Young Writers Society

Chapter One: Closer Than A Brother

Hunger.

An all consuming force.

Why, I thought, when the apple fell on Isaac Newton's head, did he think, "Aha! Gravity!”? Why not, "Aha! Lunch!"?

I gave a mental shrug, and bent my head so the sun shone on my neck. Summer was my favorite time of the year. Outside the hotel, the air was shimmering slightly above the hot cobblestones, moving in waves like water. Beside me, Li squinted hopefully up at the people, rich and not-so rich who were leaving the building. Ladies in embroidered dresses covered their faces with lacy parasols and slipped their hands into the arms of their male companions who tilted their hats over their eyes in a futile attempt to escape from the glare of the sun as they waved to summon means of transport.

"I'm starving," I complained. "No one seems to want help."

"Just wait," Li said placidly. "They'll want 'elp soon, they always do."

Sighing at his almost annoying capacity for patience, I leaned back against the lamp post and closed my eyes. After a moment, I said, "I can see purple."

"Uh?"

I opened my eyes. "In the black when I have my eyes closed, I can see purple."

Li rolled his albino eyes expressively - a flash of pale, washed out blue. "An' that 'elps us, how?"

"It don't, it's just funny. Like..." I tried to think of a successful simile, but failed. Lamely, I finished, "Well, anyway, it looks nice."

He grinned. "Yeah, I know wot y'mean, Kit. Ain't it hot?" Li actually remembered his aitch in his feelings about the weather.

At that moment, a man came out of the door of the hotel and looked up and down the street with a quick, impatient movement. He had a large box under one arm, tied up with string and brown paper, and when he saw us, a look of relief passed across his face and he came forward, holding out the box. "Here, boy," he said, thrusting it into Li's hands. "Take this to the dressmaker's shop on Lerant Road. Bring it back quickly and you'll get a penny."

Li took the box. "I don't know that shop, sir," he said.

"Oh of all the - !" the man exclaimed, throwing up his hands in exasperation.

"I know it," I chipped in helpfully, and the man looked at me as though I had shown him the secret of eternal youth.

"Good! Both of you take it, and I'll give you both a penny. Each."

"Coo, ta sir!" Before he could repent his offer, I pulled at Li's elbow and we set off a run down the road.

"Say that Miss Sarah Lane wasn't happy with it!" the man called after us. "Tell them that she'll call in person at a later date!"

- - -

Lerant Road was very busy. It was a long street, with a crook in the middle, so it bent around a corner, its shops and buildings stretching with the bend, so it managed to give the impression of being longer than it really was. The dressmaker's shop in question was at the very beginning of the corner and right in the middle of the flood of walkers, shoppers and loafers that swarmed about the street.

"Here!" I pointed to the doorway and Li ran inside in front of me. Coming in after him, I was just in time to see Li run smack into another boy who was coming out. Li staggered back and sat down, dropping the precious box; it rolled under the feet of a woman standing near the counter and discoursing loudly with her husband about the price of silk this year. The box got caught in the voluminous folds of her dark dress that swept the floor underneath her coat and the woman broke off to cry in annoyance: "What's this? Bertram, would you... "

"I'll get it, dear." The woman's husband, a short, languorous man with a small waxed moustache, bent and retrieved the box from his wife's feet. He considered it in his hand for a moment, then dropped it disdainfully on the floor.

"Erm, 'scuse me," I said. "That's mine. Well, not mine, but it's Miss Whatserface's, and - "

The lady stared at me with raised eyebrows. "You impertinent little boy," she said finally, and turned away. "Come along, Bertram."

"Yes, dear."

Still languorous, Bertram followed, and I hauled Li to his feet, glowering at the boy who had been the cause of the trouble. "Why don't you look where you're going?"

"I was!"

"You must have been looking with your eyes shut then, since you -” I stopped in mid sentence and stared at him.

Li put his hand on my arm and said peaceably, "Come on, Kit, it weren't that bad."

