Sherlock Holmes- A Study in Blood

Chapter 12

"I see a little more of me everyday.  I catch a little more mustache turning gray.  Your mother's still the only other woman for me.  Little Miss Magic, whatcha gonna be?  Little Miss Magic, just can't wait to see." ~Jimmy Buffett

It was a relatively quiet night at 221B Baker Street.  Mrs. Hudson had tucked herself away downstairs, and Irene had left for Leicester on business.  She refrained from elaborating on just what such business entailed, which gave her husband pause, but she had simply kissed his cheek and swore to regale him with her adventures upon her return.  The woman had left rather quickly after that, so for the time being, Holmes must be satisfied with not knowing.

So, once again, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson were left to their own devices.  After putting sweet little Mary to bed, they engaged in a rather pleasant conversation about their recently solved case of the serial arsonist.  However, just as they were discussing how the criminal had managed to burn off his own fingerprints, Watson noticed that Holmes had fallen alarmingly silent, staring intently off into space.  "Holmes," he sighed in exasperation, "did you hear a word of what I just said?"

There was no outward sign that Holmes had heard Watson at all, until he breathed in a hushed tone, "Listen."

Knowing better than to argue with the detective when he was in such a state, Watson listened carefully for a few moments.  The only sounds that reached his ears were those typical of a quiet night on Baker Street.  "I don't hear anything."

"Precisely. It is 10:38.  Mary has been in bed for two and a half hours.  We both know she has developed a habit of getting out of bed to beg for another story or song in an attempt to prolong the day.  She does so once at approximately 8:47 and then again at 9:52."

Watson's heart beat picked up speed as he realized where his friend was headed.  "She's only gotten up once," he said, his voice rough.  A feeling of dread had settled in his chest.  Something was wrong.

Holmes nodded.

For less than two seconds, the friends stared at each other before jumping up and running to Watson's room where they had put two year old Mary to bed hours before.  Her bed was completely empty.

Watson began to frantically check all of her usual hiding places about the room, struggling against the mounting fear in his heart that was making it difficult to breathe.  He knew she wasn't hiding.  His daughter could never stop giggling whenever they played hide and go seek, but he did not want to admit what Holmes was just discovering.

"Watson," Holmes said, his voice heavy with sadness and worry as he pointed out the large boot prints leading from Mary's bed to the window which had been left slightly ajar.

"Oh God, no!" Watson moaned, his face growing frighteningly pale as he came face to face with his very worst nightmare.  His baby girl had been taken from him.

"Come," Holmes urged, pulling his friend back to the grim situation they found themselves in, "we haven't time to waste."

The two men thundered down the stairs, Holmes snatching Watson's sword cane and tossing it to him, saying, "You may have need of it."

Watson tried not to think of a situation concerning his daughter where he would need his secret weapon, but Holmes did have a point.  He caught it in one hand, and with the other he ripped open the front door.  They dashed out into the chilly London night.  Splitting up, Holmes took off down Baker Street and Watson ran up it, each searching frantically for the little girl they held very close to their hearts.

Holmes ran down yet another alleyway, only to find it empty as well.  He growled in frustration.  An hour had passed and he had yet to find Mary.  Give him any criminal, and Holmes could locate and catch him easily and efficiently.  But take his niece, well, that was entirely different.   His emotions were getting in the way, he knew.   He wasn't thinking clearly.