Mrs Hudson, led Amabelle towards the door.

"But it's evident you have a problem my dear! Please, let my colleague Dr Watson and I assist you!" He pleaded, smiling comfortingly. She liked that, he made her feel safe, but she didn't want to discuss anything with anyone, so she bayed good bye and left. Back to square one, she returned to the hotel and collapsed on the bed. Central London wasn't an option then. It was a shame as she found the inner London City life an exciting prospect. She could reside at the hotel a while, but it wouldn't be long until Mother would look for her there, and it was rather costly staying at a hotel. Perhaps something would come up in tomorrow's papers. Frustrated, she exerted her anger onto her page, furiously scribbling various creatures and scenes from her imagination.

"Holmes?" Watson began from the other room. "Was that not the girl the lady telegrammed us about?" He walked into Holmes’ room, various newspapers strewn across the floor in disarray, obviously something to do with his latest case. "The missing girl? Why didn’t you get her to stay, so we could return her to her mother?"

"Watson, it would not be right for us to capture young ladies for the purpose of returning them to their mothers. We are not a ’lost and found’ organisation. She left home for a reason, most likely marital pressures, why should we make her return? I have already telegrammed her mother, informing her of her daughter’s presence in London. That is all we can do." And with that he continued on his search through the sea of black on white print. Watson sighed, and returned to his reading.

"Master Digby! Mr Holmes has found her! She’s in London! I'm sure she'll consent to marrying you, once we talk some sense into her!" Mother cried, trotting into the garden, waving a telegram like a strange bird trying to take flight with a broken wing. "I’ve already arranged for missing posters to be put all over London, that way we shall be constantly informed of her whereabouts, and able to find her and persuade her to come home." She smiled excitedly and out of breath from her quick deliverance of such important news. Master Digby shook his head.

"She shouldn't be forced into anything. Let her be for a while. If she changes her mind, she’ll come back, and I’ll be waiting. We shouldn't have rushed things in the first place, it's just I was certain she would remember. I thought we’d already courted, but since she didn't remember, it was all rather improper. I should have realised by the way she tried to avoid me..." he trailed off, his heart too evidently broken for Mother’s liking.

"If she knew you were in such a state, she would shun you forever. Don't be such a miserable toad. There’s nothing to be admired in an inactive and hopeless lover." Mother scolded, turning to leave. "She’s coming home whether she likes it or not. We will find a way." The slam of the French windows notified him to her departure, as he was facing the other way, staring into the abyss of the woods. He desperately wished she’d come bounding out of them, sticks in her hair, mud on her torn dress, and embrace him, telling him she remembered. He knew she wouldn’t though.

AN

Dedicated to @EpicFantasy700 again, because we both love Sherlock! (I hope she isn't annoyed that I included him, rather randomly, in my story!) It's longer, as I've not posted any of the story in a while, and I'm bored and ill.

Next stop: 80 reads! :D

- Mirabel