"No, actually," the boy said, changing from anger to a rueful smile in seconds. "It was my fault. Sorry." He scooped up the box. "Here, you were delivering it to this shop?"

"Yeah, ta." Li smiled back at him, and nudged me. "We best be gettin' a move on if we're to get them pennies, Kit."

"Li," I said, still staring at the other boy. "Would you do me a favor and go get them yourself? I'm . . . rather busy."

"Busy? How? Kit, you need that penny."

"Yeah, I know, but I'm . . . unreposed."

"What?"

"I'm busy."

"Oh." Li gave me a last skeptical glance and shrugged. "Alright then, 'ave it your own way. I'll give you your's when you've finished bein' busy." He disappeared inside the shop, came out in a minute and yelling, "G'bye!" ran off down the street back to the hotel.

"What're you staring at?" the other boy asked, somewhat suspiciously. "And what're you busy with?"

I judged him to be about a year older than myself, perhaps fourteen. He was tall and slenderly built, but with strength in his slightness, not delicacy. His face was thin, with fine, strong features, and completely governed by his eyes, sharp grey eyes that were as dancingly and fiercely alive as a storm at sea. His hair was as dark as a crow's wing, and he had pushed it back so his pale forehead showed a widow's peak. He was dressed in a ragged assortment of clothes: once fine boots with patches on the toes, a too small coat that showed his grey shirt underneath, threadbare trousers cut off at the knee.

"I'm busy staring," I answered, wanting him to speak.

He raised a slim arched eyebrow and raked me with his piercing gaze. After a moment, he said thoughtfully, "You've been educated when you were young, I can tell, but you've been living on the streets for some years. You're finding it difficult to earn money, and for some reason you aren't picking pockets, so you've turned to running errands. And you're," - he blinked - "you're a girl."

I grinned in delight, sure now. "And you've only come on the streets recently. You were a toff before, but you've . . . not come down in the world exactly - more like left genteel society on purpose to visit the gutter. You've not got a lot of money, but you have had in the past and you're saving up by earning money any way you can. And," I added smugly, "you're Sherlock Holmes' younger brother."

----

EEEEEKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (it's a delighted "eek", trust me)

How-what-who-jeeba!

*deep cleansing breaths*

Okay, okay. Well, first, I was of course delighted when I saw there was another one of these gems (seriously, darling, you need to do something with these). I'm still trying to recover here--it's loverly, trust me, but I'm trying to figure out the math. I suppose it depends on how old Holmes is when you're writing this, because I was given to understand that Mycroft was some years older than our dear Sherlock, and I'm just wondering if his parents would still have been able to have a fourteen-year-old child. Hmmm.....maybe I'm worrying too much.

Anyway, loverly as usual, darling. (Now, of course, we must arange a romace between Kit and young Holmes, mwahahah)

Now it's my turn to "EEEEK!!!"

Don't worry, I've got the timeline all fixed up (well... sort of) and as the date of Holmes' birth is debatable I've tweaked it to my purposes without being outragous. Hey, writer's prorogative!

As to Kit and Holmes junior junior.... I'm still debating that point. *starts pulling petals off a flower* Shall I? Shan't I? Shall I? Shan't I?

Thanky for reading!

But you must! Even if it doesn't pan out, it'd be tooooo delicious to see Sherlock's face when he realizes.....

Where is the rest!

I havn't written it yet!! It's in progress, but I've got the next chapter fully planned out, and the next one sketched out. And the whole story... I think this one is going to be my favourite. I have a weird streak in my personality.

Postpostpostpostpostpost!

Chapter Two: Double Take

"Yes I am," the boy exclaimed. "I'm Sherringford Holmes. How did you know?"

"Your... no, never mind, I'll show you. C'mon."

"Where?" Sherringford asked suspiciously. "I don't know who you are. I don't even know your name!"

"My name's Kit." Then, to see if it made any impression on him, added casually, "Katherine Moriarty, but forget the Katherine bit."

"Moriarty?" He stared at me as though I'd grown an extra head. "Moriarty?" After a pause, he said, "Alright, I'll come."

