Observation: the ability to notice things, especially significant details.
Maria Holmes is the daughter of Sherlock Holmes. With the intelligence and skill of her father, she is a force to be reckoned with. However, her life hasn't always been the...
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{1878, England}
[Maria's point of view]
For as long as I could remember, Mama had told me stories about my father, the great Sherlock Holmes. She told me his name was known all over London, and how he solved mysteries that even the police couldn't figure out.
Solving mysteries sounded like an interesting job, and often I asked her to tell me of a specific case my father had worked on. Mama had come close, so very close to telling me, but that chance had been ripped away once Grandfather found out she was regaling me with stories about him.
I discovered quickly that the name of my father was apparently a banned word in his house. My grandfather rarely spoke of him, and when he did, it was with contempt. "You stay away from him, Maria," he'd tell me. "He's nothing but trouble, for you and for us." When I asked him why, he'd give me a disapproving look and mutter something about the "craziness of that man".
But despite his warnings, I thought about my father a lot. Mama's description of him helped, and my imagination did the rest. It came to the point when I desperately wanted to meet this man I had heard so much about, but to my surprise, Mama had refused.
"Not yet, my darling," she said with a sigh. "Not yet. It won't be for a while. You know how your grandfather is." I remember her voice suddenly becoming stern as she continued. "You must keep your thoughts between you and me, Maria. No one else must know. Your grandfather would like nothing better than to snuff out the memory of your father in both of us. Do you understand?"
I had nodded, understanding quite clearly, and from then on we only spoke of "certain matters" quietly out of earshot of Grandfather.
A few days later, I began to sense that something was wrong.
My mother started to become more suspicious. When we went for a walk or out to town, I would catch her looking over her shoulder at something. When I glanced over my shoulder to see what it was, I saw nothing.
"What are you looking at, Mama?" I asked.
"Nothing, Maria. I just thought..." She shook her head. "It's nothing."
But nothing turned into something.
Mama started leaving me behind whenever she went somewhere, even if it was to the simplest place, like the bakery. I spent my time at home either reading, walking with Grandmother in her gardens, or messing around on the piano in the drawing room. Although there was enough in the house to keep me busy, I missed going for walks with her, so I was a little lonely. Of course, Mama always returned, but she seemed a bit distracted when I went to greet her. This continued for some time before everything came to a head.