I grinned at him and beckoned. He followed, and I led the way out of Lerant Road. Sherringford walked briskly, stretching his long legs out in a way that I was used to seeing in his older brother. The thought of Mr Holmes having a brother, and being a brother himself was a new thought, and I spent several moments silently adjusting myself to this new fact. After these mental gymnastics, I asked, "You been in London long?"

"A bit less than a month."

"Why didn't you go to your brothers before?"

He didn't answer for a moment; then he said, "Pride. In a nutshell. What're you smiling at?"

"You sound so much like your brother." It was true; he had the same clear, almost high-pitched voice, the same precise way of pronouncing his syllables. He even rolled his "r"s in the same way as Mr Holmes did.

We remained silent until we got to Baker Street; once there, I pounded on the door until Mrs Hudson opened it.

"We need to see Mr Holmes," I said. "Hurry up."

She bristled, but before she could protest, Sherringford chipped in. "I'm sorry," he said soothingly, "but you see it's very urgent, and we need to be quick."

"Oh, well, in that case..." She let us in, and we went up the stairs and around the landing. I rapped on the door with my knuckles. Doctor Watson opened it and when he saw us, he smiled widely, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. He held the door wide open.

"Come on in, Kit; how have you been? Holmes is in his room. You know, he - "

"Doctor Watson," I interrupted.

"Yes, Kit?"

"This is Sherringford."

Doctor Watson stared at Sherringford, and his mouth dropped open. "Is...?" he gaped, and Sherringford nodded, his eyebrows tightening a fraction. Watson took a deep breath and called, "Holmes?"

After a pause, the irritable shout came back. "What is it? Tell them to come back later."

"Holmes, you must come and see this. If you do not, then I shall come and bring you forcibly."

"Oh, very well," Holmes said testily. "Nothing can be hurried. I'm coming."

I had felt Sherringford tense when he heard Holmes' voice, and he shot a glance at me from the corner of his eye. I nodded reassuringly, and gave a half shrug as the door at the other side of the room opened, and Mr Holmes came out in his long grey dressing-gown, looking surprisingly young with his hair sticking up, and sleep in his eyes. As soon as he saw Sherringford, he froze stock still in the middle of the room.

I was struck by the striking similarities between them both as they stared at each other in disbelief. It was more than the grey eyes and dark hair; it was the alertness, almost wariness of the way they held themselves, and the expression of shock mirrored in both their faces.

Mr Holmes spoke, his lips barely moving. "Sherringford."

"Sherlock."

At the sound of his younger brother's voice, Holmes took a step forward, and he smiled. A beautiful smile that lit up his face, as though a candle of joy was shining out behind his eyes. "I never thought... I mean..." Then the smile died as his brain started working again. "What has happened?"

The smile that had flashed across Sherringford's face in answer to his brother's, went out. "Father's dead. He was ill, and we couldn't contact you. He couldn't manage the church, and... the creditors came. I had to leave."

Mr Holmes closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he stared at Watson and me as though he had never seen us before. He jerked a hand at the door. "Get out."

My mouth opened to form a hurt protest, but Watson took my arm and steered me out the door. Once in the passage outside, he shut the door and said gently, "Holmes and Sherringford need to have some time together, Kit. That's all. He didn't mean to be quite so brusque."

I stared at the potted plant on its stand against the wall, seeing the fine tracery of veins etched on the green leaves. "I s'pose so, but..."

"But what, Kit?"

"Nothing," I muttered.

----

^This is all that need be said. That and >

Chapter Three: Promise.

Any jealous fears I may have had melted away during the next few weeks. Sherringford adapted easily to live under Mr Holmes' watchful eye, and even though he was now living like a toff, Sherringford still sneaked out to roam the streets - with, or without his older brother's permission.

"Sherlock doesn't mind too much," he said. He and I were playing marbles in a quiet corner, and now he knocked one of mine, a small, streaked sphere, out of the chalk circle. I was only using it for the game; all the ones we were using really belonged to Sherringford. I had long ago swapped mine. "He lets me run about, just so long as I come back before dark. Mycroft's thinking about getting me a tutor, though, so I might not be able to come as much."

Mycroft Holmes had indeed run off his usual tracks and made a detour to Baker Street to visit his newly returned younger sibling, and although I understood his concern about Sherringford's education, right now I resented it. "You know enough already. You can read and write, you can add up. You can speak French, and you know about science and chemistry and all."

"Mycroft says I don't know enough Greek and Latin. And he's right; I can't translate English to Latin at all and make it passable. Your go."

I rolled my marble and it clacked against Sherringford's big green, spinning it around so the sunlight struck off its sides and flashed clear sparks. As I watched, I asked, "Have there been any new cases come?"

"Yes, there has, actually." Sherringford put down the marble he had been rolling between finger and thumb. "A Lord! Lord Michael Bird. He came about his cousin, Thomas Fellstock, who was found dead in his bed yesterday. Lord Bird came the same day, and Sherlock went out with Doctor Watson. He found that Fellstock had been strangled." He sighed, frowning. "Strangling seems so much more... brutal than a shooting or stabbing. More personal."

"Has Mr Holmes found out who done it yet?" I asked.

"No. He was up smoking all last night, but he hasn't told me anything."

"Well, he'll find out soon," I said comfortably.

"Hey, Kit!" The shout came from up the street; my head snapped up and I saw Wiggins waving his arm, beckoning. "C'mon, there's a job up 'ere!"

I scrambled to my feet, already running; I yelled, "G'bye!" over my shoulder to Sherringford and followed Wiggins. The "job" was delivering a basket of bread to a house near Mayfair. It was too big for one person, and Wiggins and I took turns carrying the heavy basket on the way there. We delivered it, received our payment of a penny each and departed our separate ways.

The sun was very warm, and the cobbles pleasantly toasted the soles of my feet as I crossed to the other side of the street, my penny tightly clasped in my fist. There was a muffin man leaning against a lamp post near the haberdashery shop, with his tray balanced on his head and his bell in his hand, calling out, "Muffins! Muffins! Fresh hot muffins!"

I held out my penny and he stopped his patter long enough to swing the tray down from off his head, reach under the cloth cover and hand me two of the muffins. They were not as hot as he had proclaimed, but they were still warm, and I tore off little pieces and ate them slowly to make them last longer. Sighing with satisfaction, I wiped my hands on my trousers. What I need right now, I thought, is something to finish it off. Something like that! My gaze wandered over to the baker's window next to the haberdashery, where rows of current-studded buns were laid out, white icing dribbled over their tops and running down their sides. I went and pressed my nose against the glass window, gazing lustfully at the cakes until the woman inside shook a floury finger at me, and I stepped back, almost onto the toes of a man behind.

"Watch it, boy!" he exclaimed crossly.

"Sorry, sir," I uttered automatically, my eyes going to his pockets. They bulged gently outwards. I recognized the telltale signs all too well. The man was already walking away and before I allowed myself time to think, I followed. As he stepped aside to make way for a lady, tipping his hat as he did so, I ran past him, just brushing his coat. He walked on, and I doubled back. Hidden in the safety of my pocket, my fingers opened the man's wallet and went through the coins. I selected a threepenny piece by touch and brought it out.

The baker's shop was hot, and the floury-armed woman inside had a forehead shiny with sweat and streaked with more flour where she had wiped it. I put the threepenny piece on the counter where it shone silver in the light from the fire. The woman fixed me with a gimlet eye and demanded, "Yeah?"

"Three of those penny buns," I said haughtily, pointing.

She dumped them in a paper bag and I took them, ostentatiously flicking away the flour that had come off on my hands. I went outside, and nearly ran into Li.

"'ey, Kit," he greeted me, smiling. "You got buns?"

"Yep." I took one out and bit off half, tasting the incredible sweetness of the icing and currants spreading through my mouth.

"That's good, then," Li said. "Good that you've been findin' enough work. You was looking right skinny, lately."

The sweetness of the bun suddenly seemed sickly. I swallowed slowly and offered Li the bag. He took one eagerly. "Coo! Ta, Kit!"

I ran my tongue over my teeth, feeling the sticky sugar and smelling the aromas of fresh pastry from the bakery; I gulped, almost gasped, "Well, gotta go, Li, see you and..." I shoved the bag into his hands and tore off down the street.

Later, back at my railings, I tried to grapple with my disturbingly active conscience. I never get a treat, never get cakes or sweets or anything! I have to save all my money for food to stop me keeling over. Mr Holmes didn't mean for me to have nothing nice! It's just this once. It's not like I'm going to be stealing again all the time. Next time, I won't do it.

An exception disproves the rule, quoted a small part of my mind. What would Mr Holmes think of that? What would Sherringford, or Doctor Watson think of that? You've disproved the rule, Kit. You broke your promise.

No I didn't! I wailed inwardly. I just...

Broke your promise.

I tipped my head back and stared at the sky, blindingly blue, smooth and forever.

You broke your promise.

- - -

Two days later, and I had almost managed to convince myself that it didn't matter. Mr Holmes didn't expect the world. He didn't expect me to be perfect. It didn't matter.

Then Rat found me, hanging about outside a newsagents, and panted out, "Kit! Mr Holmes wants us again!"

I ran with him to Baker Street, trying to pretend, even to myself, that nothing was wrong, that this was just another opportunity for work.

Joining Wiggins, Simpson, Li and Tobey outside the house; past Mrs Hudson and upstairs; past the sofa and into a line; seeing Mr Holmes, Sherringford and Doctor Watson; failing to meet Mr Holmes' eyes.

"I'm looking," Mr Holmes began, "for information in the rich gambling clubs. I want to know if there have been any serious losses at the tables lately, and I don't mean losses of twenty pounds or less; I am talking about hundreds, possibly thousands of pounds being transferred from one man to another at the and of a game. Find that out and tell me immediately; that you do it quickly is most important. The usual rates. Have you got all that, Wiggins?"

"Yeah, guv'nor," Wiggins replied. "Gamblin' clubs. 'eavy losses. We got it."

"Right. Report to me as soon as you have anything."

We turned to go; I was glad that it was to be over so quickly, but Sherringford caught hold of my shoulder, and asked, "Kit, will you be around tomorrow? I couldn't find you these last few days."

Mr Holmes had slid down into his chair and was lighting his pipe. "Yeah, maybe," I said cautiously. "I might be busy."

"Oh, yes, of course. Have you been getting a lot of work lately?"

"Nah, not much," I replied unthinkingly, then amended it to, "I mean, enough, well... not that much..."

"You've not been gettin' much at all," Wiggins remarked from the doorway, where he had lingered with Rat and Li. I shot him a furious glance that said, Go away, but Li chimed in innocently,

"Oh no, she'd got enough. Y'bought three buns the other day, didn't you, Kit?"

I widened my glare to include Li as well.

Sherringford looked a little confused, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr Holmes straighten and felt his gaze on the back of my neck. I looked up to meet it, then quickly stared at my feet.

"Kit." Mr Holmes' voice was cool. "Have you been at your old business of lightening people's pockets again?"

"No! I mean - but, I didn't mean... " I stuttered to a halt, and the silence that followed was loud enough to hurt my ears. I dared a quick glance up and I saw Mr Holmes looking at me. He was not angry; it was even worse than that. He was disappointed. I gave up and burst out, "Yes! I did do it! I stole a wallet and I... I'm sorry!"

With that, I shoved Rat out of the way and ran out of the room, down the stairs and out into the street, my vision blurring with hot, angry tears, my heart pounding a hard and painful beat against my ribs.

Way cool! I read through the complete Sherlock Holmes last year and loved most of them. This has the sound of becoming a sweet fanfic. I can't wait to find out more about Moriarty's daughter and how she came to know Sherlock.

I can't give a crit right now because I'm still geeking out about how cool this is and can't find anything wrong right off. But I'll try to get back soon.

Back to Bakers Street!

Shireling

Lovely, as ever darling! I wish, wish, wish I could give a better crit than that, but you have to understand that I read your stories for pleasure rather than to crit them. If you really want me to, I could probably go back and dig something up about the other two....

Chapter Four: The Worst of Times

It should have been raining, with heavy, lowering clouds dropping buckets of rain and soaking everyone and everything in sight. This would have matched my mood perfectly. The fact that the sun was shining, the wind blew softly and the deep blue sky was completely cloudless, did not help my sulky, defiant state at all.

I was in an alleyway that opened directly onto the Thames, my back against the dirty wall, sitting on top of a precariously balanced pile of wooden crates that smelt of fish. The sun poked a friendly finger over the top of the building behind the alley and managed to light up some of the corners, while leaving the rest swamped in shadows. I could see the dust swirling in the sun rays, warming the old wood that I sat on. It wasn’t fair…

It had been three days since that disastrous encounter in Baker Street, and I had not seen Sherringford or any of the Irregulars since. I didn’t know what to think. Part of me wanted to blame Mr Holmes for it all; to say that it was his fault for making me give that stupid promise in the first place. If it was a forced promise, then it didn’t count, so I hadn’t really broken anything at all, so I could stop worrying about it. And if it hadn’t been a false promise, then…

My head dropped forward onto my knees. No matter which way I looked at it, I came out the worst. It’s not fair! I thought, grinding my teeth together in anger. It was a proper, honest promise, and I broke it. I’ve kept it for ages, and then I broke it! All for some blinking cakes that I didn’t need.

A noise made me jerk upright. It came from the end of the alley, where it opened out near the river. I held very still, listening. The noise came again: the scuff of a shoe on the ground. I strained my eyes to see who it was, considering flight. Two figures poked their heads in; I could see their silhouettes, black against the grey walls. One of them bounded forward. ‘Kit!’

It was Sherringford, and trailing behind, shielding his eyes against the light, came Li. I glowered down at them both. ‘Go away.’

Sherringford reached up to the top of the crates, making them wobble. ‘Kit, I’ve been looking for you, and I couldn’t find you anywhere!’

I slapped his hand away. ‘Scat.’

‘Kit,’ Li said. His blue eyes stared up at me, almost sightless in the bright sun. ‘Kit, I-I’m real sorry.’

‘Shut up, white-face!’

Li recoiled, then swallowed. ‘I didn’ mean to make you… I didn’ want Mister ’olmes to find out that… I’m sorry.’

I turned my back on them both. ‘Just shut it and sling your ’ook!’

‘Kit, Sherlock doesn’t…’ Sherringford shook his head. ‘Sherlock isn’t angry with you - ’

‘I don’t care if he is or not! I don’t give a - I don’t care what Mr Holmes thinks!’

‘You’re making a mountain out of a molehill!’

‘Oh, we are poetic!’ I sneered. ‘Just scram, Sherringford. You ain’t a part of this.’ I gestured to his neat black suit, the white collar and pressed cuffs; his clean face and athletic body. ‘You just don’t get it, do you? You don’t belong on the streets - you‘re a toff. Get back to Baker Street and your precious older brothers where you can live as you please!’

Sherringford grabbed the side of the crates, hauled himself up and punched me in the stomach. I gasped, choked and doubled over. Sherringford’s weight pulled the crates over, and I fell on top of him in a pile of wood and dust. He pushed me off and got to his feet. I remained sitting in the wreckage, blinking up at him sullenly.

‘Now who’s a toff?’ Sherringford demanded.

I said nothing, my gaze sliding past him to Li who was staring at the entrance to the alley. ‘Kit…’

Sherringford turned. Three men were standing there; they came forward slowly, with measured footsteps, each movement proclaiming that here was muscle, respect it, or else. Li took a step back as they came and silently looked at us three. I darted quick glances at each of them. They were all dressed in identical grey; one had freckles and red hair, which seemed absurdly unthreatening. The biggest one - brown haired and with grease stains on his lapels - eyeballed Sherringford with the air of a prospective buyer at a horse fair. Get out of here, whispered a little alarm in my mind. Get out now, while there’s still time…

The man stretched out a meaty hand and took a handful of Sherringford’s collar, yanking him close. ‘You Sherrin’ford ’olmes?’

Sherringford remained silent, and tried to prise away the man’s grip. The effort was futile. Very slowly I got to my feet, edging closer. As the man drew back his fist, I met Li’s eyes, nodded, and hit the man in the back of the knees. ‘Run Sherringford!’

Li went for the second man’s ankles, and Sherringford kicked the first man in the stomach. His hold weakened, and we dived for the alley opening. We’re gonna make it! I thought jubilantly. Then the world seemed to whirl upside down. I went flying up through the air and landed with a thump on something hard that knocked me breathless for the second time in five minutes.

For several moments, I struggled to breathe and my surroundings faded into unimportance. When I could finally take a complete breathe, I was already jouncing up and down over the man’s shoulder as he ran out of the alley, the other two men with the boys following close on his heels. Li gave out a loud yell that was quickly stifled by his captor. My brain had slowed down, and only now did I think of resistance. I kicked the man’s face and echoed Li’s shout with one of my own. ‘Help! H-’ The man grabbed my feet in one hand, and clapped the other over my mouth as we reached their destination. The alley met the Thames directly, and there was a large boat moored by the side of the bank. The men slid down the muddy bank and threw us three on board, jumping in after us. More men, already on the boat, dashed to start it up, and before I had got to my feet, the boat was loosed and chugging away from the bank.

The men dragged us down into a rough cabin below, hardly more than a large cupboard, and locked us in. I heard the footsteps on the deck above, the shuddering vibrations of the motor that rocked the whole boat. In the darkness, I heard Sherringford’s voice, ‘Kit, Li, you alright?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Kit?’

‘I suppose.’

‘What’s happening?’ Li asked shakily.

‘We’re… I don’t know. Kidnap? But why?’

‘I think I know,’ I said. ‘You’re Sherlock Holmes’ younger brother. That’s enough for any criminal. You were the target - Li and me just got in the way.’

‘Are you saying I’m a liability?’

‘I don’t know. What’s a liabillie?’

‘A danger to Sherlock.’

‘’snot your fault, Sherrin’ford,’ Li said. ‘an’ they might not be after you anyways.’

Silence. I shuffled to get more comfortable, bumping into Li’s elbows in the process. The wooden floor was warm, but rough, and I sat gingerly, for fear of splinters. I remembered the hard, remorseless grip of the men on my arms, and felt fear trickle like cold water down my spine. This was dangerous. Very dangerous, and I shouldn’t be here. I swallowed, feeling my heart speed up, drumming out a beat of fear high up under my shirt pocket.

Then I felt Li’s hand sneak into mine and give it a small squeeze. I could feel it trembling against my own hand. The fact that Li was as scared as I was gave me some small consolation, and I returned his half-shake silently in the dark. Sherringford was not one for hand squeezes, but his shoulder was braced against mine, and I took comfort from its solid warmth.

- - -

After a long while, the sound of the boat’s engines cut out, and it bumped against something. There was noise above, and in a moment, the door to the tiny room was unlocked, and the men hauled us out. I had only time to snatch a quick glance of our surroundings - a small jetty surrounded by thick green bushes - before something was flung over my head, and I was lifted up and once again bumped up and down over a shoulder. The sack over my head was thick and coarse, smelling of old, damp earth, and the rough hemp fibres that it was woven from rasped against my face, rubbing a raw patch on my cheek.

The man’s footsteps were at first soft, muffled thumps, so I guessed he was walking on grass. Then the sound changed to a crunching over gravel, then a hollow, echoing clop of hard heels on a hard, polished surface. A floor? Marble? Boards? A creak of a door opening, and the footsteps became quieter again, muffled by carpet. I was swung down, dumped onto my feet, and the sack dragged unceremoniously over my head. I blinked and swayed, disorientated for a moment. Sherringford and Li were beside me, and the men were uncomfortably close behind.

I looked around. It was a rich room we were in, with lots of dark polished furniture. The floor was indeed covered in a deep red carpet, and the walls were covered in lots of portraits of people in fancy clothes. Dominating the room was a large desk, very neat and with a few papers showing up startlingly white against the glossy dark wood. Behind this desk was a man, sitting in a matching wooden chair, viewing us three with a displeased frown.

‘Really, Collins,’ he said, in mild reproof. ‘I only wanted Master Holmes, not a duo of street urchins as well.’

‘It were all o’ them, or nothin’, guv,’ Collins, the biggest man said, his hand tightening slightly on my shoulder. ‘If I’d let these two get away, they would’ve peached in minutes.’

‘Oh, very well.’ The man rose and came around the desk; he stood in front of us with his hands behind his back and his head tilted slightly to the side. ‘It will not be entirely in vain.’ He was a very young man, with very fine features, smooth golden hair combed back, and bright blue eyes under feathery golden brows. He reached out a slim hand and lifted Sherringford’s chin with one finger, viewing his features with detached interest. ‘You are very like your brother, Sherringford Holmes. Though not quite as skeletal.’

Sherringford stared back at him expressionlessly, and the man cocked his head to one side. He removed his finger and cast a quick glance over Li and me. I tried to hold that intense blue stare, but found my gaze faltering. His face was solemn, almost regretful. He waved a hand. ‘Remove them.’

Collins grabbed my arms, but Sherringford blurted, ‘Wait! You’re… I’ve seen your picture. You’re a Bird. You’re…’

‘The Right Honourable Lester Bird at your service,’ the man said, almost automatically. ‘Yes, I can see the thought biting at the tip of your tongue, Sherringford.’

‘You’re one of the family that Sherlock was hired by. He was finding out about the murder of - ’

‘You have done your homework, haven’t you?’ Bird’s eyes brightened. ‘Fellstock was murdered, and what does my brother do but call in the greatest busybody in Europe! And he set his little street servants to find out about gambling losses as well. But, he is a man of skill. He knows what needs to be done.’

‘You murdered your own cousin?’ I blurted out.

‘Oh, he has a tongue as well!’ Bird tuned his gaze to me in interest. ‘Yes, I did. He was getting too clever at the gaming tables.’

This careless admission left me flabbergasted. Bird nodded to the men and they frogmarched us from the room. We went through passages, up stairs and around corners until I was completely lost, then finally stopped at a door. This was unlocked, and we were shown in, then locked in. The tiny room was dark, bare and cold; the only furniture was a cracked chamber pot in one corner.

Sherringford stood in a corner of the room, and Li sat limply down with his back against the wall. I soon joined him. Sherringford came and sat on my other side, drawing his knees up under his chin. For a long, long while, none of us spoke. Then Li said, ‘It’s cold.’

‘Yeah.’

‘He did his cousin in?’

‘Yeah.’

‘An’ that’s why ’e’s got us ’ere?’

‘Yeah.’

‘We’re here because Bird intends to use us as leverage,’ Sherringford said. His voice was strained. ‘As long as he has us - has me - then he can persuade Sherlock to give up the case.’

‘But he won’t give it up!’ I exclaimed.

‘I don’t know,’ Sherringford said. ‘The case is important, of course, but… ’

‘’e’ll give it up to save you,’ Li said quietly.

‘But you know what he said. He admitted to murdering his cousin, just like that. That must mean that…’ Sherringford’s voice trailed away.

‘It means,’ I finished, ‘that he’s not going to let us out of here to tell anyone. We’re not going to be leaving this place.’


----

No corny villians. A tad cheesy, but not unbearable. Then again, I am your biggest fan, you might not want to listen to me. But trust me about the villain thing. *hugs*